Like a lot of kids I had seen bits of the "Running Of The Bulls" in movies and on TV and had always wanted to take part...but I never knew if I would get the opportunity.
This is my own experience...
I had planned on running on Tuesday 8th of July, but the extra day I spent in San Sebastian (Donosti in Basque), meant that I would now run on Saturday the 12th.
This was a bit daunting, as that is the most popular day to run the bulls, and thus the most dangerous.
On Tuesday night, cousin Jess and I were having dinner in Azkoitia with her friends, Francesco and Rachel...going from bar to bar, as the locals do...eating some tapas at each stop. (The call tapas "pinxcos" in Basque)
We met 3 of her friends from the Epsilon racing team...her housemate Alex and their friends Marc and Rodrigo. Marc suggested that we drive to Pamplona tonight and enjoy the festival.
So we bought a bottle of rum, and went home to grab some supplies...coke...spare battery for my camera etc.
When got home, Alex told me that he had run twice before...but he was what the locals call a "chicken runner". (These are runners that start at the end of the course and run into the arena without seeing a bull in the street...although this is still quite exciting and pretty dangerous by normal standards as the bulls can still cause some trouble in the arena, the locals pelt them with tomatoes as they enter the arena.)
Alex then loaned me a shirt and neckerchief that he had worn previously...I decided that I would wear two neckerchiefs...Alex's for good luck...and my own...because...well I wanted to.
The Chicos (aka "the boys") each put 20 Euros in a "kitty" to meet our additional rum requirements for the night (it was almost enough!)
As expected of a racing engineer, Marc drove his BMW in true European fashion...faster than expected and close to stuff...walls...automotive barriers...etc.
This got my heart started and primed for the run ahead.
Marc had also run before...but this year I was the only encierro in the team.
We arrived in Pamplona and parked about 20 minutes walk from the main square an Avenidos de Bahnola....which as close as we could get. I know the name of the street as I we all entered it into our phones along with each other's phone numbers in case we got separated.
I warned Marc to check under his car before leaving if we had been separated as he may find me underneath!
My concerns about being separated were well warranted...there were what looked like hundreds of thousands of people (I didn't count). All were milling about the streets having a good time...and everyone was wearing a white shirt with a red neckerchief...so it was easy to get lost in the crowd.
We went to the main plaza and had some rum. There was some live music playing and a great atmosphere...everyone was happy an smiling and having a great time.
Earlier I mentioned that everyone was in red and white...by this stage in the evening most of the white shirts were pink...having been stained by wine or sangria that people were consuming in Herculean quantities.
It was then I realised that while I had been smart enough to remember to take my extra camera battery...I had been foolish (read: "Inebriated") enough to leave my camera in the kitchen Azkoitia :(
But, I wasn't really there to take pictures...I was there to run.
And drink.
And dance.
And party.
And run.
There was a good outdoor area playing some reasonable techno...mostly club anthems and some electro, we spent much of the night there.
(Dancing on a grassy hill is lots of fun, but hard on the calf muscles after a few hours.)
I managed to lose 3 Euros to a shifty gypsy with his rigged game of skill...you had 3 tries to hammer a nail fully into a piece of wood...it wasn't until afterwards that I realised that he would wait until your hammer was on it's way down and then he had about a million ways of moving the table ever so slightly so that you wouldn't hit the nail squarely.
(Never trust a gypsy)
I had two guys try to pick my pocket...but I was onto it pretty quickly...as was Marc...who called them out in record time.
(Thanks for watching my back Marc...you kick ass!)
Alex and Rodrigo provided additional entertainment by attempting to become intimate with half of the girls in Pamplona (about 3000 attempts each at last count).
Keep trying guys!
Daylight came and my time to run began.
Police cleared away the drunken revelers and cleaners removed much of the debris from the course.
Wooden barriers were erected to line the streets where the run would take place. Many of them had slits that you could slide underneath if a goring looked likely. Behind the barriers were paramedics...behind them, another wall, behind that spectators.
I entered the course by slipping through the coral type fencing around 7AM.
The policia moved the crowd from one place to another...resulting in my being further up the course than I had intended....to the end of the area known as Estafeta...so most of my run was in the area known as Telefonica...as it is in front of the phone exchange.
At this point there was little to do but wait. I ended up meeting some cool Aussie guys from Adelaide and a group of guys from Texas. It appeared that I had done a lot more research than the guys, and found myself in the unusual situation of being asked for expert advice of a past-time that I had never experienced. Luckily, I am always filled with advice...and this was no exception.
My best advice:
"Stay down!"
If you get knocked over by a bull or by the crowd the most dangerous thing to do is to attempt to stand. Being stepped on by a 600 kilogram bull can give you broken ribs and maybe a scar to impress the chicas with afterwards...but getting gored from behind can kill you.
This is how the last foreigner died.
After the bulls have passed, someone will tap you on the shoulder to let you know that it is safe.
One of the American guys gave me half of his newspaper, as it was too thick.
(It is popular to run with a rolled up newspaper...the idea is that you can wave it front of the bull's face and distract him...the idea is that, much like a matador's cape...he will follow the movement...instead of following you.)
Well, that's the theory.
