24 Hours In

A mural on the street in Pamplona, home of the world famous 'Encierro', or running of the bulls.

Pamplona is a provincial city of about 200,000 sitting in the north-east of Spain amongst the foothills of the Pyrenees. It is about five hours north-east of Madrid and about four and a half hours north-west of Barcelona by car. Really, the only time to be there is for the running of the bulls, the San Fermin festival, which ignites the city from the 6^th-14^th July every year.

The Bull Run (Encierro in Spanish) itself is all about the build-up and the tension, as the sun rises and the clocks strike eight. The run is best watched from a balcony (expect to pay heaps for this privilege) or if you want to actually get an idea of what happened, on the TV. Alternatively, if you’re mad enough, find a spot on the inner barrier. It’s best to keep to the fence if you don’t want a horn through your leg. It’s advisable to get there at about 6:30am and grab a seat on the barrier; otherwise all you’ll be watching is the back of some Spaniard’s head as he cranes his neck to see over the person in front of him!

Thousands of people run every morning, making it more of a shuffle than a run. The day I went to watch (from the safety of the outer barrier), tragically, a young Spanish man died. Despite what you may have heard, fatalities are rare. This was only the fourth death in 20 years, but of course a massive tragedy. Injuries are common place, some quite nasty.

A man directly in front of me was crushed by a falling bull as it rounded the first corner at the town hall (the Ayuntamiento), and as it rose to its feet it gored his back with its powerful horns and raced off. Just metres away from me he lay there, not moving. It wasn’t yet one minute past eight. Paramedics dragged him underneath the barrier, and 20 minutes later he was taken away in an ambulance. This is serious business.

First impressions can be quite confronting. If it’s illegal to smoke in bars in Spain, then everyone in Pamplona should be arrested. The smoke is so thick at times; no wonder every doorway has drinkers spilling out of it to enjoy themselves out in the fresh(er) air.

When you approach the bar, it pays to be aggressive. Even so, expect to be ignored by the bar staff, even if you know some Spanish. Most orders must be shouted, usually twice, on account of the noise of the bar, and the festival, which seems to fill every corner of the city.

If you are looking for a cheap place to stay during the festival, then book months ahead, or join couchsurfing. If you arrive with no accommodation booked, look no further than the central park, which fills up with thousands of friendly festival goers. The routine, so far as I could tell, was to claim a portion of grass, meet people, start drinking, head into the city, party all night, watch the bull run, return to the park and pass out, wake up around 3pm, and repeat. For seven days. 24 hours was enough for me.

There is a dress code for the festival, which consists of white shirt and pants, a long red belt, and a red handkerchief tied around your neck. Think Speedy Gonzalez from Loony Tunes, minus the sombrero. Don’t ask me the significance, but just make sure you wear this, or you will feel like a fish out of water, or worse, a tourist. If, by the end of your time there, your nice white shirt is all covered in red wine stains courtesy of strangers, you’ve had a good festival.

The festival never stops. Seriously. There is an hour after the Encierro, where everyone seems to take stock and compose themselves (or alternatively passes out), but then the street bands start up again, and things roll on.

Beer in the bars is cheap and served in huge plastic cups, as is ‘Calimucho’ a nasty concoction of cheap wine, ice, and coke (best avoided if you want to remember anything of your time in Pamplona). Alternatively, you can buy refreshments from almost any corner store or food joint, as they all become unofficial bottle shops for the week.

Marching bands parade non-stop along the winding cobble-stoned streets, horns blaring, waving giant political and cultural banners. You can lose yourself in the following crowd for hours as you trail behind them, changing from one to another as they cross paths, or tail off at a bar for some tapas or drinks.

 There is also plenty of entertaining music and street theatre (think strange art, groups of lively African drummers, break dancing, and human statues, and that was in one street alone) to keep your foot tapping  as you rest your legs. There are rows of stalls selling a million different San Fermin related items, and music around every corner, from classical quartets playing for tips to huge stages featuring Spanish, rock and pop groups.

The main square is the heart of the festival, and as such, the hardest and most expensive place to get a seat/table/drink/bite to eat. However, since you can buy food and drink anywhere, and sit wherever you want (or is that wherever you can?), everyone can enjoy the magnificent ‘Plaza de Castillo’. It’s a festival, remember.

Pamplona was made famous by Earnest Hemmingway’s book “Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises” and there is a restaurant in the main square named after him, as well as a bar and a street. If you have the time, read it the week before you arrive, it’s a classic, and will set the scene nicely.

The weather is usually hot and sunny, so take a hat and some water. In the evenings head over to the western wall of the city centre, and jostle for a place to take in the magnificent sunset over the nearby mountains, a truly special way to end a day.

View Pamplona www.pamplona-spain.com in a larger map