December 12th, 2006 10:47am
Bishop
I get up early and the sun has already started to come up. The street is bathed in beautiful pastels as we walk to the start of the Run. There isn’t much talk between Sean and I. I was taking the time to do some self-reflection and I didn’t want to bother him with nervous chatter. It bugs the hell out of me when other people do it. We take our positions that we had taken the previous day. I say “Hello” to all the usual suspects that were there the morning before. An American living in Paris walks up and it is his first time. He calls his buddy from Chicago on his cell phone who is also in Pamplona to get him to run. He finally shows up and he tells us he isn’t going to run - a guy from the home of the Bulls, not running in Pamplona. Kinda ironic. Or Smart. So, we take his buddy under our collective wing and explain him the ropes of running. Like our one run experience is the proper well to draw from. At the same time Jose’ walks him and tells us that the spotted bulls are going to be a problem as that they will stay to the side and try to hook runners. I have no reason to doubt Jose’. He is regarded as the finest Runner and his picture appears everywhere. What’s neat is that he is a mute so it takes some time to communicate from proper English to mute-Spanish. It’s one of those things that you hope you guessed right to what he is saying because he really knows how to Run. At ten minutes to 7 they open the gates and we start to walk forward. Our friend from London is getting really nervous so I have to keep re-assuring him that everything is going to be just fine. We get into position right where Estafda opens up, about 300 yards from the end of the run. Our friend looks over and asks us when we need to start running and I say to him, “When your nuts go to your throat, don’t run.” The expression I get back is priceless. A kinda agast, what-in-the-hell-did-I-get-myself-into look. I tell him that he will hear the first rocket and your mouth will go dry. When you hear the second rocket you get really nervous that you might have to jump up and down a few times. When you start seeing the flash bulbs going off at the end of the street you are still 30 seconds from having to start even though you want to go then. As the Bulls get closer the more people start to pass you by. You still don’t want to run. That’s the dangerus part. If you fall in that madness, you have 6 bulls behind you with 6 giant steers. I tell him, wait until you see the Bulls, then you run. If anyone falls over in front of you, run over them. I told him I kept my rolled up paper, not for the bulls, but for the people. As the bulls get closer, people start looking down the street and jogging up the street. I use the paper to tap them in the shoulder or arm to let them know I am there and if they start running they are going to run right into me and fall down. It worked really well actually. Well, the first rocket goes off and I have a giant smile on my face. Other people around didn’t seem as happy. As the second rocket goes off I am excited, my heart is pounding. I feel honored to be here amoung all these people. The San Fermines. As the bulls round the corner on the street below the flash bulbs are going off and I remain where I am. People are jogging by now and I know the bulls are getting closer. I turn around to re-assure our friend and he looks at me and says, “Fuck this” and takes off. All of a sudden there is a mad dash of people and I can hear the hoves hit the cobblestones. I look up and I see a flash of brown and white. I start jogging and then as they approach I start sprinting. I run up to the trailing bull just as it passes me and I can see right into it’s eyes. I reach out and gently touch the bull as he moves by me. I keep running and as I move down the street there is a pile up of people on the left, and then on the right. I hurdle over the mass of legs. The guy behind me isn’t as lucky and gets trpped up. As he falls he grabs my shirt and if I hadn’t swatted him away with my newspaper he would have brought me to the ground to get surely trampled on. I enter the areana to massive cheers. This has been my best run.
December 12th, 2006 10:47am
Bishop
Well, that’s how I answered the phone when Chel called me. I was in San Sebastion, Spain. Sean and I needed to get out of Pamplona for awhile. I wanted to see more of Spain then the dry, sticky sangria and piss filled streets.
Our favorite Aussie chick was packing up and heading out for the bus stop in Pamplona when she asked us if we wanted to go a free Bob Dylan concert in San Sebastian. Ummm, yeah.
