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Published: July 23rd 2009
We arrived in San Sebastian on Monday the 6th July to some dreary wet weather..... most unexpected on our Summer European Trip. After attacking the mountainous road that lead to our campsite, we set up and chilled out for the afternoon, eagerly awaiting Scott and Emma’s arrival from Belgium that night. We waited and waited and waited until eventually falling asleep. Scott and Emma turned up at around 1am after a nightmare 12 hour drive. Scotty had also been the victim of an unfortunate mud slide knee to the left eye incident only the day before at the Rock Werchter festival they were attending. Making the 12hr slog that more difficult with clear vision from only one eye. But nonetheless they arrived safe and sound, and after exchanging a few stories we all hit the sack for some much needed rest before the week of body abuse was upon us.
Tuesday and Wednesday were much the same weather as Monday, quite cloudy and dreary, although it did tend to fine up in the arvos somewhat. We made it into the heart of San Sebastian both days where we discovered possibly the most delightful delicacy this side of the equator...... known
simply to the locals as Pinxtos (pronounced Pin-chos). Of course we all know nothing will ever beat a meat pie! Pinxtos are essentially random plates of canapés lined up on the very same bar that you order your beers/jugs of sangria from. They range from Spanish omelettes with halved pickles in a fresh baguette to elaborate seafood designs to the simplest.... such as a giant chunk of tuna on the end of a toothpick. They are seriously the ultimate accompaniment to any drinking session, and with the convenience of being right in front of you every time you grab a round. Just fill up a plate and the barman will process the damage to your wallet. They are surprisingly quite cheap, with each individual Pinxtos ranging from around 2.00 to 4.00 Euros. Needless to say I fell in love with this culture immediately and am still craving the bite sized temptations to this day.
Besides stuffing our faces with Pinxtos we also strolled the beachfronts and maze of streets picking up a few bargains along our way, including our Pamplona attire. This consisted of course of the traditional white shirt and pants and red sash and neck tie. It
took us about 10 shops to find something that would finally fit poor little Emma.... he he. A spot of sightseeing was also on the cards with a leisurely walk up Monte Urgull to the statue of Christ surrounded by low castle walls, the panoramic views were inspiring. At camp each night the beer and Sangria flowed beside the roaring coal BBQ that I have become quite the master of (if I do say so myself)! We also played cards well into the night with a few other backpackers that we met at the campsite during our stay. A special mention must go out to the hag that tried to tell us to shut up at 10pm, while the sun was still up mind you, and to respect our fellow campers! Well didn’t she cop a spray from the lot of us! Seriously though people if you are gonna stay at a campsite you need to learn to live with the fact that there will be rowdy people at least until midnight. In Madrid alone Suz and I were kept up well into the early hours of the morning with noisy Spaniards.... it’s just what you come to expect. If
Smash em up Scotty....
nice black eye by the way!you are tired enough, you will fall asleep, if not... then hey, if ya cant beat em, why not go and join em?
Come Thursday the 9th we made our way to Pamplona with Scotty and Emma. Only an hour drive away... albeit 50 minutes of that seemed like it was up hill... poor old Jonesy was doing it tough in 3rd gear. We arrived at the campsite only to be greeted with a slapping 250 Euro bill for Jonesy and the 4 of us for just 3 nights of camping! We all thought “gee this must be an incredible site”. To our dismay they tried to perch us on a mere 3m wide spot, barely big enough for Jonesy alone. We sneakily erected a tent in the front of Jonesy for Scotty and Emma, then decided to take over the other 3m wide site beside us with an awning and Scotty’s hire car. After a couple of attempts of the staff telling us to both move the car and disassemble the tent, I think they grew tired and decided to give up. Hence a 6m wide site was scored.... bonus! The camp site was quite crowded but apparently
not so much as the 5000 people that they had crammed in for the opening weekend of Running with the Bulls, yikes!
