In order to alleviate the stress that the title may evoke, I'll get the main details out of the way first.
1. No, I didn't do the run. Yes, I almost did.
2. No, I didn't go to a bull fight.
3. Yes, I almost died. And this is no exaggeration.
(BTW here's Lee's side of the story.)
As I mentioned in my last post, I started at a new job recently. Having been there about two hours, I felt a bit strange asking for three days off during my third week, but this didn't turn out to be a problem at all. Lucky, seeing as how we'd booked it quite a few months ago!
Lee and I had decided to fly out on the Saturday morning, so rather than try to make it to Stansted Airport independently, I elected to sleep over at his place and take a mini-cab together. The only downside to this plan was that Friday night was my new work's Summer party, so only three weeks in and I've already missed the biggest party of the year (so far). Then again, I was about to spend five days in Spain, which seemed like a fair compromise.
Waking up at 3.30am, I hopped into the shower quickly, then we both set off to Liverpool Street Station to catch the Stansted Express, possibly the most rubbish express train in history. We eventually arrived at the airport, only to discover our cunning plan of catching the earliest flight possible to Bilbao was also the same cunning plan being put into action by hundreds of other travelers. Even though we arrived with plenty of time to spare, thanks to the queues and other hold-ups, we only just made it to the gate in time.
The flight itself was fairly uneventful; it was pretty obvious that 99.99% of the people on the plane were heading to Pamplona like we were and the party mood had obviously already started to kick in. Being early and not having had much sleep I nodded off for most of it, waking near landing with enough time to witness the black storm clouds perched above the Spanish city we were entering.
After making it through customs and being thwarted by a lack of cash machines/shops/anything at the arrivals gate, we hopped on a bus into Bilbao for the next leg of the journey, on to Pamplona itself. Rather than just wait around at the bus station for our ride, Lee and I decided to take a quick look around the city. After a short walk we decided to pop into a cafe where, after a bit of confusion with the nice ladies working there, we successfully managed to order something. In particular, I had an amazing hot chocolate that appeared to be little more than a mug of melted chocolate!
Back at the bus station we met up with Ben, another friend joining us for the weekend, and finally boarded the two hour bus ride to Pamplona itself.
I'll admit, I didn't do a huge amount of research into this trip. For some reason, I was expecting Pamplona to be not much more than a big village; instead, it's another big city! We arrived at the city's brand new bus station and tried to find the shuttle bus to our campsite, but quickly gave up and caught a taxi instead.
On arrival we checked in and found our tent, one of several hundred identical green and gold tents, organised into 'streets' named after familiar Aussie icons (Summer Bay, Ramsay Street, etc.). After dropping our bags and blowing up our air mattresses, we all headed down to the main area for some lunch - and some Sangria.
The rest of the afternoon is a bit of a blur (primarily due to the Sangria), but it generally involved sitting in the sun, drinking and just general relaxing. By the time night had rolled around, we'd even made some new friends: Michelle, Jacinta and Nicole. After a wicked rainstorm, a bit of nudity (not mine, honest) and some games of pool, I somehow ended up back at the tent - but I honestly don't remember how or when. Curse you, Sangria!
Regrettably, the next morning was an early one - and after the previous night's frivolities I wasn't exactly in the best shape. However, crawl out of bed I did in time to have a freezing cold shower and catch the bus in to the city centre in time for the San Fermin Festival's Opening Ceremony. As is customary, we were all resplendent in our fresh white (and, importantly, disposable) clothes, and we arrived outside the Town Hall around 9.30am with plenty of time until kick off at midday.
We'd already been warned what to expect, which was to leave the area dripping wet from champagne, wine, water and Sangria. Another tip we were given was not to take any valuables with us as this part of the festival is notorious for pickpockets. Not surprising, as an hour later the square was jam packed with people. I'll do my best to describe what it was like:
Imagine the biggest mosh pit you can think of. Now imagine almost every one of these people drunk out of their skulls. Picture them spraying bottles of champagne and Sangria everywhere, then dumping the empty glass to shatter on the ground. Visualise them jumping from fences in order to crowd surf, all of this while the crowd is holding you tight, unable to move while it surges in all directions. You can't go anywhere, you're fighting every second to keep your footing while at the same to not to be crushed.
That was just the first hour. After this, things started to get a bit wild.
That was how we spent the next two hours, up until the glorious moment when the rockets were fired to signal the start of the festival! It sounds awful, and at moments it was, but it was also loads of fun getting into the spirit of everything, although I did feel sorry for the girls who were being crushed quite badly - and not quite so bad for the fools who didn't wear decent shoes (remember the shattered glass I mentioned earlier?).
It didn't take long for the crowds to disperse, so Lee, Ben, Michelle, Nicole, Jacinta and myself wandered the streets taking in the festivities. We declined to visit the Muscle Bar, an Australian-born tradition (you have to be proud) that involves idiots jumping from the top of a statue near the town centre in order for the crowds to catch you. This is not a traditional part of the festival, in fact the locals understandably hate it and often try to prevent people from climbing it. This is also the most dangerous part of the festival, with more injuries and fatalities than the bull runs.
