I mentioned I was tired, didn't I? Well, last night I crashed at 10pm – completely zonked out, dead to the world. I wanted to have a good rest before today, so I set the alarm for 8am in the hope I could be out the door before 9am.
At 9.30am, alarm long past, I finally decided it was time to get up. I felt a teeny bit guilty for such a crazy sleep in, but heck, I'm on holiday – and isn't this what holidays are for?
Anyway, after a leisurely hot shower, I eventually made my way out of the hotel by 10.30am and made my way back to Duomo for a proper day's sightseeing.
Something I forgot to mention yesterday was the weather: it's so nice here at the moment! I brought along one of my jackets with me as I was expecting it to be quite cold – this is what living in London will do to you. Instead, I've been able to wander around most of the time just in a tee-shirt, although I have needed to don my hoodie at nights.
The reason I bring this up is, despite the warmth, the sky had decided to follow me from London. It's been miserable and grey for the last few weeks (months? I can't keep track any more!), yet when I landed yesterday it was blue with only a smattering of clouds. Today, on the other hand, was grey and not so pleasant – a grim reminder of what I'd left behind for a week.
Rather than fret about it, I started snapping pictures of Duomo – despite the less than flattering light being cast. It's a fascinating looking building, with hundreds of spires along the roof covered in statues and other intricate carvings. I'd read that there were stairs up to the roof that offered stunning views of the city, so I set off to find the way up – and accidentally stumbled upon them first go.
There were only 160 or so steps (a piece of cake after St. Pauls!) and I'm pleased to say the views lived up to their reputation – although not in the way I think they were intended. Possibly because the sun wasn't out, or maybe it was the layer of haze sitting over the city, but the panorama wasn't quite as amazing as I'd hoped. Don't get me wrong, it's a very nice looking city, but the better views were much closer – being right up there with the stone carvings.
The walkways gave almost full access to the entire roof, including the very top where you could almost see 360 degrees around. While I was admiring the view, the sun finally poked its way through the clouds and, on the roof, provided some very striking lighting for the spires.
Having marked probably the biggest attraction on my list early, I took some time to decide where to head to next – the Castello Sforzesco, a giant red-brick castle in the heart of the city. I started walking up a road that looked like it went there, but after 15 minutes of walking it dawned on me I was going the wrong way. Confirming with my map, I headed back to where I started – stopping off at a local caffè for lunch.
Now heading in the right direction (evidenced by the fact I could see it in the distance), I took my time to enjoy the walk and take in the sights of the streets. Milan is, as you're probably aware, a super-trendy city – I think the locals can tell I'm not one of them from my clothes before I even open my mouth.
Arriving to an almost perfectly blue sky, I worked my way around the castle interior before buying a ticket to the museums that are housed there. Loads more statues, some amazing tapestries and even Michaelangelo's final, incomplete work were all on show, as well as a collection of Egyptian pieces. Annoyingly, I couldn't find the musical instrument museum, and by now it was around 5pm and not only was everything starting to close, but my legs were about to drop off.
After a couple hours rest back in the hotel, I was ready and hungry to hit the town again. Rather than stick to the same areas I'd already seen, I thought it'd be a good idea to head further out of the city centre for my meal. One of the guides mentioned Marghera street for a good pizza, so after a short underground ride I was wandering the streets deciding where to eat.
Despite stumbling into one place before it was open, I found a rather nice little place and ordered – and it was, I must admit, very good. Not the best pizza I've had in my life (and I've had quite a few!) but definitely up in the excellent category. With mains out of the way, it was finally time to sample some gelato!
The closest place was directly across the road, so I wandered in and bought a chocolate and white chocolate cone. As I brought it close to my mouth I took a smell – and recognised a familiar nutty smell. Oh crap, did I just order something with peanuts?
Given my recent near miss (and especially after I'd just finished documenting it two nights earlier), the very intelligent part of my brain decided I should have a tiny taste just to see what would happen. After waiting a minute or two to see if I had a reaction (all the while dripping chocolate on the ground), nothing had happened so I cautiously started into it. As amazing as it tasted, the smell was really off-putting as every bite reminded me of my brush with luck in Pamplona. As much as it killed me to do so, I decided not to risk it any more and dumped it in the bin.