The Spanish countryside is amazing. We took a bus from Pamplona to San Sebastian and it is amazing the quality of people you meet traveling. Everyone is cordial and pleasant to talk to. They understand that there is a difference between a country’s politics and the people from that country.
We (Sean, I, and the Aussie chick) get to San Sebastian and we meet up with some of her friends at the train station closer to the beach and we are all standing around joking and having a good time. It would figure it would get fucked up. Sean puts his bag down between his legs and never sees it again. The pick pockets work fast in this city. He lost his passport, some clothes, and the overnight stuff he brought. So, we have to go get a police report so he can take that to the consulate in Madrid to get an emergency passport. Thank God we are leaving from Madrid because that’s the only consulate in Spain.
Well, we spend the next two hours walking around San Sebastian - what a cool city. Too bad we were in a bad mood. Hey, work called me while we were walking around and I had to deal with some emergency back in the States that couldn’t wait, but at least I had my stuff. 
I was able to use my limited French in this city as that more people could understand me. It is nice that this city butts up against France. Chel calls me when we are at the police station and I have to call her back. She is amused but immediately takes charge about finding out what Sean needs to get on the plane back to the States. She is awesome.
July 24th, 2006 11:12am
Bishop
I am walking up the street from Santo Domingo from the bull corrals up the bull run and I see the sky is starting to turn from black to a dark purple. A fear from deep within me starts to rise up. We have done everything they said to not do. We let the excitement of the festival wrap around and carry us up all night long. We have embraced the festical, and after traveling for so long we don’t want to miss anything. We have drank sangria like it was water to a parched desert walker. We have danced and carried on all night long.
Sean sensing the error of our ways left a few minutes prior, headed back to the room to get a few winks. I wish we had left hours earlier. I wander the streets for a bit more, realizing that sleep now would only cause me to miss what I have traveled here for. I burst into the room and wake Sean with the excitement a kid has as he descends the stairs to see what Santa Claus has brought him. “Asshole,” he mutters. He has been asleep for 10 minutes. I throw on my red and whites that I had bought on the street the night before and decide to leave everything in the room. No cameara, no wallet. Nothing. My shallow pockets won’t hold it and I don’t want the distraction.
We walk to the beginning of the run and we hardly talk. I am consumed by my own thoughts of why I am here and why I am doing this. As we walk we are joined by others in red and white and our numbers increase the closer we get. There is a certain nervousness in the air and it is seen on the faces as they walk by. We take our places in front of the old city hall near the spot where the last American was mortally wounded in 1995. They have finished erecting the fence up and down the street and I wonder if the fences are more for the coralling the runners or the bulls. There are a lot of people around and many speak English, even a few are from the States. I feel like I am among brothers for they are the selected few who understand why we are douing this. It requires no explaination with them. It is assumed we are movitvated by deep currents that other people can’t feel.
I meet the man in a Steelers uniform. It is the same man I saw from my comfortable chair in front of my computer back in tampa a few days before. His pictures had made the San Fermin website. A bull almost had him and he had a grin on his face. Bravery. Stupidity. Whatever, I admired him and I wanted to shake his hand. We met a guy who would hang out with for our entire stay in Pamplona. He has lived a much more crazier life then I as I listen to his stories of his travels through Israel, Palestine, and Jordon. It takes the edge off of what’s about to happen here. It’s here where we meet the greatest Bull runner of them all. He can’t speak Spanish, which is good, because either can I, but I am not very good and trying to understand a mute guy who can’t speak English either. We make a valient attempt at communicating and he gives us hints as to what to do during the run, or where they the things we shouldn’t do. We missed that part of the conversation.
The closer it gets to 7:30am the more I stretch out and the more I draw into myself. I have a plan and I don’t want anything or anyone to change it now. Sean and the other Americans are talking about the run, where to stand, what to do, etc. On the run I want to be Brave, but not too Brave on this first time out. I want to see the Bulls and not get knocked down. At the stroke of 7:30 the officials let us proceed up the run and we fan out. I look over at Sean and he shoots me a giant grin. There is no one I would rather have had on this trip. I think he only understands my desire for this. Sometimes I wonder myself. I am not a good enough writer to convey my reasons here.
