Running from the Bulls: Las fiestas de San Fermines

I was not supposed to sleep on the park bench in Pamplona. Sit and guard our stuff: that was my task for the one hour of rest my travel mates had been allotted after 23 hours of running wild in the streets of Spain. I was the only sober one in our group, and by the looks of things, I was probably the only uninebriated person in the entire city. Thus, we concluded that I would stay awake while my friends joined the other heaps of foreigners camped out on the city lawns and public benches on the first night of Las Fiestas de San Fermines.

I’m sure this fiesta made famous by Hemingway’s class, “And the Sun Also Rises” is a real hoot if you have a proper places to lay your head. However, cozying up on a pile of wood near a plot of dirt perfumed by liters of urine courtesy of my sangria-drinking co-fiesters is enough to nauseate any nostril. Although, as I sat staring at the sleeping bodies of young people from Europe, the Americas and Australia, I gradually adjusted to the smell and the wooden bench began to soften as I gave into the forceful lull of sleep.

I’ve never been one of those people who can go days on end without sleeping. Prior to spending time in Spain I did not drink coffee. Due to the fact that I would be out and about in my home base city of Salamanca until the sun was born each day, I got in the habit of consuming half a dozen espressos daily. Weeks of bad sleep caught up with me and I had begun to slumber with all the other exhausted travelers at 4 am in Bosque Country. It wasn’t that we enjoyed the Spanish concrete or had a special affinity with the Navarrean outdoors; apparently if you don’t book your lodgings a year in advance, you’d better arrive in the city with a sleeping bag and a can of mace.

Everyone was dressed in white with a red handkerchief around the neck. Truthfully, people started off in white, but turned a shade of red and purple throughout the festivities as celebrators doused one another in Sangría and Kalimotxo: the red wine drinks of choice for the festival. I wasn’t wearing white, but my arms had already acquired the distinct spots of red wine splashes from drink fight crossfire on several occasions.

I don’t remember for how long I had been sleeping. All I know is that I had awoken to an itch on my neck. As I attempted to scratch the skin, my hand encountered a head of curly hair lying snug against my chest. I jumped up and the foreign head made a thump on the bench, which caused its owner to stretch and ask, “¿Qué pasó?”.

What did he mean, “what happened?” There were many open spaces, and it was unclear to me why this dude had decided to snuggle up to me and take a matinal snooze. The guy said something to me in Basque and passed out in the space I had made available when I stood up. I woke my friends and decided to begin the day again. The first hints of dawn were clearing the horizon, which meant that el encierro would begin in three hours. And this is what we had come here for.

Las fiestas de San Fermines originally began in the mideval period as a secular fiesta, which has its roots in the celebration of summer solstice. Later cattle merchants came into town with their animals and integrated bullfighting into the celebration. By the late 1500’s, it was named after Saint Fermin who had died a bloody death after being dragged through the streets of Pamlona by raging bulls. The bull, as a historically sacred animal, is the center of the festival.

Nowadays, during the weeklong event, at 8 a.m. el encierro takes place during a half mile strip of corredor in Pamplona. People run in front of the bulls, under the assumption that they will not die. However, during each festival a dozen people tend to die because they are not trained, are drunk, hungover or simply unfit to outrun a wild animal. It’s tradition. Kinda like sacrifice. Before el encierro begins, the runners sing a song that invokes the protection of Saint Fermin, which, in my opinion, is counter-productive because didn’t he get killed by bulls? At least they have the red handkerchiefs, that is the magic cloth which protects the bull runner.

By seven a.m the entire street was covered with people, and I could hardly get a glimpse at the corral which had been installed to keep the bulls from getting loose onto the street. My friends wanted to see the running of the bulls, the fantastically famous action which we had travalled hours by bus to witness in person. It became apparent to me that even though I was in Pamplona, it was highly unlikely that I would get a clear glimpse of el encierro through the mobs of locals and visitors. At this point, I was exhausted and impacient and could hardly stand to deal with another group of rowdy people. I decided to wonder off.

Why all this fuss over a pack of bulls? Aren’t they just angry cows? Hadn’t I seen enough of those at the petting zoo? I mean, it wasn’t like they were letting lions loose of something. Over a day of waiting and I had decided that it did not matter, that I had come all the way to Spain to improve my Spanish and to celebrate my transferring from Vista to Cal. This was my achievement and forget about San Fermines.

I did not know where I was going, as I hadn’t even bothered to purchase a map for my short visit to the city. I wondered up hill, and came to a clearning where visitors had pitched camp. The smart ones came with tents, while the others simply sprawled blankets over the verdant grass. I walked to the edge of the street and bellow me was a magnificent view of the city, the cathedrals and houses on the hill sides glistened in the early morning sun. The people rushed to the corral for el encierro and I remained there, staring at the majestic countryside, at peace in the morning calm.

I gazed out into the city of Pamplona, as the cheer of onlookers roared through the streets. I sat under a patch of short trees in the shade until the running ended. Finally I got up in search of coffee and ran into my friends who couldn’t believe that I had missed the action. But I found something better.

A few days latter, I received an email from my mom who said she had seen the bull running on the news. At least one of us saw the bulls.