Although I'd been keeping track of my breathing for the 20 minutes or so since I'd had my first taste with good results, it wasn't until I was sitting in the underground waiting for the train that I felt a bit of a tickle in my throat. Unbelievable, I can't believe I could be so stupid that this could happen to me again! Once again, I took every breath carefully to make sure my throat wasn't constricting, and so far so good – although I was feeling a bit of gunk in the back of my throat that wasn't there before. Nor did I need to cough. Oh good, here comes the panic right on time...
Now stuck on the train, I was at least relieved that my breathing didn't appear to be affected in any way, but it still took me no time at all to get back to my hotel room in close reach of my Epipen. Thankfully, by this time my throat had gone back to normal – the only thing I can think that happened is poor quality air in the underground, a reaction to the dairy in the gelato (I've been steering clear of dairy for a few weeks on advice from my personal trainer) and, the most likely culprit, an overactive imagination!
Still alive, I'm glad to say.
Tomorrow I'm catching the train to Venice and staying two nights there. I'm really looking forward to this, I've been eager to see this city for years – although I'd always hoped I wouldn't be on my own.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Sleepy in Milan
At around 2pm today (local time) my plane touched down in Milan, first stop in my whirlwind tour of north Italy. Nothing of note to report until this point, fairly standard routine by now: get up, shower and dress, finalise packing, get the train to the airport and make sure I'm on the plane in time.
Despite how much preparation, I still manage to cock up somewhere along the way. The next part was easy, a fairly quick bus ride into the city and I was at Central Station. According to my directions, I was close to where I was staying - or so I thought. To be truthful, the directions were a little vague and I was a bit confused to where I was going.
I figured it'd be worth asking the information centre in the station, but the only directions he could give me were I had to ride the underground rail. Still confused, I bought a map and tried to figure out where I was and where I had to go.
For some reason, the street I was looking for didn't appear to be in the street directory, so I found the closest match and set off on my way. As the information guy had said, it was three stops away on the underground. Only problem was, the closest station was a bit of a hike, but at least it gave me a chance to explore a bit of the city.
Three stops later I emerged into the light again to find my hotel - but I quickly got the impression I was in the wrong place. I hadn't gotten off at the wrong stop, it was the area - the amount I was paying didn't appear to match what I was seeing, a very rich, busy and ultra-trendy part of the city. Still, I wandered into where I was hoping to be staying... and found no hotel. Thoroughly confused by now, I ventured into a book shop to ask for help.
As it turns out, where I'd arrived at the station was only a five minute walk from where I was staying! My street was in the directory, I was just looking in the wrong place. Back I went on the underground, and within 30 minutes I was crashed out on my bed, quite exhausted.
After a bit of a rest, I decided I should take advantage of my day-long travel pass so I headed back into the centre of the city to Duomo. As I was a bit peckish by now, my first priority was to find something to eat. Both guides I've been reading have warned to stay away from eating anywhere around Duomo, so I began to wander up a busy looking road in search of food.
Passing quite a few tempting places, one small pastry shop caught my eye and within minutes I was munching into a pizza-style pastry. And it was really, really good. Now on a roll, I figured I may as well continue on the same path - which I did. Almost 45 minutes later I finally hit the end of the way, so not wanting to stray too far from where I started I retraced my steps and took a break just outside Duomo.
Now, the reason I'd decided to come to Italy in the first place was a chance to catch up with my ex-flatmate Elena, who had returned here almost six months ago and was now living in Milan. All was looking good until a few days ago when she got in touch to let me know she wasn't going to be in Milan this weekend after all!
As I contemplated this turn of events while I was resting, my eyes slowly started to droop and I started to drift off. Right in the middle of the city. I guess the four hours sleep is finally starting to catch up with me, so rather than collapse somewhere in a strange place I've decided to have a nice early night, get up bright and early and start to properly investigate this new city properly - and in the light.
Goodnight!
Despite how much preparation, I still manage to cock up somewhere along the way. The next part was easy, a fairly quick bus ride into the city and I was at Central Station. According to my directions, I was close to where I was staying - or so I thought. To be truthful, the directions were a little vague and I was a bit confused to where I was going.
I figured it'd be worth asking the information centre in the station, but the only directions he could give me were I had to ride the underground rail. Still confused, I bought a map and tried to figure out where I was and where I had to go.
