The Bull Run

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The Bull Run/ El Encierro

The clock strikes 8. The cannons are fired. What was a jovial atmosphere in the street immediately descends into one of concern and in some cases regret. A few nervous people, me included, hastily make futile attempts to touch their toes and stretch out their quads in the knowledge that in approximately 90 seconds six bulls will come hurtling round the bend. We are in Pamplona, the northeast of Spain, jogging on the spot at the aptly named ´Dead Man´s Corner´. We´re about to participate in the world famous Bull Run.

A few minutes previously, my two companions and I were part of an international crowd chatting amicably in numerous tongues. Everybody dressed in white and following tradition by carrying that morning’s paper with various red accessories ranging from berets, bandannas, scarves, sashes and even red converse trainers. There is an exuberant mood in the air cut short by the cannon fire signifying the release of the bulls.

The purpose of the newspaper is to alert fallen runners when it is safe for them to get up. Any runner who has done their research knows that fellow participants are almost as big a threat as the bulls. Not only are you dodging 6ookg of muscle atop pounding hooves, there are hundreds of people in the street liable to trip you up.

The most common accident is when a runner is so preoccupied looking out for the bulls aiming at his rear end that he forgets to watch for the bloke in front of him. Still, it is an unavoidable natural reaction to look behind you when you hear the clatter of the huge animals. I defy anyone to do the run and maintain a steady forward gaze. Ergo, trips are inevitable. You have scores of people sprinting down a narrow stretch of road all looking backwards.

When a runner trips they should know that the safest move is to cover themselves up as best as possible. Getting trampled beats getting gored. When there is a sufficient gap between bulls to stand up again and keep running, someone will tap this fallen comrade with the newspaper advising them that danger has momentarily passed.

I have to confess that I left the tapping up to other people, some prehistoric fight or flight (in this case with emphasis on the flight) instinct had kicked in and I was busy looking out for nº1. As far as I was concerned, someone lying in the street was easier to dodge than somebody skidding about haphazardly in front of me. There was also some grim satisfaction in powering down the middle of the street while my fellow men were hitting the deck in spectacular fashion.

The idea is to try and time your run so that when the bulls arrive you are on a straight bit of street. They generally run down the middle and are thus easier to dodge on a straight than on a corner where it is harder to guess the line each one will take. By the time they caught up with me, we had just hit a straight and my task was simple: stay in the middle of the road where there are fewer people and duck out at the last minute to the side to let the toros pass.

Sure enough I sprinted down the middle hard and when the hooves got too loud to bear I risked looking back. I saw them 15 metres behind and rapidly approaching like a huge bovine rugby team. This seemed like the time to get out of there. I chose this moment to throw myself against the wall and let the mobile mountains of beef pass with about 1.5 metres breathing space. A relatively safe distance, just ask the bloke who got trodden on behind me. That part of the road was probably only about four metres wide so it was necessary to get extremely well acquainted with the wall and flatten myself against it.

However that is when all stopped going to plan. As soon as the bulls passed, I headed straight back into the street to carry on running. I couldn’t let too much space come between me and the bulls or I wouldn’t make it into the stadium before the gates shut. High off life I headed back into the fray and continued the sprint, surprised at being one of the only people in the road.

The shouts soon alerted me that I had jumped the gun. In my eagerness to stay on the bulls´ tail, I had reckoned without the possibility that not all of them would pass simultaneously. As it happens they had split up into two groups and the bunch I had just avoided was only the first. The second was about to trample me to bits while I was skipping along merrily, totally oblivious to their existence.

On this occasion the dodge was less easy. As I had to get out of the middle as soon as possible I didn’t have the luxury of choosing the ideal spot to hit the side. I ha to just jump out and hit the deck. I covered my head and rattled as they went thundering past like over-sized Tasmanian devils. Tasmanian devils with hooves and horns. Thankfully they once again passed by and I went untrampled. This time I made sure to look behind before I got up and continued the chase.

By this stage it seemed that all the danger had passed and I would make it into the stadium in good time. Obviously this is not what happened. One of the bulls decided that running forward had become boring. He turned round and started to run back towards the onrushing crowd. This resulted in a priceless comedy moment; hundreds of people running after the bull before doing a swift about turn and doing a mad dash in the opposite direction. Now I can chuckle. At the time the threat of losing bowel control dampened the comedy somewhat.

