Pamplona Running of the Bulls by Ian Usher

Goal 49 – run for your life!

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

(Pamplona, Spain)

    I had a bit of a siesta yesterday afternoon, and in the evening headed back out with my American housemates, who were hitting the town again. I had one quick beer with them, and then made my way through the packed main square to Michael’s apartment, where I was due to be interviewed by John, from website BullRunning.com. John was also planning to run for the first time in the morning, and we discussed possible places to start, and tactics for survival. We had pretty much come to the same conclusion as to where we might start.

    After the interview, which was very easy-going and relaxed, I made my way through thronging crowds to the Cuitadela, where there is a fireworks extravaganza every evening. It is competitive, and the Italian team put on a great show.

    Back at home I got a reasonably early night, along with half of my housemates, who had also finished the evening at a sensible hour. The rest of the group, however, had partied on. At around 4:45am, they were insisting on a house meeting, scheduled for 5am, from what I could gather! I don’t think anyone else made it to the meeting, and I don’t think I missed much, as it all went quiet again soon after that.

I had set my alarm for 6:15am, but was woken up at 6:35 by Nick, who was on his way out. I checked my phone, and was amazed to find, on the morning of one of my major goals, I had set my alarm for the evening, instead of morning!

    I dressed in my red and white gear after a quick shower, and down in the busy main street I soon bumped into John. Before long the street was cleared of revellers and runners alike, and we were shepherded into a side street. We made our way through little back streets, trying to get in to the town hall square again, to re-join the pack of runners.

    The streets outside the run were packed, and it was difficult to even get into the main streets. When we finally made it through the crowds of on-lookers, back onto the bull-run route, we were absolutely squeezed in tight as the main street got a final cleaning. Tension was mounting, and there was an incredible air of expectation.

    At about ten to eight we were allowed to spread back into the main street, and John and I picked a spot just before the ominously named Dead Man’s Curve. Our plan was to round the corner just as the bulls started running, stay well to the right as they swept wide around the corner, and then join them for the run straight along Estafeta.

    However, any sort of planning in such a crazy, excited, scared crowd like that, is hopeful at best.

The first rocket went off, a huge cheer went up, and you could really feel the fear and excitement in the air. As the second rocket went off, indicating that all the bulls are out of the pen and running, John and I joined the crowd. We pushed-shoved-jogged our way around the corner, and that was the last I saw of him. It was packed, and wild.

    I made it about five yards along the street, and then tucked in at the right side, pretty much at the front of the crowd backed against the wall. People were streaming past in front of me, and the speed and panic increased as the bulls approached. I watched in amazement as the lead animals hurtled around the corner – they were huge. As soon as they drew level with us I heard myself shouting “Go, go, go!” and ran out, along with a large part of the crowd I was with, and we joined the run. I knew all the bulls hadn’t gone past, as there had only been about six or seven in the first group. Therefore there were more still behind us. They must have got separated earlier on.

    Now, running in the middle of the street, it was just a matter of making sure I didn’t fall over. I had to try to get back towards the side before the next bulls came barrelling through. While that seemed like a good idea, it is not how things worked out at all.

    In the middle of the running hoards, three or four people went down in front of me. I jumped and veered left, and just made it around them, but was off balance. Another person fell in front of me, impossible to avoid, and I tripped over the top of him. I was now on the ground, pretty much in the centre of the street. All I could do was curl up and hope for the best. I looked up, just in time to see one of the huge brown and white guiding steers thunder by just a foot or so away. I stayed curled up, as the crowd of runners was now passing over and around me. To try to get up would be impossible. Eventually the crowd thinned a bit, and a couple of guys gave me a shout and dragged me to my feet.

    I rejoined the runners, trying to quickly take stock of myself, and decided that I was relatively unscathed. I continued to follow the route with the rest of the running crowd, eventually making it into the bull ring at the end. The ring was packed, and people milled around laughing and whooping, obviously thrilled and excited to have completed the run. I too felt elated and thrilled, and somewhat lucky too. “Next time,” I thought, “I really must try to stay on my feet!” That thought was immediately followed by, “What next time? I’m not doing that again. That has to be the craziest thing I have ever experienced.”