Up and on the 6.30am bus into Pamplona to witness San Fermin. We made our way to the Toro Stadium after wading through knee deep rubbish, urine, sangria, vomit, and passed out bodies (not a word of a lie)..... well the knee deep may have been a slight exaggeration! But seriously the town was a bloody mess. We managed to make the stadium in good time, get in for free, and find some choice shady seats to watch the foolishness unfold on the big screens around the arena as well as watch the runners and bulls enter the arena at the end of the race. The tension was mounting as the names, weights, and photos of the participating bulls for that morning came on the big screen. I think big brown ‘cappuccino’ weighed in at around 600kgs! The fireworks to signify 1 minute to go until the bulls were released went off and the crowd erupted. Even though we weren’t running ourselves on this day our stomachs were still doing somersaults. Then BANG, the fireworks to signify
hmmm nice cloudy day
wheres the bloomin sunshine Spain? one of san sebs beaches that the bulls had been released went off! All eyes were cast upon the big screens as if a 40 foot tidal wave was headed our way. Out of the 8 bulls it was Cappuccino that seemed to come out of the pen blazing, with fire in his eyes and a freshly sharpened set of horns. SMASH! Cappuccino pinned someone against the fence at the first corner and suddenly became isolated from the rest of the herd who had continued running down the 800m course. It seemed this rogue bull was disorientated and at numerous stages even started headed back against the flow of unsuspecting runners. He gored a bloke in the leg, with the instant spew of bright red blood, the bull then thrashed and tossed what now seemed to be just a rag doll, over his head, generating unthinkable amounts of torque with his gigantic muscular neck. But all was okay for this man as he managed to escape. Cappuccino eventually made the arena where the swifty caped Spanish men managed to coax him into his pen. But not after the damage had been done. Sadly and most unfortunately we learnt that the man who was pinned at
looking the other way
a bit of sun poking trhough the first corner had been fatally injured. The bull’s horns had penetrated both his neck and lungs. I must admit our sadness then quickly turned to fear....... we were to run with the bulls the next damn day!
After the emotional rollercoaster of the morning we decided it best to buy up a heap of Sangria and beer, head back to the campsite and swim drink and eat our troubles away. But not just any Sangria, no, it was Don Simon’s Sangria, ‘the number 1 Sangria in the world’, if you believe the advertising on the front of the bottle anyway! Scotty managed to paint his tidy whites with a slosh of bright red sangria before we decided to head to a local sunflower field close by. There we frolicked, drank, took bizarre photos, and boxed the ‘heads’ off the sunflowers. “You looking at me? I said you looking at me punk? Huh? Cop this sunflower!!” POW...... GADUNK..... SLAM.....! Yes we made many enemies that day in the sunflower field.... but I think we came out best at the end of it all. Just around 30 or so ‘headless’ sunflowers, a few grazes on us, and a whole lot
of fun was had. P.S. we may have had one too many Sangrias at this stage. Highlights were also Scotty passing out in the field for a premature siesta, and Emma’s bright blue full body ‘bee protection’. Hot tip: If allergic to bees, a sunflower field is not the most desirable place to be! He he.
So following the sunflower debacle we were invited over to some Spanish dudes (when I say dudes, I mean like 10 or so of them! And all on a bucks weekend) campervan. They fed us until we could eat no more and handed out Bacardi shots like there was no tomorrow. The food had been provided by their mothers and wives... he he so typical. Send the boys off drinking but don’t let them go hungry! Cheers (Salut) fellas for all the festivities.... but no you are still not having my multicoloured grandpa driving hat in return! The night was seen in with yes more drinking and an extremely random Lady Gaga Disco Stick rave party under our tarpaulin! Thanks Corey for the head torches that can be switched onto strobe mode! He he.
Next day was D-Day! We awoke to board
the 5.45am bus into Pamplona. Cold, scared, and smelling of yesterdays fun in the sun, the bus trip was not one I remember that well. Scotty and I made our way to the starting line, the girls made their way to their pre booked balcony somewhere along the run (just so happened to be right at ‘dead mans corner’, the perfect spot to view tragedies). With a quick tear up from the girls and a nervous hug from the blokes we parted ways.... possibly for the last time. We were in the course and ready to run by about 6.30am. The bulls aren’t released until 8am. We spent the time (which mind you felt like forever) formulating our plan of attack and discussing how we thought the run might unfold. Pretty much anything we could do to take our minds off the reality of soon having 5 tonnes of bull flesh tearing down the cobbled streets behind us! With 5 mins to go we walked further along the course, about 150 metres past dead mans corner. But not before spotting the girls on the balcony with Kate and Corey (our London flatties) and posing for a quick Kodak moment. BANG!
