"Uno de enero, dos de febrero,
tres de marzo, cuatro de abril,
cinco de mayo, seis de junio,
siete de julio, ¡SAN FERMÍN!
A Pamplona hemos de ir, con una bota, con una bota,
a Pamplona hemos de ir con una bota y un calcetín."
We stopped along the way in Burgos and the director of our program gave us a tour of the city. He has to speak in English because some people wouldn’t understand him in Spanish. He is always saying funny things in a very thick accent. One of my friends says that he reminds her of Cervantes. The picture shows Dr. Ruiz addressing the group in a plaza in Burgos.
We arrived in Pamplona later and immediately went out to buy the all-but-required white clothing and red scarf and belt. They say that the city of 200,000 swells to around 2 million on the weekend of the San Fermín festival. This was quite apparent everywhere we looked. All the hotels sell out way in advance, so many people stay up all night partying and then sleep in the parks or drive to a nearby beach to sleep during the day. Luckily, we didn’t have to go to those lengths. We stayed in a dorm much like the one in Madrid. A group of us went out to explore the city and buy tickets to the bull ring the next day. It proved to be much more difficult than we expected with a long walk and then longer lines, but we befriended some older Spaniards while in line who gave us some good tips on the best way to see the encierro. We grabbed a rather expensive dinner at the equivalent of a state fair (I suppose they can charge whatever they want during that week), and then the majority of the group headed back to the dorm. I, of course, stayed out to experience the celebration. The streets were completely packed everywhere we went. Many people’s white clothes had changed to purple (from wine being spilled at least once every 10 seconds somewhere in the city). We returned to the dorm around 3am only to have to wake up at 5am to go get a good spot at the bull ring. Many of the people at the Plaza de Toros had obviously been up all night. My friends and I sat between a group of drunken men in their 20s and a cute Spanish family. The juxtaposition was undeniable. We waited for hours until the main event. They showed the actual Running of the Bulls on big screens, and then all of a sudden people started to flood into the arena closely followed (or preceded) by the bulls. I would have absolutely ZERO interest in participating. No one died this year, but it is not uncommon. Americans are often getting injured because they don’t know the tricks.
After the excitement we went back to the dorm and loaded the bus for my favorite place on earth: San Sebastián! I was a little disappointed to be dropped off at Playa Ondarreta on the far side of town only to be told that we had less than an hour before we would be heading to France. Luckily, three of my friends decided to accompany me across town past Playa de la Concha and over to the Parte Vieja. We had some of the most amazing “pintxos” (the Basque word for “tapas”), and then hopped in a cab to get back to the bus on time.
From there we went to Biarritz, France. We hit the beach, and I got to eat a crepe, so I was happy. We returned to Pamplona in time for a quick nap before heading out. We made it to the park in time to watch the incredible firework display that more than made up for me missing the Fourth of July in the US. We then mingled with some Spaniards, pushed our way through the crowds, and took in the atmosphere. We made it back to the dorm at 6am, miraculously without a single drop of wine on my white outfit. The next day we stopped by the town of Medinaceli on our way back to Madrid. Oh yeah, and that was the night of the World Cup final. I think I am just now catching up on sleep.
Fuegos Artificiales de Pamplona:
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