For some reason, the street I was looking for didn't appear to be in the street directory, so I found the closest match and set off on my way. As the information guy had said, it was three stops away on the underground. Only problem was, the closest station was a bit of a hike, but at least it gave me a chance to explore a bit of the city.
Three stops later I emerged into the light again to find my hotel - but I quickly got the impression I was in the wrong place. I hadn't gotten off at the wrong stop, it was the area - the amount I was paying didn't appear to match what I was seeing, a very rich, busy and ultra-trendy part of the city. Still, I wandered into where I was hoping to be staying... and found no hotel. Thoroughly confused by now, I ventured into a book shop to ask for help.
As it turns out, where I'd arrived at the station was only a five minute walk from where I was staying! My street was in the directory, I was just looking in the wrong place. Back I went on the underground, and within 30 minutes I was crashed out on my bed, quite exhausted.
After a bit of a rest, I decided I should take advantage of my day-long travel pass so I headed back into the centre of the city to Duomo. As I was a bit peckish by now, my first priority was to find something to eat. Both guides I've been reading have warned to stay away from eating anywhere around Duomo, so I began to wander up a busy looking road in search of food.
Passing quite a few tempting places, one small pastry shop caught my eye and within minutes I was munching into a pizza-style pastry. And it was really, really good. Now on a roll, I figured I may as well continue on the same path - which I did. Almost 45 minutes later I finally hit the end of the way, so not wanting to stray too far from where I started I retraced my steps and took a break just outside Duomo.
Now, the reason I'd decided to come to Italy in the first place was a chance to catch up with my ex-flatmate Elena, who had returned here almost six months ago and was now living in Milan. All was looking good until a few days ago when she got in touch to let me know she wasn't going to be in Milan this weekend after all!
As I contemplated this turn of events while I was resting, my eyes slowly started to droop and I started to drift off. Right in the middle of the city. I guess the four hours sleep is finally starting to catch up with me, so rather than collapse somewhere in a strange place I've decided to have a nice early night, get up bright and early and start to properly investigate this new city properly - and in the light.
Goodnight!
Ha, I did it!
Right, now I've finally finished writing about Pamplona - Lee, you can get off my back now!!
I'm getting up in a couple of hours for my trip to Italy, I can't wait. My itinerary for the next week involves Milan, Venice, Florence, Pisa and Rome. This time I'll try to keep the posts coming as I go along.
In the meantime, I need to get some sleep!
I'm getting up in a couple of hours for my trip to Italy, I can't wait. My itinerary for the next week involves Milan, Venice, Florence, Pisa and Rome. This time I'll try to keep the posts coming as I go along.
In the meantime, I need to get some sleep!
Monday, 3 November 2008
The Plan
So last time I mentioned things on the travel front were going to change, starting this month - and here's where I get to tell you the good news! I've just finished booking my trip away to Italy, starting this coming Saturday and returning a week later on Sunday.
It wasn't a tough choice to decide where to go this time - I wanted to visit my ex-flatmate Elena, who moved back to Italy a few months ago and is now working in Milan. It has to be next week, too, as I've got gigs booked the following weekend, the one after and then December is a bit of a write-off. So keep an eye out, the travel tales will be returning soon! (And I've almost finished writing the Pamplona post, I swear!)
This one trip isn't all, though. Despite not appearing to have done a huge amount of anything this year, I've actually been working toward a few goals that have kept me busy. The most important one was making sure I had a solid foundation for the rest of my time in the UK: I've been working toward a savings target and I've started a new job that's putting me on a more secure (and potentially lucrative) path for employment. The downside has been a lack of time actually getting out to see the world, but now I have some good news.
The best part is I reached my savings target three months early, which means either my goal was too conservative or I can actually afford to start hitting the road again. I've chosen to believe it's the latter, so I now have a plan for the months to come.
From this month on, I intend to make at least one trip away per month, be it overseas or somewhere in the UK - even if it's only just for the weekend. I figure I can make two extended holidays away throughout the year, as well. I also intend to do at least one new thing in London each month, be it an exhibition, a tour - whatever. Just, something to get me out to see more of the city!
As I mentioned earlier, I've already made my first steps to make this happen: next week I'm off to Italy, which satisfies my monthly trip quota. And today, I satisfied the London part by visiting the Doctor Who Exhibition at Earl's Court!
