San Fermin

I’ve drafted and deleted this entry way too many times, firstly going into detail, then not enough detail for my liking and now lets hope I’ve found the balance. This (and Ibiza) may be the hardest blog entries I am going to remember or even try to put down in words but here goes….

We only stayed in Pamplona for 4 nights but by the end that was clearly enough for my body and liver. We stayed at Ezcaba campsite, which is the same place Fanatics base themselves. Everybody asked us who we were doing the bull run with but when we said no one many were questioning us about how we were going to do it. In terms of events like this when you go with a tour company you really are paying for an experience and whilst we never paid the $280 that Fanatics was asking we still felt as though we had the same, if not a better experience than them.  The only difference was that our tents were bigger, we got the local bus in and we wore the T-shirts that the campsite sold…oh and the fact that we paid a third of the price. However, well done to Fanatics for providing the whole campsite with a DJ every night and a hell of a lot of people to create a good atmosphere.

Our first day consisted of getting there, setting up and settling in. Once off the bus I pulled out the map and judging by the look of it convinced everyone it was only a 15-20 min walk away. Almost an hour later, walking on a highway and up a hill I was regrettably taking back that comment and felt even worse when Nat started complaining because I completely forgot that she has to get an operation on her foot so can’t walk for long periods and the fact that she had what was possibly a stomach ulcer…but she was a trooper and made it all the way…or until we hitchhiked a ride (turned out we were only a few hundred metres from the campsite). Once we finally got there we had a tent issue. We had previously read on the website tent (and a price) and misinterpreted this as tent hire so once we got there paid for everything and were directed to our allocated area we quickly realised that there was no tent hire and we now needed a tent. 9pm at night and with the shops shut we begun weighing our options and it wasn’t until roughly an hour later when we overcame our communication errors at front desk and spoke to the lady whom could speak clearer English that she explained whilst they didn’t offer tent hire they did sell tents. One word, one bloody word and we would have solved the problem in minutes but they say that’s the ‘fun’ of travelling right. 

By the Opening Ceremony 1500 people arrived at the campsite for Fanatics as well as my brother, Pete, Semo, Macca, Danielle and a few friends from home in a campervan (the non-fanatics).  This day was crazy! We all dressed in white with the splash of red, some of us running to the shops to buy/complete the outfit at the last minute. Pete refused to get up as he was too hung over and James tried his hardest to explain how much fun it would be spitting sangria in people faces but Pete wouldn’t have a bar of it and told us he didn’t see the point in such a day….his lose! James was already a mess by the time we got to the bus stop and became the entertainment of the line. All starving, we stopped off at a café for breakfast and whilst waiting outside managed to bump into, you guessed it…people from the Eastern Suburbs! What a surprise that we would see people from home. Nevertheless our team grew larger and we headed for the square in a rush to witness the rocket going off which officially starts the festival off and tells everyone that its time to put those red scarves on and start drinking...or spitting sangria. For those girls who like to look their best at all times, maybe stay away from this day because whatever is white soon turns red and any clean hair is soon covered in sangria, eggs, flour, water and probably someone else’s saliva. There is nothing like this so you just embrace the dirty feeling and try get as many people as you can. Those in the apartments above soon start throwing buckets of water down below and it isn’t much longer before the sangria has ran dry, the eggs are cracked and the flour has crept into your hair and ears so we make a move to restock the sangria and find somewhere new to drink. Yet we all know that once on the move we soon lose a few casualties. The first to go is James, Rhi, Toma and Nat and not long after Semo is lost and solo in the crowd.

Within a few hours we had all re-gathered in the park and even joined a few locals, everyone bringing more drinks and snacks with them (including KFC). We took in the surrounding and shared eachothers stories and soon realised that Semo was still missing. It was here that we started discussing what highlights we would rub into Pete for missing and decided to try and convince Pete we saw Semo get kidnapped. It was a big call but ended up being a rather funny joke and one that pretty much everyone got in with. Pete’s face was gold and somehow without much pre-planning of answers and questions we all managed to go along with the same storyline- that we saw him get pulled into a van and James run after him. Pete took in the information and gave the assumed responses. Later that night he brang the subject back up and upon us jokingly say ‘fuck him’ he proceed to pull us into line and explain the seriousness of the situation:

“What do you mean fuck him he could be in a rape dungeon! We need to call the police or tell someone about this”