The 1 minute warning firework! Panic set in, not only with us but with the entire running community. People started piss bolting not realising that the bulls were even yet to be released. People were scrambling and jostling for the best spots...... as close to the walls as humanly possible. Scotty and I found ourselves nicely backed up against a roller shutter door. It was from there that we decided to tempt fate and hopefully witness the huge beast sprint right by us without batting an eyelid in our direction. BANG! The bulls were released, frantic scenes with some blokes freaking out scurrying up drain pipes to get the hell out of the way, and some revelling in the purest adrenalin of it all, stepping out into the middle of the road and signalling a Lleyton Hewitt “COME ON!” in the bulls general direction. Scotty and I were somewhere transfixed in the middle of these two extremes. Pulses were racing as the crowds of people grew denser and denser now sprinting around dead mans corner, just up the road from us. Then we heard it.....the freakish, deep, droning, almost hollow, clippity clopping of heavy hooves on cobblestones.... it was almost
as if it was just your own soul and the 8 bulls out there with you all alone! All of a sudden they were upon us, still with our backs plastered against the shutter. The skimmed right by us in what seemed an instant of blur! Then instinct kicked in.... RUN!! We chased the bulls along the rest of the course.... not really knowing what the hell was going on. Had all the bulls passed us? Was there still a rogue ‘Cappuccino’ behind us? Will we make it to the arena before they close the gates? Questions and more questions are going through your mind, all the while trying to keep your feet in the hoards of people all around you, turning your head to make sure a bulls not coming straight for your arse! Then you see it... the light at the end of the tunnel..... have I been hit by a bull you ask yourself? Nope it’s the entrance to the arena! Your salvation! The euphoric feeling that you just may damn make it starts to hit the end of your tongue, but you still know in the back of your mind that it could all yet be
taken away if a bull has found itself somehow behind you. As you enter the arena to the tens of thousands of cheers and whistles, you veer to the side to escape the possibility of being in that rogue bulls path then you head straight for safety! Right behind someone else in the same situation seemed to be the safest spot! When you finally realise that all the bulls have safely been herded into their pen.... the soothing sensation of relief sets in. Closely followed by triumph, pride, and thank f*#k you will never have to do that, EVER again in your entire life!
But wait a moment, now small bullocks are being let out into the arena one by one (fortunately with blunt horns so not more than a severe head butt can come your way). The bullocks take out quite a few savvy locals and tourists who run into the path of the rampaging bullock, but they all escape with no more than a few bumps and bruises. I didn’t get too far into the mix, keeping at least 5-6 people between myself and the bone crushing skull of the bullock. This goes on for around 45
minutes. Then finally it is time to relax and celebrate! And oh was celebrating we did.
Yes you guessed it.... armed with Don Simons Sangria we headed back to the campsite and then back into Pamplona town to meet up with Kate and Corey and to drink ourselves to obliteration. As the night grew older, the stories became much more intense. The bulls of course got that much bigger and by the end of the night the story went that we were riding the damn bulls into the arena! An awesome party unfolded in the centre of Pamps. We had a group of about 15 of us in all. The night got all the more random when a friend of ours decided we should all play a game she likes to call ‘express yourself’! Essentially you all stand in a circle, someone starts by doing a single dance move, the next person does that dance move then adds their own, and so on and so forth! Until we were eventually stringing together somewhere between 20-25 moves in sequence! We had the Spanish crowds flocking to watch the Aussies bust a groove in the middle of San Fermin. It was
quite hilarious, and Im proud to say that even the ‘caterpillar’ and the ‘sprinkler’ made appearances!
After a massive day and night it was back to the campsite to sleep it off. We awoke earlyish to see off Scott and Emma who were headed back to London. Then we packed up and drove off ourselves. Only of course to stop at a roadside stop and witness mighty Mark Webber come first in the German F1 GP! On ya Webbber! Plenty more where that came from son! So now (Sunday 12th July) it is onto Benicassim, near Valencia on the SE coast of Spain for a few days of relaxing by the beach (in high 20 degree Mediterranean waters) followed by a 4 day music festival (the 16th to 19th) featuring Oasis, Kings of Leon, Franz Ferdinand, and The Killers. There we will also meet up with Kate and Corey again, and our other London flatties.... the Irish couple, Steve and Ria! Cant wait! See you all there!
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laura
non-member comment
sounds like san seb is the place to go! good to hear vince and scotty survived the mad dash. the sunflowers are massive!! the jonesy parties sound like so much fun!!!