    In the ring the craziness continued. For the entertainment of the packed audience, bullocks are released into the ring one at a time to run riot among the runners brave enough, or foolish enough, to want to stay in there. I stayed in for a few minutes, but when the first bullock came charging past, the crowd surged back, and I decided enough was enough. Watching would be a much better option that staying in the ring.

A wise choice, I decided, as over the next twenty minutes or so, I saw at least three people transported away on stretchers.

    I eventually made it back home around an hour and a half after the run, buying some breakfast supplies on the way. As I made a sandwich, I was surprised to find that my hands still had a slight shake to them, as the last of the adrenaline wore off.... or maybe it was just the strong cup of coffee I had just had on an empty stomach kicking in?

    How do I feel afterwards, I asked myself? This was an important goal for me, one I have wanted to fulfil longer than any other. I have been promising myself for over thirty years now that one day I would come and do this. Well, of course there is a huge sense of closure and achievement. I also feel proud to have once again done what I promised myself I would do.

    Of course, the whole event was incredibly thrilling too. I can see why people keep coming back to do this again and again! I had promised myself though that once would be enough for me!

    I managed to set my alarm correctly for the next morning, and was up early again. The only others up and about were Fipps and Ivy. Fipps was planning to run with the bulls, so Ivy and I went down to the bull ring to watch the end of the run. Despite being over an hour until the start, the place was already packed, but we were lucky to find two seats in a great location.

    There are two big video screens high up in the arena. When eight o’clock finally came around the first rockets went off, and we could watch the run live on the big screen. It was great to see the crazy progress through the streets. As the bulls on the screen approached the ring outside, people were streaming through the tunnel into the ring right in front of us.

    There was a huge cheer as the bulls burst through the fleeing people. They scattered to left and right, as the bulls passed through the centre of the ring, disappearing almost directly under us into the stalls under the stands. People continued to flow in to the bull ring. Eventually the gates were closed and the bullock madness began again. My favourite comment of the day: Ivy – “It must be some sort of guy thing, because I don’t know what would make anyone think that this is a good idea!”

    Fipps enjoyed himself, and escaped relatively unscathed, tripping once and gathering a couple of scrapes as trophies of the morning. Well done!

    We had two new arrivals at the apartment yesterday, when Mike’s friends Muna and Carmen arrived in the morning. This brought the occupancy total up to an impressive nine, although Kurtiss was scheduled to leave later in the day, bound for Barcelona and then home to San Diego. He had tried to leave a couple of days earlier, but he and Mike had only managed to get as far as the first bar. Kurtiss had given up on the idea of the flight he had booked, and stayed for a few more days. He was determined to escape today.

    Muna and Carmen had brought a couple of bottles of duty free, and before long shots of Jack Daniels were being handed round. I managed to stay sober enough to wander off to the square near our apartment, where there is wi-fi access. I tried to sort out my own onward travel plans, which are as yet unconfirmed. I am trying to arrange another goal while here in Spain, but things are still in the balance.

    As the day progressed, most of the household tried to stay relatively sober. Both Mike and Willy were keen to run in the morning, and the rest of us were keen to go back to the bull ring to watch the morning entertainment again. Apparently though, we didn’t quite manage to stay sober enough. When Ivy, who was the only person out of the original group who hadn’t yet run, suggested that she might do so in the morning, we were all impressed. So much so that Fipps, Nick and myself offered to run again with her if she decided to do so.

    At decision time at 6:30am, Ivy decided we were going to join the run. I emptied phone and money from my pockets, and wondered what on earth I was thinking! Was I really going to go back and do this again?

We walked down to the town hall square, and were onto the run streets by 7am. Mike and Willy, along with Muna and Carmen, headed off down towards the steep early section of the run. This is the fastest part, just after the bulls come out of the holding pen. The rest of us headed in the other direction, around Dead Man’s Curve. We picked a spot against the wall that would hopefully be off the main track of the bulls, and yet offer a great view as the bulls came sweeping wide around the corner.