After a while we caught the bus back to the camp site, cleaned up (we were all literally dripping wet) and spent the rest of the day chilling out in the sun - but this time, we were drinking only water. As the next few days involved 5am mornings, we all decided it was better not to have to face them with a hangover so kept the booze to a minimum.
Our first 5am morning was the first day of the bull runs. At this point I hadn't decided whether or not I was going to run, and the others wanted to watch a race first before before making their final decision. Our first instinct was to hop on a fence along the path, but by the time we arrived into the city all the best spots had already been taken so we darted off to the stadium, where the race ends.
After a nice long wait of almost two hours (and shivering like crazy until the sun finally hit us), the rockets were fired and the first race began. It didn't take long for runners to start making their way into the stadium, however this first batch were loudly booed by the crowd as it was obvious they'd started the run toward the end of the track and weren't even close to seeing any bulls. It didn't take long for the more adventurous runners to arrive - and by the increasing pace of the runners, it became apparent the bulls weren't far behind.
Sure enough, the first batch of bulls burst into the stadium sending runners scrambling for the safety of the walls - or any other place out of the way of the stampeding herd. Once the last one was in the stadium, the gates were shut and the next part began. This time, baby bulls were sent out to join the runners - one at a time. This part was far more entertaining, especially whenever one of the bulls managed to knock someone out of their way or, better yet, send them flying into the air!
Once the last of the bulls had returned to its pen it was time to leave. Having seen how fairly sedate the last part of the run appeared to be, courage took over and I announced to the others I was ready to run. To prepare, we wandered down to the start of the course and started walking the track, making notes of where not to get trapped, where best to start and other crucial details. This was when my first pang of realisation hit me - the course was a lot longer than I was expecting.
With these preparations complete, we returned to the campsite for lunch, sun and relaxation. As the afternoon wore on, more people started arriving - as did the stories. Quite a few of our fellow campers had decided to run that morning and, according to quite a few, the run wasn't quite as sedate as I'd been imagining. One story in particular kept recurring, involving a man many people had run past who'd been crumpled up on the ground with his eyes in the back of his head. Later, more people began to talk of at least one person who had been killed that day, with plenty more injuries witnessed and on display.
Having heard all of this, and already realising my fitness level was not up to the task of making even half the length of the course, I grudgingly had to admit that I wasn't going to join the others in the run the next morning. With that decision out of the way, we headed back into the city for a meal and to take a better look at the city itself. After meeting up with the Fanatics crew for a party within the city, we headed back for an early night.
As we were staying in a tent - one among hundreds - I'd come prepared for the nights, in particular having a handy pair of ear plugs. Still, I wasn't expecting it to be so cold at night, seeing how it was the middle of summer and we were in Spain. Still, experience had taught me to come prepared for any situation so at least I was rugged up fairly warm. This wasn't a great consolation when the 5am alarm sounded.
With roughly 15 minutes or so to get ready in time to catch the bus, we all quickly threw our clothes on and made it down the meeting point. As I'd already decided to opt out of the run I felt perfectly calm, if a little (okay, a lot) tired - but Lee and Ben both seemed to be a little more excited than usual.
Arriving back in the city, we made our way over to the chosen starting point in order to claim a choice spot, right outside the town hall - roughly half way through the course (and only a short distance from dead man's corner). While Jacinta, Michelle and I hung back behind the fence (as it was being constructed), Lee, Ben and Chris waited within the track with the rapidly growing crowd of fellow runners.
There is very little to talk about between this point and the start of the race, except the three of us held our places on the fence for the two cold hours we were waiting.
At 8am, the rockets fired once more - and the race was on.
As the police had been systematically clearing large groups of runners before the start of the race, we'd already lost sight of Lee, Ben and Chris, but we were sure they hadn't been culled from the pack. By this time, they were certainly running, literally, for their lives up the long straight of Estafeta and, hopefully, into the stadium before the last of the bulls.
With the bulls passing us by in no time at all, loads of onlookers (include the three of us) ventured on to the track to follow the runners up to the stadium. Now the race was over we were able to walk straight in without paying, so we found a suitable spot inside and started searching for one of our friends.
Just as it looked like they hadn't made it, someone spotted a familiar face - it was Lee! Looking very pleased with himself (or maybe it was relief he made it one piece?), we called out to him and, amazingly, he found us in the crowd! No sign of Ben or Chris though.
With the baby bulls back in their pen and the stadium gates open again, we headed out to meet up with our victorious runners. All three had made the run and, while Lee wasn't the only one who'd made it to the stadium, Chris left before the baby bulls arrived in the hope of finding someone else.