We take our positions on the route where we had discussed. I hear the rocket go off and Sean and I both look at each other, extend an out streached hand and wish each other good luck. “See you in the Bull ring.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. The first rocket is off and the bulls have been let out. It is quickly followed by another rocket meaning that all of the Bulls have left the pen. This is good, they are tighyly formed together and less likely to attack a runner. I look down the street, jumping up and down looking for any sign that the bulls were getting close. I see flashbulbs going off on the balconies where they turn onto Estafeta. They are 500 yards away. The crowd above me starts to cheer and they are 400 yards away from me. People are running past me with their eyes wide and a look of fear across their brows. And they are 300 yards away. There is an ebb of people and then a massive wall of red and white heading straight for me. I turn and start to jog along the wall with the Bulls 200 yards behind me. I start to speed up and work my way into traffic and I hear the hooves against the cobblestone. I am running stupidly fast now with way too many people around me. I have been picked up by the wave of people and am trying to stay ahead of them. Runners are crashing all around me. It is utter mayhem, people running over people, people running into people at a full sprint. The bulls are 25 yards away and I am crushed into the brick wall at a full sprint by a large mass of runners. I stay upright, barely, my shoulder taken most of the blow and I continue. I have to keep the feet moving and I am running on people. There is nothing I can do. I cannot help these people nor would they expect me to help them. They know what I have to do and they accept it. The bulls are 5 feet away and they pass me. I am running to keep up but I could not count how many were in the pack as they roared by. I am running like hell all the way into the bull ring not knowing if there was onoe more right on my ass.
I enter the ring and thousands of people are cheering the runners. It is good. I pick up a handful of wet sand from the ring and it runs coarse through my fingers. It’s the best sand I have ever felt. I look up and there are hot air ballons taking off right over the stadium. A man is beconing us over to an area next to the wall circling the ring. A cameara man stands next to him and I am thinking that is would be a great momment to immortalize. I jog over, looking for Sean and worried that I haven’t spied him yet. All the runners around this guy are knealing and chanting “Ole”, so when in Rome…. The guy then opens a gate he was standing next too and a bull comes running out of the chute right at us. An English bloke I had met at the start of the run was kneeling next to me and says “This is going to be cool. Don’t move.” The bull then hurdles over all the runners, well all of them except for the last ring of runners who had joined the procession last. It pounces on them like a 1000lb cat.
July 14th, 2006 01:23pm
Bishop
As we enter the train station a feeling of accomplishment courses through me. We have traveled many thousands of miles from home, through a foreign land all starting from a handshake and a conversation some 9 months prior. And the first thing I smell when my feet hit the platform is Bull shit. How fitting. We are greeting by a sighting of the San Fermines waving at us as we get off the train. It is quite the party atmosphere in the train terminal. We scoot through, jump on the number 9 bus heading into the old part of the city. Of course I get an ugly look from the driver taking my money when I don’t give her exact change but I don’t know what amount she is telling me because she is speaking so fast. We cross the river and look at all the people laying about in the grass and bathing in the river. “This is some serious partying,” I am thinking, “especially when you no longer care about your own hygiene.”