Faithful readers should remember I visited a similar exhibition last year while I was in Cardiff. This one was much closer - in fact, the bus that goes past my flat goes directly to Earl's Court where it was held which worked out perfectly (especially considering my local tube line was closed for the weekend).
I'd actually intended to go yesterday, but my insanely busy schedule during the week meant I was completely knackered on Saturday morning and my legs were begging for a rest.
On Monday I'd gone to see my friend's band again, in what I can only describe as the most hilarious gig I've ever been to. Not because of his band, but the band on before them - they were a group of kids no older than 16. They were pretty talented musically (hell, they were miles better than me - but that's not saying a lot), but it became cringeworthy after they'd finished and the next band failed to show up. Rather than leave the stage empty, three of the kiddies jumped up and started messing around on stage... for 45 minutes. We decided to leave after 10, but outside we could still hear them at it until it was time for Dave's band to start.
Tuesday night I did very little, but Wednesday was another gig - this time, Jesus Jones! Yet another band I've been dying to see for years, I found out they were supporting The Wonder Stuff at two gigs that were on this week and they'd decided to do their own show as well - so I booked tickets for all three. Even better, the venue was just around the corner from my flat. It was a brilliant gig, they sounded amazing and I was totally exhausted after a good hour or so of dancing and jumping around.
Although I'd bought a ticket to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff on Thursday night, it dawned on me a week earlier that I wouldn't be able to make it that night as it was a long way away in Birmingham! Rather than worry about trying to make it there and back in time for work the next day, I reluctantly decided to sell my ticket to a friend - so instead of seeing the gig, Lee had bought tickets for us to go and see French and Saunders live!
On Friday night I headed back to Shepherd's Bush to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff, which turned out to be one of the best gigs I've seen all year. Jesus Jones were fantastic again, but I was amazed at how tight and energetic the Stuffies were - not to mention how great they sounded. They played for almost two hours all up, but after three songs I was completely worn out (to be fair, I wore myself out jumping around to Jesus Jones) so I moved to the side and enjoyed it away from the heaving crowd.
Oh, something I forgot to mention - I've been going to the gym again. Five times a week, in fact. There's three of us in my team who go during lunch, which has helped me actually keep at it. I've lost a little bit of weight so far, but nothing drastic. I do have a goal, though... I'll let you know if I reached it when the time comes.
It wasn't a tough choice to decide where to go this time - I wanted to visit my ex-flatmate Elena, who moved back to Italy a few months ago and is now working in Milan. It has to be next week, too, as I've got gigs booked the following weekend, the one after and then December is a bit of a write-off. So keep an eye out, the travel tales will be returning soon! (And I've almost finished writing the Pamplona post, I swear!)
This one trip isn't all, though. Despite not appearing to have done a huge amount of anything this year, I've actually been working toward a few goals that have kept me busy. The most important one was making sure I had a solid foundation for the rest of my time in the UK: I've been working toward a savings target and I've started a new job that's putting me on a more secure (and potentially lucrative) path for employment. The downside has been a lack of time actually getting out to see the world, but now I have some good news.
The best part is I reached my savings target three months early, which means either my goal was too conservative or I can actually afford to start hitting the road again. I've chosen to believe it's the latter, so I now have a plan for the months to come.
From this month on, I intend to make at least one trip away per month, be it overseas or somewhere in the UK - even if it's only just for the weekend. I figure I can make two extended holidays away throughout the year, as well. I also intend to do at least one new thing in London each month, be it an exhibition, a tour - whatever. Just, something to get me out to see more of the city!
As I mentioned earlier, I've already made my first steps to make this happen: next week I'm off to Italy, which satisfies my monthly trip quota. And today, I satisfied the London part by visiting the Doctor Who Exhibition at Earl's Court!
Faithful readers should remember I visited a similar exhibition last year while I was in Cardiff. This one was much closer - in fact, the bus that goes past my flat goes directly to Earl's Court where it was held which worked out perfectly (especially considering my local tube line was closed for the weekend).
I'd actually intended to go yesterday, but my insanely busy schedule during the week meant I was completely knackered on Saturday morning and my legs were begging for a rest.
