'Twas 8 AM,warm and sunny. The serene square surrounded by sycamore trees featured statues, flowers, and a gazebo. The peace and quiet of early morning July 6th prevailed. My friends and I sat outside the Windsor Pub in La Plaza de Castillo in Pamplona,Spain. On our right,was La Perla, the legendary hotel where Earnest Hemingway stayed during his visit. The San Fermin afficionados were already crowding into the plaza, their white shirts and white pants separated by deep red sashes. An awesome spirit of camaraderie was evident in a plethora of languages as there were people socializing, greeting each other with hugs and kisses, and street vendors selling T-shirts, hats, red scarves, buttons, pins and other paraphernalia of the event popularly known as "The Running of the Bulls"-the encierro.
________________________________________________________________________________________The fiesta of San Fermin is essentially a religious festival. The next morning's running of the bulls is traditionally a sacred event which culminates in the shedding of the bulls blood in the bullring that same afternoon. As we neared noon ,we sipped champagne at the white wicker tables and chairs which extended beyond the arcade to the edges of the street. We had hoped to see the bulls unloaded at the Santo Domingo corrals, but the streets were already impossibly crowded with revelers.
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Noon: the first rocket went off and we all stood and raised our red scarves as the San Fermin festival officially commenced. Truly a combination of the sacred and the profane---marching bands, street processions, dancing, vesper services, chapel chanting, carousing, constant laughter and applause. It was one magnificent, jubilant party. Just a block away from La Plaza de Castillo,the Ayuntamiento Square,city hall, was so crowded that we were transported down the street with our feet six inches above the ground by the surrounding bodies that seemed to be glued to every inch of us! With the preliminary cannon shot, the side streets leading out of the plaza became playful combat zones of champagne-squirting, raw egg-throwing, and white flour-tossing. The roaring ambience refelected a contagion similar to the Super Bowl, St. Patrick's Day, Mardi Gras or New Year's Eve in Times Square.
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Hundreds of people cheered from balconies bedecked with banners proclaiming the start of the Fiesta San Fermin. The ladies on the balconies were dumpimg garbage cans of water upon crowds screaming,"Aqua" to clean the debris from their bodies. A beautiful Spanish woman sang Basque songs in the Taurino Club. All ages partied together. People were chatting in corners, drinking wine, lapping gazpacho and estafedo de toro, telling tales of former festivals and planning the next days activity, the Running of the Bulls.
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7 AM: the next morning,swallows flew aimlessly above La Plaza de Castillo while below,prospective runners plotted their strategy. Meticulously, street cleaners swept away evidence of the previous day's partying. I was escorted to a large window at Hemingway's favorite venue, Hotel La Perla, waiting for the run to begin.
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7:15 AM: and the rules of the run were announced on loudspeakers in several languages. In Spanish,the runners were singing, "We ask St. Fermin,as our patron,to guide us through the bull run and give us his blessing." The cannon went off and the six bulls and their companion steers were released into the corral from their stables. From the window I watched the lead bull turn the corner, slip, and fall hard upon the cobblestoned street, disabling the other bulls who fell upon him like dominoes. Then, resilience of the spirit reigned as these beautiful macho creatures readily jumped up and continue to run with the human participants. However,my previous day's joy converted to sorrow as I realized this fall was only a harbinger of the fate awaiting them in the arena.
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8:30 PM: The six bulls running down the Calle Estafeta early that morning were all dead. The simultaneous occurrence of thousands of "Oles" and blood bursting out of a creature's nose and ears, was not a copasetic experience for us. It was a learning experience because we learned that the bulls had had good lives with the best food and the meat from the bulls was given to the poor. However, a part of me saw the gracious dance of the matador as a gladiator with a sword, as the conquest called up the ancient crowds at Rome's Colosseum.
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Will I return to the San Fermin festival? You bet! I highly recommend La Perla and the Three Kings and if you want to have the best party of your life, you better make reservations right now. If you are running, look up at the window in La Perla and I will throw you a kiss! Adios,amigos!