    The plan was to have as safe a morning as possible, stay up against the wall with a buffer zone of other people in front of us, watch the bulls and faster runners go past, and then join the stragglers in relative calmness.

    After picking our spot, we headed back towards the town hall square, to avoid being swept out of the main street by the police when the final cleaning took place. As we waited, packed in, tension mounted, and Fipps started to feel very ill. His eyes were swollen and red, and his lips were swelling, and he thought he was having an allergic reaction to something he had eaten. His wise decision was to pull out while he still could, and when we met him back at home later, he was pleased he did. Anti-histamines that one of the others had at home had slowly fixed him.

    That left Nick and I, along with Ivy. At around ten to eight we were released back into the main street, and we went to take up our chosen position. Again tension cranked up another notch, at last the first and second rockets went off, and the bulls were on their way.

    People streamed around the corner faster and faster, and a couple of people squeezed up in front of us. I still had an incredible view as the bulls thundered around the corner against the opposite wall. Quite a few people went down among the bulls, and the corner was very chaotic, but the bulls passed through cleanly and were gone. We waited a few more seconds for the chaos to die down a bit, and joined the runners, who were still streaming past.

    Further along the run, we approached the closed gate across the main street, about two thirds of the way along. The gate is used to prevent any bulls turning around and returning back along the run, which would be devastating. As we drew closer there was shouting and excitement, as three of the massive, but relatively docile steers were herded along, approaching us from behind. As they approached the still-closed gate, now hidden by hoards of runners who hadn’t been quick enough to get through, panic broke out, and people ran in every direction as the steers reached the back of the crowd. We managed to avoid most of the trouble, as we were still a little way back. Eventually the gate opened, and order was quickly restored.

    Another successful and, for our entire apartment group at least, injury-free morning. However, when we watched the re-runs on TV back at home, others had not been so lucky. The reason that the gate we were stuck behind had been closed for so long, was that one of the back-marker bulls had stopped, turned around and gone pretty wild. Several people had come to grief. One guy had been impressively tossed right over the bull’s head, and the bull had then turned around and continued to attack him while he lay on the ground. I am pretty sure he was okay, but he will have a few wounds, and some amazing video of his impressive tussle with the huge creature.

    Once again, what a fantastically terrifying and thrilling experience. Never again? Well, who knows? I don’t any more – I can see that this could be very addictive. For each run you have done you can add a knot to the tassels of the red sash that you wear as part of your San Fermin outfit. Mine now proudly sports two. Apparently there are some regular runners with sashes that have so many knots they can’t fit any more on there!

    There is a sad footnote to the day though. Unfortunately there was a death during this morning’s run. “Daniel Jimeno, a 27 year-old Spaniard, was gored in the neck after one of the bulls veered into a group of runners, a Navarre regional government official told reporters.”

    This is the first death in fifteen years by goring. The incident, which happened towards the end of the run, has been reported and shown many times already on Spanish TV, and is hardly even noticeable on the video. It really does bring home the true nature of the dangers involved in this crazy event.

    I don’t think I can paint a vivid enough picture, with words, to explain just how huge and crazy and exciting the whole event is. It is the biggest celebration I have ever seen, in terms of numbers of people, area the festival covers, amount of bars in every street, volume of alcohol consumed, size of rubbish piles in the morning, number of bands marching through the streets, scale of fireworks displays, and of course, the incredible excitement and danger of the main attraction. I think the atmosphere and scale of the festival is hard to imagine unless you have been to Pamplona during San Fermin. I understand now why Hemingway was so fascinated by this incredible spectacle.

    This takes place, not just over a few hours, or a single day, like the Tomatina that I attended last year. It goes on, absolutely non-stop, for over a week. Day and night, asleep and awake, drunk and sober, terrified and elated, all merge into one week-long whirl of sensory overload that is hard to process.

    Believe me, if there is one thing you really should experience at least once in your life, this is it!

    Viva San Fermin!

Article © 2010 Ian Usher
Reproduced, with permission, from "A LIFE SOLD - What ever happened to that guy who sold his whole life on eBay?" by Ian Usher
Further information:
http://www.ianusher.com/ALifeSold.php