I must say, that I would have felt more confident with a crowbar, or maybe a claw hammer. 100 Or so grams of paper vs. a 600 bull that runs 100 metres in 6 seconds doesn't generate a lot of confidence...but every little bit helps.
I also tucked part of my waist sash into my pocket. Bulls are colour-blind, but they are attracted to movement...like the matador's cape. I didn't want my dangling sash attracting a bull's attention anywhere near my balls!
It was at this time that I realised I was` standing next to this semi-famouse English guy with mutton-chop side burns that I saw on a documentary. He has run the bulls for 25 years and trained Jack Osborne (Ozzie's son), when he ran the bulls few years ago.
Mutton-chop man was looking uber-cool by relaxedly reading his paper. When I introduced myself he showed me his photo as part of an interview he delivered to the paper he was reading.
At 8AM the first rocket sounded...a few moments later the 2nd rocket sounded...this meant that all of the bulls had left the pen and were now in the street.
The crowd started moving forward...me...being part of the crowd, also moved forward. We started slowly...but then the rush of people and the noise behind us grew dramatically in intensity...the bulls were close!
Now the crowd started really moving, a lot of people started to panic, pushing and shoving, and making it very difficult to ensure that you would be standing or that you were control of your movements or your placement on the course.
Of particular importance is that you don't get caught out on the outside of a corner...the bulls, being so damn heavy, always take their corners wide (I could insert a pun now about "under-steer"...but I won't!). On the straight section it is safest to run along the wall...so that you can press yourself flat against it or slide under it or over the top of it, if the wall allows.
I had a very difficult choice to make...risk the crowds on the side of the street...where there was a lot of jostling and pushing, or risk the bulls in the middle of the street.
I chose the middle of the street, and thus the bulls...
Well actually, it was only 1 bull, a big black one that had separated from the rest of the herd and was running fast by himself.
The most dangerous thing is a bull that is separated from the pack. They are a herd animal and left to their own, they will stay together and not cause too much trouble. (Well no more trouble than one would expect of a group of bulls that are specially bred for their aggression.)
I saw that sucker and I ran, oh yeah I ran, I ran like Ben Johnson...with a tail wind and a bucket of steroids!
The clear ground was still in the middle of the middle of the street, so I stuck to my decision and moved...quickly.
I think I only looked back once, maybe twice...I was heading closer to the tunnel that leads into the bull fighting arena...and I was heading with conviction.
I was in the tunnel.
There was a surge of people behind me, and I knew the bull was close.
At this point I was keenly aware that this was the sight of the most fatalities in the history of San Fermin...caused by a pile up of people and a herd of bulls madly trying to go over and through the bodies before them.
I ran into the arena and went immediately to the left...knowing that the bull was right behind me.
Actually he wasn't right behind me...he stopped just outside of the tunnel and went on a bit of a rampage before going in.
So for several seconds I kinda' just stood there...clapping my hand against my newspaper and soaking up the excitement of the crowd.
Then the bulls arrived.
They were led across the arena into a holding pen until the bull fighting began later in the day.
There were some experts on hand, with matador's capes...to help lure them across the open area.
4 Minutes had passed from the firing of the second rocket until they were all safely away.
Whew!
When I say they were all safely away, I am not 100% correct. When then began was a succession of smaller (that is to say, smaller...as apposed to say, "small") bulls were led into the arena so that the encierros (bull-runners) could play with them.
This was exciting, but a little scary as the bulls were very unpredictable due to the large crowd of people moving this way and that to either get closer to, or away from the bulls.
I found this troublesome as it meant that the bulls could be very close, and changing direction or disposition...but I couldn't always see them.
If one has come close to being hit by the bull, but manages to escape, he is said to have been wearing the Cloak Of San Fermin...or Capa De San Fermin.
Now was my moment to wear the cloak...
After about 20 minutes in the ring, I was fairly close to one of the bulls, I had been closer to others and was starting to feel more comfortable with the whole situation. (That is to say, more comfortable, as opposed to "comfortable").
The people in front of me broke to the left and the right, like Moses parting the Red Sea. Except, instead of Moses, it was the bull that had parted a sea of people and now he was looking right at me...and wheeling about very aggressively.
He charged.
(I had earlier decided that I would rather be stepped on than gored.)
I dove into the ground immediately in front of the charging bull.
He went right over the top of me.
I felt great...I couldn't stop smiling...for hours.
As I write this, a day later...I am still smiling.
For another 15 minutes or so they continued to let some more bulls and some big oxen with cow bells into the arena. More excitement but nothing anywhere near as close as the one that went over the top of me.
I had no idea how long this would continue. I do remember wondering if it would only end after I had sustained an injury...which was seeming more and more likely.
A few minutes later and all of the animals had been penned, and we encierros faced the crowd again, as we had done when we entered and clapped and raised our hands above our heads, and they cheered.
I jumped the gate and walked back through the tunnel to meet my companions.
It was about 9AM...we stopped for a coffee and I also had a beer, my clothes and throat were dusty from the sand of the bull arena.
I had been awake for over 24 hours.
I had run the bulls.
I had no photographs.
But a had a newspaper that looked like it had been through a war, a t-shirt, a neckerchief, a sash, and memories that will never leave me.
And a hangover...Oh God, what a hangover!
