Festival of San Fermin (The Running of the Bulls) or the Tale of the Only Gay in the Village

The bus ride from Hell

The Spanish leg of my tour started on the 3rd of July with a 20 hour bus ride from London, across the channel, through France and down into Spain (yes you did read this right, it was a 20 hour bus ride!!). It was a cheap package tour that I had bought over the net with a company called PP Travel. I did this as I was unable to find accommodation in San Fermin for the Festival and I thought it would be a good experience...

The brochure said it was a luxury coach with a toilet, TV and heaps of leg room... It was a run down bus with old seats, the TV didn´t work on board and the toilet stank even before we left London. By the time we were across the Channel it was positively disgusting! Think a flight to Mumbai but full of twenty somethings, drinking non stop and you might be close.

To pass the time we had introduction games at the front of the bus on a microphone. We had to say our name, age (I was the oldest on the Tour!), where we were from, where we were going and if we were a red or green light (taken or single..Urgh!). It was so uncomfortable. I made the mistake of saying I was a green light (single). Looking back I know that I now should have said I was a red light and I would have been left alone. I was the only Gay in the Village and had to keep up this act for the next 4 days. It was at times so uncomfortable that I nearly grabbed my pack and ran for the hills.

The campsite was near a small town called Estella, about a 45 min drive from Pamplona. Our tents were set up in an area alongside caravans of local Spanish people on holidays. I dread to think what they thought of Australians after the 4 days that we were there.


As I was travelling alone I was allocated a tent that would accommodate 2 people at a squeeze, with 2 other guys. Yes, they wanted to squeeze the 3 of us in one tent. The tour brochure said that every 3 person tent would only have 2 people in each, so you would have plenty of room. It was the first of many mishaps on the tour. I was starting to get fed up with this already so I approached the information tent and asked to be moved. They eventually conceded after I pointed out what I had printed on my receipt regarding numbers per tent and gave us 2 tents for the 3 of us. So we decided amongst ourselves that we would take turns sleeping in the 3rd tent. Two of us would sleep in one, and the 3rd would sleep with the packs. I jokingly said that if u picked up a girl, to hang a t-shirt out front of the tent so that the other 2 would know that you were busy. This comment came back to haunt me later that night....

So after dropping off our packs we started drinking heavily. There were parties organised at the campsite every day, a Welcome Party, a Pool Party, A party for the sake of getting shitfaced party (I just made that up, but you get the idea). I have never seen so many people drink so much constantly. I decided that I was going to have to be seriously drunk to cope with this situation, so I became quite a Sangria drinker. I was rotten within the first 3 hours.

Drink up!!

Dead tired and not coping with the constant drinking I tried to slink away from the party at the campsite to get some sleep and saw a t-shirt blowing in the wind. I was banished to the second tent where I stayed for the next 3 days.

Home

The tour was with a group called PP Travel, which stands for Party People travel, I prefer to call it Piss Poor Travel. Everything about it was feral, from the people (think Parramatta Leagues Club on a Sat night but much, much worse), to the quality of breakfast that was provided (a food line like in the movie 'Oliver'. A scoop of cereal, and a piece of fruit. Every morning I nearly said, "Please sir, can I have some more?"). You couldn´t use the toilets of a morning until after the cleaners had been as they were either covered in vomit, shit or both! I should have taken a photo to prove it. I held the morning bog until we reached Pamplona most days and went in a public toilet, that gives you some idea of the living conditions. I was constantly tired, cold, hungry, uncomfortable and at my wits end.

The second day we went on a tour of the seaside resort town of San Sebastian. It´s a beautiful town about and hour and a half north of Pamplona on the coast.It has amazing beaches, the most famous being Bahia De La Concha. My Dad is from there, I have family there, and will be staying there for the next 3 weeks with my Tia Chiqui after the tour. I decided to spend this one day getting a mobile phone sorted out, then laze on the beach.

Bahia De La Concha

I did find a group of about 4 people on the tour that weren´t quite like the rest, even they were horrified of the condition of things at times. A couple, Bree and Ryan, a single guy Nick and his friend Leanne. We stuck together most of the time.

Me with Nick

I had also gotten quite friendly with a pair of girls that were travelling together, Renee and her best friend Regina. They were a pair of nurses and seemed like good time girls so I stuck with them for the first day or two. But things went a bit side ways one day when Renee said to me when she was really pissed, ¨What´s wrong with you? I´ve been trying to get your attention all day and you keep ignoring me!¨. Things then went from bad to worse when Nick told me that it was known to most in our group that Renee and Regina had been competing for my attention. I decided then to avoid the girls and any further sticky situations. I avoided travelling on their bus into town and if I saw them in the food line I would head in the opposite direction. I had pulled off the straight act a bit too convincingly. I was the only Gay in the Village and no one knew!

With Renee and Regina before I decided to call it quits

It was the first and last time that I will ever do anything like that again. It was an experience like no other, but it makes for a funny tale that I can laugh at now.

But once we were in Pamplona, I forgot all about PP Travel and my misadventures. Pamplona was INCREDIBLE!!