On Monday I'd gone to see my friend's band again, in what I can only describe as the most hilarious gig I've ever been to. Not because of his band, but the band on before them - they were a group of kids no older than 16. They were pretty talented musically (hell, they were miles better than me - but that's not saying a lot), but it became cringeworthy after they'd finished and the next band failed to show up. Rather than leave the stage empty, three of the kiddies jumped up and started messing around on stage... for 45 minutes. We decided to leave after 10, but outside we could still hear them at it until it was time for Dave's band to start.
Tuesday night I did very little, but Wednesday was another gig - this time, Jesus Jones! Yet another band I've been dying to see for years, I found out they were supporting The Wonder Stuff at two gigs that were on this week and they'd decided to do their own show as well - so I booked tickets for all three. Even better, the venue was just around the corner from my flat. It was a brilliant gig, they sounded amazing and I was totally exhausted after a good hour or so of dancing and jumping around.
Although I'd bought a ticket to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff on Thursday night, it dawned on me a week earlier that I wouldn't be able to make it that night as it was a long way away in Birmingham! Rather than worry about trying to make it there and back in time for work the next day, I reluctantly decided to sell my ticket to a friend - so instead of seeing the gig, Lee had bought tickets for us to go and see French and Saunders live!
On Friday night I headed back to Shepherd's Bush to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff, which turned out to be one of the best gigs I've seen all year. Jesus Jones were fantastic again, but I was amazed at how tight and energetic the Stuffies were - not to mention how great they sounded. They played for almost two hours all up, but after three songs I was completely worn out (to be fair, I wore myself out jumping around to Jesus Jones) so I moved to the side and enjoyed it away from the heaving crowd.
Oh, something I forgot to mention - I've been going to the gym again. Five times a week, in fact. There's three of us in my team who go during lunch, which has helped me actually keep at it. I've lost a little bit of weight so far, but nothing drastic. I do have a goal, though... I'll let you know if I reached it when the time comes.
Saturday, 4 October 2008
A Minor Catch Up
I'll get Pamplona finished soon, I promise. It's taking a while because it is really long.
In the meantime, here's the latest:
Last night was the first of two Killing Joke gigs, and it was unbelievably good. After the gig I was wandering around and saw someone who looked familiar - so I asked him if he was Guy Pratt. And he was! So I had a chat to him, he seemed quite surprised that I'd read his book (of course I had, it was Pink Floyd related!) and we talked about Floyd, Rick Wright, Roger Waters's band and heard the final truth about the reunion. I would've loved to have talked for a bit longer but he had to go (as did I, stupid tube), but that was a nice surprise ending to a brilliant night. Even better, I'm going to tonight's gig as well - this time it's an entirely different set, part two of one long show if you will.
I'm no longer on probation for my new job, which means I'm a fully-fledged member of the company now. Enjoying it a lot, and not just because of the extra money (although it definitely helps). I'm learning new things all the time, which is exactly what I wanted as I feel I've been stagnating skills-wise for the last couple of years.
My guitar is coming on in leaps and bounds, I've definitely made a lot of improvements in the last six months. The problem is I hate my guitar! Warning, guitar nerd talk coming up: I will never, ever buy another guitar with a floating tremolo, they're just too much of a pain to deal with for something I don't even use! I snapped a string on Sunday, so I bought new ones and restrung it. The problem is the new strings were slightly heavier, so it threw the tremolo out a mile. After a lot of tinkering I finally got it almost right, but now the springs in the back are stretched to their limit so I've had to buy new ones to compensate. I've had my eye on a new guitar for a while now, I just need to find one to play before I order it. You'd think in a city like London it'd be easy...
I've not done any other travel since Pamplona (aside from a pleasant journey to Heathrow Terminal 5, as documented previously), but now I've set myself up fairly well I've been thinking about how to change this. I realise this blog was supposed to be about my travels over here, and aside from the first couple of months it's been a bit bare, but I think I've worked out a plan that should see this change - starting next month. Watch this space...
It's been a bit quiet for gigs up until now, too. Aside from some London bands I've been seeing (I'll get to that in a minute), the list has been a bit short - but definitely quality. One of the most enjoyable was Ladytron, which was interesting in its own way as the first night was cancelled half-way through the show! Apparently the front of stage lost all power and there was no backup, so they had to postpone the rest of the show for a couple of months.
