Posts filed under 'Pamplona'
July 14th, 2006
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
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 6th, 2006
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
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
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.