The Festival of San Fermin would have had to have been the most amazing street party that I have ever been to, or will ever go to in my life. I don´t think that any explanation I can give you, or pictures I can show you could possibly capture the feeling in the streets. It wasn't just in the streets, it was the entire city. Everyone from all walks of life from the young to the old, locals, tourists, everyone was there to have fun.

For the Festival you have to wear head to toe white, a red sash about your waist, and a red scarf around your neck. It is a piss up in standard that I have never seen in my life. The Spanish know how to put on a party. It was a party, a water fight, a sangria and champagne fight, people were throwing eggs, flour, water, everything!! By mid morning I was covered head to toe in Sangria, champagne and wine. To clean off you would stand under a balcony and scream "agua", which means water, and the locals would throw buckets over the side over you to clean you off. After the shower, you would head back into the throng of people to continue drinking. It was amazing!!

Decked out in my whites ready for the festival

I have photo's on a disposable camera which I will put onto a disc and post on this blog in a later entry. It will give you some sort of impression of what it is like. It's like nothing I think I will ever experience again.

The opening party was held mainly in the Town Square, and there were that many people that at some points I was being carried along with the crowd, my feet not even touching the ground. We gathered there because at 12 mid day, the Mayor released a rocket to signal the opening of the festival. That was the first time I began to have doubts about running with the bulls. The sheer number of people crammed into the Square was frightening! Girls were passing out and being carried out above people´s heads, glass was everywhere and the streets were slippery with alcohol. If I was going to be stuck in a crowd like that, with a 600 kilo bull bearing down on me, there would be no way that I would be able to get out of the way.

Every street, every Plaza was full of people absolutely hammered. It was hysterical! In one Square there is a Statue that when people got really hammered, they would climb and jump off. There are more injuries from this activity than the Bull Run. I found this Square and stood and watched in disbelief as person after person climbed to the top and lept into the crowd. I don´t know if they were caught or not, the cheering was too loud to hear the thud if they hit the ground. Crazy!!

The first day of the run, the 7th of the 7th I woke at 5am to catch a 6am bus into Pamplona after a 12 hour drinking binge (did I mention that I had a sleep in the park and had managed to lose my shirt?) I had a cracking hangover and thought "I can barely walk this morning, let alone run". I decided to go to the Plaza de Toro's to watch the end of the run.

Hungover but safe

So I sat there and watched as the runners entered the Plaza. You could tell when the Bulls were about to enter as the pace picked up and the sheer terror on their faces was visible, even from where I was sitting. I was also surprised by the sheer size of the bulls, they would have been the size of a Toyota echo..easily. They were HUGE! I was happy to be watching from afar. As it turned out, this was the day that the Aussie got gored. I have since learned from a few phone calls and e-mails that I had a few of you worried. I was too chicken to run!!

After the run finished in the Plaza, a few smaller Bulls were released to run about the Plaza and knock people about. This was a laugh.

Plaza de Toros

After the Running of the Bulls we went back to the Campsite. I then decided that I wanted to see Pamplona at least once not drunk, so I took the bus back into town and did a day of sightseeing. The Festival was still in full swing, it continues for 7 days straight,but it was not as frenzied as the opening day. Families were out, there were street processions, stalls selling food and bands in the street. It was much more of a Festival feel than a wild piss up like the first day.



After a day of sightseeing it was back to the camp for another night of drinking....

If you can´t beat ém, join ém

Sangria!

That night a massive hailstorm hit Estella. I made it back to the tent in time and cowered inside while it shook and trembled around me. I felt like Dorothy in the 'Wizard of Oz', waiting for the tent to lift off the ground and get carried away. The storm lasted about 45 mins and afterwards the campsite was flooded. Luckily our tent held up, others were not so lucky and were flooded or torn apart. You gotta laugh no?

What next?

The next day when I went back into Pamplona I decided to watch the run from behind a barricade. Watching the men squeeze into the plaza was scary. The police were along side and would hit anyone with a baton that tried to enter through the wrong entry point. When the run started, they also beat runners with their batons to get the crowd running..hysterical!!

People were hanging off every available space to watch the run, balconies, rooftops, on top of bins... there was not a clear vantage point for miles.



The icing on the PP Travel shit cake was when I fronted up to the information tent back at camp after the morning Bull run to see when my transfer into town would be. I was told that no one had paid for a transfer that day. I had to go back to my tent and grab my booking reference to prove that I had indeed paid. I was told that if I stuck around until 6pm (it was 10am) that they might be able to fit me on a bus to London and drop me off on the way. The other option was to catch a local bus from Estella ( a small town 3 km from the campsite). The next bus left at 11am, then 5 pm.

I had my packed stuffed within 5 mins and was on the road into town. The tour group had done this to a number of other campers, so it was a bit like the TV show, ¨The Amazing Race¨. We all had packs on our backs trying to find a secret envelope (in this case the bus station and the coveted bus ticket to San Sebastian). I made the trek with a 20 kg pack on my back in 30 mins. My legs were dead, my arms numb from the circulation being cut off by my pack, but I made it. I collapsed into the seat and breathed a sigh of relief that I would not have to spend another minute with that group.