Before long, the bull turned back around and continued on its merry way into the stadium, me not far behind it. Safely inside, I began looking for my mates Dan and Ahanna, whom I had completely forgotten about with all the bullish hijinks kicking off. I shortly ran into Ahanna who seemed to be on cloud 9 and three quarters and we began looking for Dan who was nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes of scanning the stadium we began to get slightly worried. He had been in front of both of us when we set off. Had he been taken down?

Our preoccupation was put on hold however. Once the run is over and the bulls are safely locked up inside their compound, the gates are all shut. Then with a large part of the runners inside the stadium, five smaller bulls are released one at a time. Each one runs madly around the stadium for between five to ten minutes and when its mayhem making has tired it out, the mother is released to retrieve him like a naughty schoolboy and take him back to the compound.

The release of the first bull is what postponed our worries about our comrade. When first released, the juvenile toro sprints about the stadium taking out anyone he can get his horns into. It is impossible to stay away from him the whole time, during his sprint around the arena he will inevitably come near you. It is at this point that you hope one of the half-witted Australians is near enough to make the bull run after him instead of you. This happens more often than you would think; Aussies (of the half-witted variety) seem to almost outnumber the Spanish during this festival.

After about three or four minutes however the beast is fatigued and everyone suddenly gets braver. One Pamplona local managed to do a no-hands leapfrog over him which was greeted with a chorus of ´Olé´s. It was impressive but would have been much more so if the bull wasn’t shattered. Shortly afterwards the bull is retrieved by its mother and there is about five minutes interval before the next one is released. My time calculation may be ropey. While hightailing it away from toros, one’s perception of time is prone to distortion.

I have to say that I preferred the run itself than being inside the stadium. I was feeling altogether nervous, certain that one of the bulls had my name on it. I stayed in for a bit but they seemed to be getting nearer and nearer to sending me flying. I felt like I was really pushing my luck at his stage. After the third I called it a day and hopped out of the arena to observe the rest. Ahanna on the other hand was loving every minute of it and stayed in for all five. Dan showed up after the second bull. The gates had closed on him so he ran around the depths of the stadium trying to find a way in.

Before arriving in Pamplona we spent a few days youth-hostelling in Barcelona where we met a bunch of Americans. By coincidence, we ran into them on the way out of the arena. They told us that they were unaware that yet more bulls were to be released once inside the stadium. I am unsure how this information had evaded them as I thought it was pretty common knowledge.

I can´t imagine the shock they must have got when they were celebrating their gore-free arrival only to notice a lone bull running madly towards them. They described it in words unsuitable for blogging but assured us that their ´pants´ survived soiling.

After the run the celebrations can get under way. The drink of choice is calimocho, 50¢ red wine mixed with coke, a favourite amongst Spanish students. As the coke works out more expensive per litre than the wine you can see why. We bought litre gourds to sling around our necks which we filled with calimocho, occasionally splashing out on 8euro rum to give the celebrations a boost.

Post-run, everyone congregates in the small city centre and the rave is electric. Not being confined to just bars or clubs; bakers, butchers and similarly inexplicable venues also open their doors to the partygoers. The atmosphere is fantastic, accompanied by parades and Spanish girls who add spice to any fiesta.

The Bull Run is a unique and controversial festival. People drunkenly pass out, fall in love (temporarily), break bones and get gored. I cannot think of a less likely combination of events at any other festival in the world. I have never experienced anything close to the adrenalin rush that coursed through me on the day.

Whatever your opinions may be on the Bull Run, it is unforgettable and I would advise anybody of sound health and questionable ethics to give it a try. Ok hundreds of people get injured, even paralysed and there have been deaths. Obviously vegans, animal rights campaigners, Buddhists, Hindus (the list is extensive) would be outraged at this recommendation however... Come to think of it there is no however but it is f***ing excellent.

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Photos

Dead Man´s Corner
Where we started the run

The Run
This road is part of the circuit, sensible people observe the runners below

Bakery
Dan raving in the bakers

Partygoers
The width of the circuit, space to dodge

Butchery
Ahanna and I doing the butchery skank

Comments

[The Enigmatic One]

"High off life"....I'd also suggest "Joie D'Vivre".