We jump off the bus and are completely engulfed into the “Festival de San Fermine.” It’s a carnival with all the street vendors and people milling about. I take a glance of the map I brought and we head off to
find the Harp, where we will be staying for the (what we thought anyway) seven nights. All I want is a shower and a few hours of sleep. We get our key and head off to our room and, well, I can’t describe it so I’ll just let you see for yourself. “This is what we are paying $200 a night for?!?,” I was thinking. I then felt really bad for Sean because I think he felt he let me down since he was the one setting up the lodgings. It then turned into, “It was ok, we were going to make this work and turn it into a positive.” Until I tried to take a shower. No hot water, not even luke-warm. It was so cold I thought they were piping this in from the mountains. So I got a shower, however brief and took a thirty minute nap. When I awoke I was covered in sweat. Our room was in the interior of the building and it had no window, nor fan. Sean woke up and in the typical American style of “Fuck this.” He took charge and found us a much larger un-occupied room with a window where we wouldn’t possess carnal knowledge of each other by the end of the week. So, after we moved we took off to join the party. While we walked around we stumbled into the City Hall where the runners congregate in the morning before the run. Then we moved to the Plaza De Castillo where we had to meet our first Pamplona legend - Frosty. She has been doing the run for over 30 years. Then we spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, taking in all the sights, sounds, and unfortunately, smells.
There was trash everywhere and people pissing in every corner. We did find a great shop down the street from the Harp that sold us bottles of Sangria for 3 Euro. Let’s just say we stopped there a few more times. My impressions were that is was a great festival but it was hard to interact with the Spainish people. By the end of our stay we had pretty much given up in doing so. We end up crashing around 3am or so and the party was just getting going.
Then we spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, taking in all the sights, sounds, and unfortunately, smells. There was trash everywhere and people pissing in every corner. We did find a great shop down the street from the Harp that sold us bottles of Sangria for 3 Euro. Let’s just say we stopped there a few more times. My impressions were that is was a great festival but it was hard to interact with the Spainish people. By the end of our stay we had pretty much given up in doing so. We end up crashing around 3am or so and the party was just getting going.
July 13th, 2006 09:40am
Bishop
This blog has been hard to keep updated on a daily basis, so what you are going to get is a “Day One” presentation but technically we are on day five headed to Madrid from Pamplona. We have to get to the United States consulate early in the morning, but I digress. There will be more about this later. Sitting in the Tampa airport, I am giddy like it is my first date all over again. I can’t help but tell everyone around me where I am going and what I am going to do. I get the feeling that they are intrigued, but only because they like witnessing the carnage of a train wreck. As we finish up and move into the first leg of our long journey, we are greeting by this ominous sign. Figures. Looking back, I think it was a premonition of things to come. As the flight is delayed farther and farther ahead I keep doing the mental calculations of the time we need to change planes in Newark. Originally, I had scheduled the gap in between connecting flights to be over 2 hours so we would have plenty of time to grab some food and beer. That was not the case when we landed. The delay had been over two hours so by the time we got in to our gate we had 15 minutes to get off the planes and down Terminal One to make our flight. And while I was excited to run with the Bulls I didn’t expect my first running to take place in Newark, against a cart ferrying people to and from in the terminal. I’m crying out “Toro! Toro! Ole!” as I am running and all the people on the cart (who are heading to Madrid I later find out) are cheering for me as the crazy old women driving it almost cleans my clock a few times as we weave in and out of people through the terminal. I look behind me expecting to see Sean and he is no where to be found so I have to stop as the “bull” is making it’s last pass. Bulls: 1 Bishop: 0 Grrrrrr. We make it to the plane and we find out we have nothing to worry about. There are many flights that are delayed and the plane waits for everyone. I guess international flights are different then domestic ones. We push back and summarily wait an hour and fifteen minutes waiting to take off in Newark and of course, I have to pee. I should have known. It was listed as a 7 hour flight but the time in flight is only 6. The flight is uneventful but I couldn’t sleep like I wanted to. I wanted to take on the Metro of Madrid with some sleep behind me but it wasn’t to be. We get off the plane and everything is different. It was bordering on sensory overload. The signs are in different languages. There is no one speaking in English. It is then that it really hits me that I am a stranger in a strange land and I have a lot to