A few weeks later was the reformed My Bloody Valentine, a band I'd heard loads about over the years but have never actually listened to - something I rectified quickly and instantly kicked myself for not doing sooner. I was very lucky for this one, a friend of mine had managed to score an extra ticket for this very sold out event and I was very pleased when he offered to me. This is the only gig I've ever been to where earplugs were handed out at the door, and believe me they were needed. Even with them in it was easily the loudest gig I've ever been to - and you could tell the ones who opted out of the free earplugs. During the last song, they stopped half way through and just played one chord constantly, letting it build up slowly and gradually - over about 15 minutes. After five minutes it was loud, really loud - you could see people starting to feel uncomfortable. After ten minutes, dotted around the crowd people were clamping their hands over their ears. By the time they went back into the ending of the song, the only thing you could hear was the carefully constructed cacophony they'd been generating - it was still going long after they put their instruments down and walked off stage. And it kept going for another ten minutes or so while we waited to see if they'd come back (they didn't). Very, very glad I took the earplugs after that!
Coming soon is three nights of Jesus Jones, two of them with The Wonder Stuff. Carter USM, EMF, vileevils and Ned's Atomic Dustbin are all up again soon, as well as a probable repeat of Ladytron. I'm also strongly considering a trip to Glasgow to see Slayer, as both nights they're playing in London I'm busy! Mixing travel with music always seems like a good idea to me.
I'm also off to see two bands this week, both with guys I know from bands I've played with since I got here. I've seen one of them three times so far, I like them a lot.
As for my own music, it's not been the best of times. Of the two bands I was in at the beginning of the year, I'm now in none. The first one I decided to leave for various reasons, the other one split up rather unexpectedly a couple of weeks after our first gig. This really bummed me out for quite a while as I genuinely loved that band and we were coming up with some fantastic music, but it wasn't meant to be. I've been on the lookout for something similar since, but so far nothing has really grabbed me. I'm auditioning for a new band in a few weeks, we'll see how that goes.
I can't really think of much else now, to be honest. I'm sure there's loads more I've been doing, but I think that covers most bases. See you again in nine months for the next update!
In the meantime, here's the latest:
Last night was the first of two Killing Joke gigs, and it was unbelievably good. After the gig I was wandering around and saw someone who looked familiar - so I asked him if he was Guy Pratt. And he was! So I had a chat to him, he seemed quite surprised that I'd read his book (of course I had, it was Pink Floyd related!) and we talked about Floyd, Rick Wright, Roger Waters's band and heard the final truth about the reunion. I would've loved to have talked for a bit longer but he had to go (as did I, stupid tube), but that was a nice surprise ending to a brilliant night. Even better, I'm going to tonight's gig as well - this time it's an entirely different set, part two of one long show if you will.
I'm no longer on probation for my new job, which means I'm a fully-fledged member of the company now. Enjoying it a lot, and not just because of the extra money (although it definitely helps). I'm learning new things all the time, which is exactly what I wanted as I feel I've been stagnating skills-wise for the last couple of years.
My guitar is coming on in leaps and bounds, I've definitely made a lot of improvements in the last six months. The problem is I hate my guitar! Warning, guitar nerd talk coming up: I will never, ever buy another guitar with a floating tremolo, they're just too much of a pain to deal with for something I don't even use! I snapped a string on Sunday, so I bought new ones and restrung it. The problem is the new strings were slightly heavier, so it threw the tremolo out a mile. After a lot of tinkering I finally got it almost right, but now the springs in the back are stretched to their limit so I've had to buy new ones to compensate. I've had my eye on a new guitar for a while now, I just need to find one to play before I order it. You'd think in a city like London it'd be easy...
I've not done any other travel since Pamplona (aside from a pleasant journey to Heathrow Terminal 5, as documented previously), but now I've set myself up fairly well I've been thinking about how to change this. I realise this blog was supposed to be about my travels over here, and aside from the first couple of months it's been a bit bare, but I think I've worked out a plan that should see this change - starting next month. Watch this space...
It's been a bit quiet for gigs up until now, too. Aside from some London bands I've been seeing (I'll get to that in a minute), the list has been a bit short - but definitely quality. One of the most enjoyable was Ladytron, which was interesting in its own way as the first night was cancelled half-way through the show! Apparently the front of stage lost all power and there was no backup, so they had to postpone the rest of the show for a couple of months.
