Pamplona Day 1

This day started with my mom and I staying in most of the day to take care of some logistics. Namely, how the hell were we going to get out of Pamplona? We drove down from France, which was easy and convenient, but the car was due back soon, leaving the option of bus, train, or plane. As one might imagine, after a festival that attracts thousands of foreign visitors, pickins were slim. Any attempt to get to Paris during Bastille Day to hang out with Andy was near impossible. There was simply no way to get there for under €1,000 (at 1.3 euros to the dollar, things look even worse) and without having to go through Prague. It looks like I'll just fly straight to Munich and wait for Andy there. That also means that we have to get up for a 7:20AM flight from Pamplona to Barcelona on Saturday. Ouch. My mom also took the time to get some time sensitive work done while I updated the blog and we were ready to party.

My mom is flying home for a few days to take care of a case and then flying back. I think she's crazy but she really wants to finish the trip. I'll be on my own with Andy and friends though, so that should end up working out well.



We get in the San Fermín spirit. My shirt doesn't exactly fit the standard look but hey, sun's out guns out (right Jordan?). It stays light out until 10:30PM which makes the nights perfect for staying out. Speaking of light...FINALLY PERFECT WEATHER. It was sunny and 30°C (about 85°F) all day. It looks to stay that way the whole time we're here. It's about time.



These dudes play wooden pegs on a large set of wooden/stone/ceramic slabs (imagine a huge bizarro wooden xylophone). It was more akin to drumming (complex rhythms and slight variations in tone) than traditional melody based music and thoroughly enjoyable. I have to figure out what it's called.



I'm standing where the bulls enter the arena at the end of the run (called el encierro in Spanish). It's empty, but not for long.



Agorophobics/Demophobics/Claustrophobics should just stay home. It's like this EVERYWHERE. As the night progresses, so does the percentage of intoxicated folk, until a reset at around 8AM. When I say reset, I mean a reset back to the stable 25%. People are drinking beer, wine, or wine and coke (really popular) at all hours. You can even buy wine bottles from bars to go. The most popular carrying option is one of any large plastic jugs that can be easily refilled. Some bars even advertise alcohol by the liter ("Buy one liter, get the second free"). I guess not much has changed since Ernest Hemingway's day...



Doneski. I'm curious how many people sleep (read: pass out) outside every night.

The night really got going when we tried to find a place to eat dinner. Most people just grab tapas from the myriad of bars in and around the festival area. Finding a place to grab real food (not fried or otherwise unhealthy bar food -- not that it isn't great drunk food...but just not for dinner) was tough. We happened upon a restaurant hidden under a bar. The only catch was that we would have to sit next to someone. As it turned out, these two old Basque guys came and sat next to us. I don't know what I was expecting, but they were ready to get after it in true "creepy old dude" fashion. One was relatively quiet, while the other one made up for it by grabbing every waitress who walked by and telling her how beautiful she was before demanding a drink or other service. After a few rounds of this, the waitresses began cautiously shifting to the other side of the room anytime they passed by. As the restaurant got fuller though, he caught a few more, ultimately leading to a series of angry exchanges that culminated with the waitresses ganging up on him and demanding under no uncertain terms that he immediately desist. At one point, he told me how much he enjoyed the Basque game of pelota (i.e. fronton) and insisted that we come along and watch it with him after dinner. For some reason we agreed. Creepiness notwithstanding, this guy wasn't so bad. On the way to the arena he tackled a little kid when attempting to play soccer with him, verbally assaulted the African and Asian groups selling trinkets by luring them in close then shouting in their faces, and otherwise made an ass of himself. OK, maybe he was a bit over the top. It's a good thing we were a carafe of sangría and several drinks deep.




This game, similar to handball, is played in teams with a front and back player, each team taking turns hitting the small, hard rubber ball against the front wall. The strategy is not dissimilar to squash, except these guys use their hands as the racket and take monstrous swings. Not only was it fun to watch because of the player skill but the particular match we watched ended in a giant upset. Since everyone is betting during the whole match, the place gets nuts. The atmosphere is unlike any sporting event I have ever been to. If it weren't for the three packs of cigarettes I smoked second-hand, it would have been one of the greatest sporting events I have ever been to.

To see the running of the bulls meant a 5am wake up time so we decided to take the three hours of sleep instead of trying to stay up.

Random Thought:
What's with the pseudo-mullet hair style for guys and girls? Why would that ever become popular?

Random Thought #2:
People commonly walk around totally drenched in wine. I'm not sure what that's about but it's kinda funny. The best part is that most of them don't have new white clothes so they get to sport splotchy red and white for the rest of their stay. Like I said before, nothing matches this place.

Random Thought #3:
I hate popular music. I don't always hate the music itself but how can people listen to the same 30 songs ALL THE TIME? Is it like this all over Europe? The US isn't any better but I was hoping for a change at least.

Random Thought #4:
For how many people sport t-shirts of metal bands, I have yet to find one rock or metal station on the radio. One of these days I have to travel around Scandinavia...