Unfortunately our cruelness got the better of us and Pete had gone to bed before we decided to tell him we were joking. Semo came back, wearing a new outfit about 6 hours later and we informed him of his whereabouts. He crawled into the tent later that night telling Pete he made it out alive and the good friend Pete is rolled over told him he was glad and gave him a big hug! Pete, the only kind and caring friend of the whole group. Everyone else laughed and thought it was funny (which helped us tremendously with the situation). The next day Pete discovered the joke and explained that he had a good idea as no one was getting frantic but didn’t want to joke because he thought we were all too pissed and didn’t realise how bad it was if it was true.  We got you good Pete and you handled it well.  But the joke was to be played on us…

The next day was the first run and of course there is always those too hungover to get up….this being Semo today but now we couldn’t find Pete. Somehow at 5am he was missing from the tent. James swore that Pete was there when he went to bed. However we didn’t have time to send a search party as we had to make the bus. We met up with everyone at deadman’s corner and had a pretty solid crew but it soon started to get a tad crowded so we moved up along the run, only to be kicked out just before 7:30am. Absolutely gutted we raced back to two entrances and failed as the police had blocked them and it was only by the third that we managed to sneak in whilst the police officer dealt with another person. We were back in and relived, for a moment, until we realised that we were right near the start and in possibly the WORST spot. Deadman’s corner looked good right now. I started to panic as in crowds I’m rather short and the air was getting stale. However this was to be the least of my worries as next minute I was literally lifted two inches up off the floor and starting to be dragged. James hugged me from behind and just let us move with the crowd. A few of the boys then gave us directions to go with it and try make it to dead man’s corner and they were spot on. Once we hit there the police had opened up the blocked areas and everyone had much more space to move around freely and with fresh air. With 5 minutes to go until the bulls were released we all started discussing our plan of attack, knowing very well that when the bell went anything plan we had would be out of the door. Run, try no to get hit, make it into the arena and meet on the left. BANG the rocket went off and I swear I pissed my pants the tiniest bit but there was no time to worry because within seconds the largest crowd of men were running in my direction so follow we did and once we heard those hooves and nostrils blaring we scaled the shutters of a shop (no free doorways) and watched as the bulls ran under our feet narrowly missing us. Back down and on the run again. By this point we knew we had to make it to the arena so no time to waste until just to the left of me someone falls and kicks my leg partially taking me down with him but lucky for me, being the only girl in our group one of the boys ripped at my shirt pulling me back up, This is bloody hectic! “Don’t do that again” were my instructions and I was sure to stick with them. We almost got to the arena before we heard the hooves and felt the pushes again so we climbed on the fence, let them go through and a kind local yells “get in before they shut!!” I’ve never pushed and ran so fast in my life. We had lost James and all of a sudden he is by my side and Jake was pulling us through the bottleneck of the arena. WE MADE IT, WE DID IT! and what a rush it was.

The baby bulls were released soon after I contemplated running at them but a few metres in and I turned away and decided that I had enough of an adrenalin rush and standing on the edge was where I belonged. We watched as so many people got hammered, trampled and stomped on. Walking back to the station we discovered that a few people got injured but all round it was a good run today. Back at the campsite we shared our stories over a picnic and drinks, basked in the sun and got absolutely blind to the DJ. Day turned into night and another bunch of hopefuls decided to run the next day but for me I was spewing that I had not taken a single photo whilst here so to the arena it would be for me. Pete was still missing by the afternoon and now we begun to wonder if he was the one who had been kidnapped but when he finally returned he explained how he got up for the 5am bus yet somehow managed to miss the run. Poor Pete.

Watching it from the by standers perspective the next day was a whole different experience in itself. The crowds go crazy when someone is hit and the atmosphere is exhilarating, helping you to absorb every single moment and feel a part of Spanish tradition (although most runners are now tourists, majority being Australian, American and British and on this day in particular a lot more girls than yesterday). Watching it again also made me think it was a lot easier and that I could/would run again but this was our last day and I gave it up for the arena and photography, fortunately getting a few good shots. I would love to come back here though and stay for the whole festival switching between a participator and bystander throughout, trying to absorb the festival through the eye of my lens as well as my own eyes. I’d go to part of the run one day, in a balcony, in the arena, be part of the opening ceremony and the run again as well as stay for the closing ceremony but by now my liver was probably in need of a rest, I had hardly slept and only had half a voice left so off the Barcelona to rest up for Ibiza where I was about to destroy myself all over again.

Would I recommend anyone to run, of course! It is definitely something that any adrenalin junkie should do in their lives and one thing I can cross off my never-ending bucket list. So far this has been my favourite part of the trip as I loved the campsite, people, atmosphere, drinking and all round experience.  I wish to provide you with more photos but unfortunately, with an DSLR you are only limited to certain conditions so hopefully in the near future when I plan to go back I can provide more (and possibly better) photos…but enjoy for now!