learn about this world in which I live. One of the first things I start thinking about is that I should have learned some more Spanish then I currently know. It’s hard to ask for directions, much less understand them once they are given. Try and walk around for one week in your life and count the times you use spoken numbers. Then forget you actually know what they mean. It makes it hard to even get to the right floor of the hotel, much less pay for anything. Welcome to my personal Hell that I wish I had better prepared myself. But, I digress again. We navigate ourselves to Spanish customs and we are presented with our first “Never Moving Line.” What I consider “Spanish Time” speed. Pretend you are at the Post Office and then multiply it by 10. We grab our bags, pull some euros out of the ATM and head for the Metro. Here it was pretty easy to navigate. I tried to prepare Sean for what to expect and what to purchase and we sail through it and onto the trains. It was here that I was able to finally do some serious people watching. And while we are from a different country, kids still scream in closed places in Spain too. The Metro is surprisingly easy to navigate. Someone really has planned it out well, unlike some of the other Metros I have been in the States. It is laid out in a way that most anyone could get around with no worries. We get a good dose of Spanish culture as some musicians jump into our car and start playing a finger snapping tune. It pretty quiet in the trains but contrast this to the Renfe station where we are to catch our train to Pamplona and it is utter madness. People everywhere, lines everywhere and I am not sure of where we need to be to pick up our tickets that I had paid for a few weeks prior. We take an educated guess and pick an office that I think is the correct one. Now, just so you know, in Spain, when dealing with lines in the train station you get a number and then when your number is called to go to the window that has been assigned your number on the big monitor. Well, they were at number 236 and we had number 378, and only one and a half hours to our train, and we are in the correct line because everyone we have spoken to has told us so. Well, twenty minutes to go before our train is supposed to leave and then are up to number 285, so I start walking around looking for an information both and leave Sean with the bags in case he gets up to a window. It’s here that I make my first good acquaintance of our trip. As I walk up to the booth and try to explain my dilemma in my version of Spanish (essentially English with a Spanish accent and an ‘o’ on the end of everything – yeah I’m an idiot, I already told you that), when a guy walks up and asks if I am looking for the ticketing office. He was looking for the same thing. We figure safety in numbers and head out on the hunt for this mystical office. I find out that he was from Montreal so I got to work on my French. Figures, I’m in Madrid, Spain and I end up talking French to a guy from Montreal just so we can find the same damn office to pick up our tickets to Pamplona. We are directed out some doors, which I thought lead to the exit on an earlier pass around the station but I was so wrong. They lead to the booking office where I was able to get a number and get in and out of line with my tickets in hand in less then 10 minutes. It was a saving grace. The guy tags along with us to the train terminal where we share in some fine adult beverages. The Spanish seem to have a bar everywhere. It’s my kind of country. Of course this is also the first time we have a run in with the Polico (thanks Sean). Even though is a bar everywhere, they still get mad when you take their glassware out the doors. Our train is called, we down the cervesas and head off to our coche (coach). The dude was in a different one so we bid him “adios amigo” and head into the “Preferente Coche” and he heads off for the “Turista Coche.” We get on board and in the fine spirit of keeping up good international relations with the locals I help a woman with her very heavy bags. It’s a surprisingly degree of similarity that even in Spain people can still be as un-helpful to the elderly as we Americanoes are to ours. She is most appreciative and takes a certain well-being to my welfare almost in a motherly tone when I explain we are “San Fermines” headed to Pamplona. She continues my education of the Spanish people. We get to the topic of regional cultures when she tells me very adamantly that she is “Naverra” and not “Basque”. It’s not the last time I hear the Basque be referred to in such a low demeanor. She continues on and tells me as a young girl she used to run with the Bulls too. “Keep your head down” are her parting words.
So far, I find the people of Spain to be very engaging and willing to accept my limitations of language and knowledge of culture. The Spanish country-side as we travel north is very beautiful. We see rolling hills interspersed with mountains and ridges with wind generators on them. It doesn’t take long before the sight of them becomes commonplace. I would consider the Spanish as progressive when it comes to their power production. The fields of golden straw, alfalfa, and vineyards are broken up with field rows and small towns filled with stone and slate roof houses that were most likely built before the United States was even a country.
