Funny thing about traveling is that I don't often expect to leave London for crappier weather. Such was the case when we flew into Bilbao, only to be received by an endless gray blanket of clouds accompanied by a light drizzle. Here I go whinging again. It's easy to see how the Poms have developed a stigma as being chronic complainers. Truth be told it's all about the natural habitat, think about it, shit weather coupled with average food there's not too much to make you happy. Eliminate these two things and the dark transmogrification towards whinging Pom begins. It's not just me, I've observed a metamorphosis in friends. It begins as a casual comment about the weather: "Why is it so cold?" this slowly develops into a English accent littered with negative observations.
Back to Bilbao. Not too much to report from this stop. If anything it acted more as a point of transit than anything else. We started our day of enjoying some Pintxos for lunch followed by a brief walk around the Guggenheim Museum. Not entirely impressed we hopped on a bus for 1 hour 20 minutes to San Sebastian (€7).
San Sebastian (5th July/8th July)
Touted as having the one of the highest concentration of Michelin stars that any other city this quaint seaside town provided the perfect introduction and interlude for the week long trip. Here we indulged in the most amazing Spanish food to grace my palette. Our time was either spent wandering through the cobbled streets of old town, exploring the many bars and restaurants or lazying around the beach.
Pamplona
What can I say? Phenomenal. Documenting my experiences here alone defibrillates me and I'm overwhelmed by a sudden rush of blood. We would spend 2 days and one night and at a cost of €120 per night we wanted to make the most of it, and it's safe to say we got our moneys worth. I've deliberated whether I should actually attempt to post something about San Fermin. Ultimately this hestination stems more from the fear of it being near impossible to recapture the atmosphere.
San Fermin Opening Ceremony (6th July)
The bus from San Sebastian pulled into Pamplona at around 10:30 am. We hailed a couple of cabs and were soon taxied to our accommodation: Abba Reino de Navarra. The San Fermin dress code is simple. White top and bottom with a red neckerchief and matching red sash around the waist. We arrived into the middle of town to hear the "chupinazo" or skyrocket fire to signal the start of the fiesta. The streets were overflowing with a sea of red and white with most people squeezed up against each other. Pushing through the crowds was no easy feat, shards of glass and rubbish already lined the sticky cobbled floors. Waves of Red Wine, Beer, sangria and Water crashed down from above, it was enough to make anybody claustrophobic.
Vendors were selling Bottles of Red Wine and Sangria for €2-3 and soon enough partying ensued. Any thoughts of self preservation were abolished once you stepped into the square. Within 5 minutes our shirts were stained with spots of magenta and amber. We left the square and setup base around the pagoda in the main square here we had enough space to cause a ruckus, every now and then there would be the familiar bogan chant "Aussie Aussie Aussie!". Without hesitation a reply of "Oi! Oi! Oi!" would follow, this was not strictly limited to Australians.
Hands down one of the most amazing festival I've ever attended; highly recommended. The number of random people I spoke to, new people I met, new people I shared drinks with (in hindsight probably not a good idea). I would be lying if I said I escaped unscathed, I was drunk, sticky, covered in sangria and foam but I was surrounded by my mates from back home as well as familiar London faces. For 4 hours I don't think I could stop smiling. We ventured back to the hotel, showered up and were in bed by 4 pm.
First Running of the Bulls (7th July)
The next morning the girls woke at 5 am to get good spot for the run while the guys rose at 6 am in preparation for the actual run. We brought two sets of clothing, one for the Opening Ceremony and other for the run. The smell of yesterday's party had permeated into the sash and the pungent odour made me semi-gag. We headed out back into town and the streets were still littered with rubbish and people from the Opening Ceremony. We were herded into the runner's pen and the gates were locked at 7 am. Nervously we waited as the Mayor inspected the first group of runners and the streets cleaned. At 7:45 the gates were opened and the runners were allowed to assume their starting position anywhere along the 850 metre track.
The 5 minute lead up to 8:00 am reeked of anxiety, there were nervous looks with plenty of long drawn breaths as the adrenaline surged through our bodies. Patrons were being kicked out for having cameras on the run, we had to hide ours away, I wasn't going to miss this for the world. We had decided to start halfway, just after Dead-man's corner. It's not called Happy-bull patting corner, no, it's DEAD MAN'S CORNER, we took the hint. Panic had set in and initial waves of hysteric runners had jumped the gun. At 8:00 a rocket was fired to indicate the first bull had left the pen, people started running. We stood around looking back, waiting, jumping up and down waiting for the bulls. The second rocket fired: the last bull had left. Still we waited, anxious, nervous, scared. Floods of people ran past us down the narrow street, some not turning around, fear set in their eyes. It was like the old Godzilla movies. Still we waited, where were these bulls?
The Spanish locals were stirring the tourists "Vamoose!". The longer we waited the more people passed then I saw my mates from Sydney running towards us: "Hey guys!" to which they replied "RUN!", I looked over their shoulders to see three black bulls charging down the streets. The flashes went off followed by a roar of cheers. I ran. Hands in front of me guiding through the crowd as the stadium crept closer. Constantly looking over my shoulder I saw people being bowled over. Throwing myself against the wall the bulls stampeded past, there was an opening and I rushed into the stadium and jumped up onto the barricades. Pure exhilaration mashed in with excitement. So there it is, I sort of ran with the bulls. I mean, I ran from them, hid from them, let them pass and then chased them into the Stadium. On a totally random note I bumped into an old work colleague from Toshiba in the stadium. What a small world.
To say that Basque Country exceeded expectations would be a gross understatement. It smashed it to little pieces and then consumed it. The last 4 days have been a sensory and emotional wonderland immersed in a Spanish hotpot. Exquisite food: Tapas, Pintxos, Cured Ham, Paella and Sangria. I will never look at Sangria the same, I'm still unsure if I should drink it or pour it over my head. The atmosphere of the Opening Ceremony, the thrill of running with the bulls, the familiarity of partying with old friends. The good times, the laughter and the exceptional memories. Next stop, Ibiza.
Currently reading: The Time Traveler's Wife
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