Again, with the main mission of the day accomplished by 9am, we headed back to the campsite to grab some breakfast and more sun - and to the plan the festivities for the night. With the necessarily sober mornings out of the way, we now had only one night left to party in the city and there was every intention of making it a big one.
After lunch, we all once again headed back into the city in the hopes of finding some photos featuring the guys. Lee came out on top again as we found a whole series with him just as the bulls were passing close by, but no sign of any with the other guys.
With this out of the way, we made our way to a restaurant for a meal and a drink or two, followed by a a trip to the first bar we could find for another. Following Jacinta's advice, our order became vodka and whichever soft drink took our fancy. Not paying attention to them being poured, I didn't take Lee's warning that they were a bit strong too seriously.
He was not kidding.
When the next round arrived, I made sure to check just how strong they were. In a pint glass, rather than measuring out shots as usual, they were simply half-filling them up. Strong was possibly not the right word...
Still, it certainly helped make the night a memorable one! As you can expect, our last night became a blur with too many tales to tell, but for me the highlight was the three French girls we spent a while chatting to - and in particular, the kiss two of them gave me on each cheek. Learning to speak French has now become a high priority in life...
As the night wore on and we realised it was time to head back to the camp, our efforts to find an available taxi came to naught - instead, a guy stopped at a red light offered to give us a lift. For &euro25. Despite being &euro10 more than a taxi, we took him up on the offer anyway.
Remember that bit above where I mentioned I almost died? Well, this isn't it. Although I was a little worried he wasn't taking us where we wanted to go (I'd been paying attention during the bus rides so I knew how to get back), none of the roads were familiar and I was starting to get a bit nervous... until it became apparent he was above board and had just approached the camp from a different way.
Waking in the morning to a rather unpleasant headache, we had a couple of hours before we had to catch the bus back to Bilbao. With our bags packed and our tent dismantled, we said goodbye to Summer Bay and headed back to the Pamplona bus station to wait.
As there were seats in the KFC and we were hungry, we bought lunch and tried to pass the time constructively. Periodically, either myself, Ben or Lee would wander off to have a look around, but bus stations are barely as interesting as airports, we tended not to stray too far. Still, on one of my sojourns I found a shop selling ice creams. Figuring it might help my sore stomache, I bought a Monaco bar and proceeded to devour it.
Remember that bit earlier where I said I almost died? We're finally there.
Just in case someone reads this who doesn't know me, I have a severe allergy to peanuts. Yes, it can be a pain in the arse at times, but as long as I'm careful it doesn't tend to cause me any problems. Still, I am supposed to carry an Epipen with me at all times just in case the worst happens. The problem is, my last one had passed its expiry date and I hadn't gotten around to picking up a new one.
Which was a great pity, as having just bitten into (and swallowed) my ice cream I noticed it was covered in nuts, and not the biscuit pieces that I was expecting (like the ones back home).
Panicking slightly (and spitting out whatever was left in my mouth), I raced back to Lee and handed it over, asking him to try it and tell me if it was a peanut. He quickly assured me it wasn't, which calmed me down considerably. Not wanting to risk it, I let him have the rest!
Knowing enough about my allergy, I know what the first signs of trouble are: a scratchy throat, followed by a tightening throat, wheezing and then difficulty breathing. Wanting to be absolutely sure I was safe, I monitored every single intake of breathe to ensure none of the signs were showing. Although it was looking good so far, my heart was still pumping at a million miles and I was doing everything I could to stay calm and not have a panic attack.
After an hour, it was starting to look like I'd dodged a bullet and was finally able to calm down and relax. By now our bus was ready to leave, so we headed over to where it was leaving - and my worst fear came true, my throat had developed an itch. Panic quickly returning, I went back to monitoring my breathing - but it was too late to do anything, the bus was on its way and I was stuck on it for two hours.
By now I was trying to figure out how I'd be able to communicate to the driver that I was about to choke to death and how I desperately needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible, but thankfully my breathing didn't appear to be getting any worse so I decided to keep quiet for the time being. This didn't stop my heart from beating like crazy, nor did the cold sweat and nervousness dissipate.
Despite the massive surge of adrenaline running through my body, the lack of sleep the previous night was starting to catch up with me and, miraculously, I managed to fall asleep. The next thing I knew I was bolt upright in my seat, my mouth dry and my heart in my throat - what was happening?!
Rationality slowly returning to me, I checked my breathing again and it was fine. My sore throat and dry mouth were merely symptoms of the air conditioning. With three hours having passed since the fateful bite, it looked like it was a false alarm and I finally managed to relax and truly calm down.
The rest of the journey seemed a little uneventful after this, which is surprising considering the taxi driver who took us to the airport appeared to be in training for the Formula 1. Oh, and the flight that was delayed for several hours. Funnily enough, I actually enjoyed both of these things just for the simple fact I was still alive for them!
Needless to say, I now have a brand new Epipen and carry it with me at all times.
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