A few weeks later was the reformed My Bloody Valentine, a band I'd heard loads about over the years but have never actually listened to - something I rectified quickly and instantly kicked myself for not doing sooner. I was very lucky for this one, a friend of mine had managed to score an extra ticket for this very sold out event and I was very pleased when he offered to me. This is the only gig I've ever been to where earplugs were handed out at the door, and believe me they were needed. Even with them in it was easily the loudest gig I've ever been to - and you could tell the ones who opted out of the free earplugs. During the last song, they stopped half way through and just played one chord constantly, letting it build up slowly and gradually - over about 15 minutes. After five minutes it was loud, really loud - you could see people starting to feel uncomfortable. After ten minutes, dotted around the crowd people were clamping their hands over their ears. By the time they went back into the ending of the song, the only thing you could hear was the carefully constructed cacophony they'd been generating - it was still going long after they put their instruments down and walked off stage. And it kept going for another ten minutes or so while we waited to see if they'd come back (they didn't). Very, very glad I took the earplugs after that!
Coming soon is three nights of Jesus Jones, two of them with The Wonder Stuff. Carter USM, EMF, vileevils and Ned's Atomic Dustbin are all up again soon, as well as a probable repeat of Ladytron. I'm also strongly considering a trip to Glasgow to see Slayer, as both nights they're playing in London I'm busy! Mixing travel with music always seems like a good idea to me.
I'm also off to see two bands this week, both with guys I know from bands I've played with since I got here. I've seen one of them three times so far, I like them a lot.
As for my own music, it's not been the best of times. Of the two bands I was in at the beginning of the year, I'm now in none. The first one I decided to leave for various reasons, the other one split up rather unexpectedly a couple of weeks after our first gig. This really bummed me out for quite a while as I genuinely loved that band and we were coming up with some fantastic music, but it wasn't meant to be. I've been on the lookout for something similar since, but so far nothing has really grabbed me. I'm auditioning for a new band in a few weeks, we'll see how that goes.
I can't really think of much else now, to be honest. I'm sure there's loads more I've been doing, but I think that covers most bases. See you again in nine months for the next update!
Friday, 26 September 2008
I'm not even supposed to be here today!
Right now, I should be drinking German beer from gigantic mugs. I should be singing along to oom-pah music and dancing on tables. I should be admiring the ladies in their fancy dresses. I should be at Oktoberfest, dammit!!
Instead, I'm still in London.
What happened?
On Thursday afternoon I turned up at Heathrow Terminal 5, checked in my bags and made it through security in record time. Then waited for my gate number to appear on the board. And waited. And waited. Then waited. Eventually it came - but not what I was expecting: 'Enquire Airline'. This doesn't look good.
As it turns out, at 4pm a massive computer glitch shut down air traffic control throughout England. The knock-on effect being that all flights in and out of the country were cancelled - including mine.
After meeting up with Ben and realising we weren't going to make it there any time soon, and considering how much our tickets cost versus the amount of time we'd be there, we decided to cancel the tickets and take the refund. Oktoberfest will have to wait for next year.
I'm not sure if it's karma, fate or a curse, but this trip was just not supposed to happen. First, Margaret didn't receive her passport in time to come, then Lee had to pull out, before finally Ben and I were thwarted at the last minute.
The worst part is I was supposed to be meeting someone over there...
Instead, I'm still in London.
What happened?
On Thursday afternoon I turned up at Heathrow Terminal 5, checked in my bags and made it through security in record time. Then waited for my gate number to appear on the board. And waited. And waited. Then waited. Eventually it came - but not what I was expecting: 'Enquire Airline'. This doesn't look good.
As it turns out, at 4pm a massive computer glitch shut down air traffic control throughout England. The knock-on effect being that all flights in and out of the country were cancelled - including mine.
After meeting up with Ben and realising we weren't going to make it there any time soon, and considering how much our tickets cost versus the amount of time we'd be there, we decided to cancel the tickets and take the refund. Oktoberfest will have to wait for next year.
I'm not sure if it's karma, fate or a curse, but this trip was just not supposed to happen. First, Margaret didn't receive her passport in time to come, then Lee had to pull out, before finally Ben and I were thwarted at the last minute.
The worst part is I was supposed to be meeting someone over there...
Sunday, 27 July 2008
The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done In My Entire Life
Well I guess I should write about my trip to Spain before it disappears into the hazy fog that is my long-term memory. I've been back a couple of weeks and I'm still trying to process parts of it, to be honest.
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.
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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