July 13th, 2006 05:29am
Bishop
Ray, I never met you and you never met me but I still feel we are linked by a common set of experiences. I can only imagine if you were as excited as I was when I entered into the bull ring for the first time at the conclusion of the run. I don’t know exactly what was going through your head but I have an idea. Maybe you had just had the thrill of a lifetime and were amazed at the amount of people that were in the stands cheering the runners.
On the train yesterday I talked to the guy who picked you up and carried you out of the bull ring. He spoke fondly of you and your family. Apparently, he has been helping them as much as possible with this tragedy. I can’t ignore the fact that it could have been me. Hell, we are even the same age. I want everyone to know about Ray’s website. Click on the picture below to visit it.
July 7th, 2006 12:24pm
Bishop
Woke up and turned on the computer and the first thing I see is this. Not a good sign. Going to go get a hair cut and pick up Sean around 1:00. Trepidation is the word of the day.
And here are the details on today’s Bull Run.
The next time you hear from me I will be in Spain, excited to be there, but sad that I had to leave my future wife back at home. I know she is the one for me because I can’t imagine doing anything without her. When I am down, she is up. I know that if I was ever to second guess myself this coming week she would be whispering in my ear how wonderful I am and what confidence she has in me. I can only hope to make her happy for the rest of her life. Chel you are the most wonderful person I have met and I can’t wait to marry you.
July 6th, 2006 10:49am
Bishop
FIESTA FOR EVERYBODY!!!!
I’m the guy with the red scarf. My new favorite news article (warning: not boss friendly). I wish I could read Spainish.
My latest neat travel link is this cool site that compares international cell phone companies.
So, we are all set and ready to go. The bags are packed and we are throwing a going away bash at The Rack tonight at 8:00. Someone said, “You guys are crazy. You actually have parties when someone goes on vacation.” All I could do was grin. It’s the Sweetspot!
July 5th, 2006 02:51pm
Bishop
A link to a good story. Plus, I really love Gin & Tonic. And by the way, the pictures of PETA protesting the festival (it’s a yearly protest) have made the San Fermin website. Also, some college kids have created the “Encierrometer”, which of all things “is a computer application which, taking into account all the diverse factors that come together in the running of the bulls, allows the user to consider a risk index of the dangers in making the run.” Who said there aren’t computer geeks in Spain? I scored a 4.88 btw.
This isn’t me. Not yet anyway.
July 5th, 2006 02:44pm
Bishop
This trip has been about a year in the planning process. On Friday, we put the plan into action. Sean and I were hanging out at a bar about a year ago when the topic of “Crazy Things We Haven’t Done Yet” came up. Running With The Bulls was one on both of our lists, so we shook hands the way guys do when they agree to something in a bar after many beverages.
Sean took care of finding the lodgings in Pamplona. He hooked up with Grame and we are staying in a hotel above the only English bar in Pamplona. Very fitting. Hopefully a Kilkenny or Black & Tan won’t be very far. I took care of the transportation. We are leaving Friday afternoon with arrival in Madrid on Sat morning. We catch a train to Pamplona that afternoon because I didn’t want the hassle of dealing with a car. And to cap things off for the trip back we are staying in a hostel in the Plaza Del Sol in Madrid. It’s full of nightlife and tapas bars. And here are some resources I’ve saved for traveling in Madrid.
So, on Friday we take off and the journey begins. And while our physical destination is Pamplona it isn’t the destination that I am most excited about. It’s the mind journey. It started a long time ago and still won’t be over once I get home. It’s the excitement that builds up to the exhilaration of living life close to the edge. I realize the older I get that I am not here forever. I want my mind journey to be full of experiences that enrich me, experiences that feed my soul and make me who I am today.
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