Los Gigantes de Pamplona, originalmente cargada por Rufino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día: Los Gigantes de Pamplona. (Homenaje particular)

Más fotos de los Gigantes y Cabezudos

These are las ganaderías de MIURA, D.JOSÉ CEBADA GAGO, FUENTE YMBRO, JANDILLA, EL VENTORRILLO, DOLORES AGUIRRE YBARRA, EL PILAR and VICTORIANO DEL RíO.

You can run the encierro without knowing the breeds, or even run without knowing that the bulls come from different ranches.

However, knowledge of the breed contributes to personal and group safety. 

For instance, the breed NUÑEZ DEL CUVILLO had become famously vicious in the morning runs, and were left out of the encierro for more than a few years.  Then, when they were permitted to run in 2008 and 2009 they gored no one, and actually appeared indifferent toward the runners.  They are not being welcomed back in 2010. 

Or, the D.JOSÉ CEBADA GAGO breed run notoriously fast, and on crowded days, and seem to always manage to gore someone.

Or, as to the swift FUENTE YMBRO breed, these bulls only started running in Pamplona in 2005.  In 2009, 2008, 2007, and 2005, no one was gored.  In 2006, there was only a single goring. 

Knowing the breeds also enhances the running experience by placing the breed into historical context.

For instance, the iconic MIURA are “toro de real.”  These regal bulls from Seville first appeared in bull rings in Spain in 1849, and have been appearing on Sundays in Pamplona for decades.

In Death in the Afternoon, Hemingway takes pains to emphasize that these bulls come from “old fighting stock” and appear to have an ability to learn from their experience.  Like a velociraptor, when a Miura looks at you, you can tell he’s working things out.

Most famously, a Miura (named Islero) killed the beloved matador Manolete in August 1947.

They are legendary in size, difficult to kill, and considered – rightfully so – as noble in nature.  They are that magnificent.  In our experience, they usually stay together and avoid runners.  However, in 2009, the Miura were involved in a gruesome five (5) minute run with an attendant 5 horn wounds in the callejón.

Miura in 2009

In comparison, EL VENTORRILLO first appeared in Pamplona in 2008 and will be making only their third appearance in 2010. 

For 2010, it appears that the JANDILLA will again be permitted to run, notwithstanding the fatality of Daniel Jimeno Romero on July 10, 2009, caused by the toro “Capuchino.”  The Jandilla seem to be involved in increasingly frightening incidents every summer.  With these, great care is necessary.

Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009, originalmente cargada por Rufino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día: Pamplona el pañuelico rojo, símbolo de la fiesta

Más fotos de los Sanfermines

Again, just for me to keep track of these…after the jump.

Good view of the start

An “Ultimate Guide Part 1″ 

Scenes from the Bull run

SAN FERMÍN

Los san Fermines son una fiesta que se celebra en Pamplona en honor a su patrón: San Fermín. Cominezan el día 7 de Julio con el “chupinazo”, y terminan con el “pobre de mi”. Su principal atracción son los encierros y las corridas de toros. Su atuendo es siempre el mismo: pantalón y camiseta blancos, y pañuelo y faja roja.

FIESTA DE LA TOMATINA

La tomatina es una fiesta que se celebra en Buñol (Valencia) desde hace unos 60 años. Consiste en lanzarse tomates unos a otros. Se celebra el último miércoles de agosto. Esta fiesta se ha ido haciendo cada vez más popular y su número de participantes ha ido aumentando de manera notable.

FIESTA DEL AGUA

La festa da agua se celebra cada 15 de agosto enla localidad pontevedresa de Viillagarcía de Arosa en honor al patrón: San Roque. La historia comenzó porque los romeros, que son lo que trasladan el patrón a la parroquia, pedía agua a los paisanos para refrecarse. En la actualidad, la fiesta consiste en mojarse unos a otros, e incluso los bomberos riegan a las gente.  Esta fiesta sobre pasa ya los 30.000 asistentes. Ha sido muy criticada pr el despilfarro de agua que se produce.

LAS FALLAS

Las fallas son una fiestq eu se celebran en Valencia del 15 al 19 de marzo. Su nombre proviene de la creación de figuras artísticas con materiales combistibles que se llaman “ninots”, que luego son quemadas públicamente tras un concurso en el que se elige al mejor ninot. Tambén es reconocido por los trajes que llevan, sobre todo las mujeres (falleras).

DESCENSO DEL SELLA

Como su propio nombre indica, la fiesta consisten ver descender las piraguas por el río Sella . Su fundador fue Dionisio de la Huerta, y esta celebración se hace en su honor. Se celebra el primer sábado de agosto, excepto si este día cae en número par, que se pasará al sábado siguiente. La competición comienza bajo el puente de Arriondas y finaliza, tras 20 km de bajada, en Rivadesella. La fiesta se prolonga toda la noche en ambas localidades.

Procesión de Gigantes y Cabezudos

Como parte de la cinta Knight & Day, el equipo de producción ha solicitado al Ayuntamiento de Pamplona les facilite el cortejo de gigantes y cabezudos que se utilizan para la feria de San Fermín. La idea es trasladarlos a Sevilla, en donde está trabajando el equipo actualmente, para crear una feria para la cinta. De hecho, se está preparando todo para hacer un encierro como el de esta ciudad, lo que está significando un gasto considerable. Hasta ahora, nadie se explica el porqué de este movimiento, en vez de simplemente no haber utilizado las mismas fiestas reales para grabar, más considerando que trabajarán en varias partes de España.

Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009. Una mañana de gigantes, originalmente cargada por Nino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día. Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009. La felicidad del zaldiko

Más fotos de los Sanfermines de Pamplona

El 6 de julio de 2009, Harizti contó con la participación de Baldorba Dantza Taldea.

Pamplona – July 9th, 2009.

So its our last morning in Pamplona, which also means our last chance to watch or particpate in a bull run. Its up bright and early again, for those who want to go in, at about 5am and a chance to get our stuff together and get on the bus. Some people brought bags and that, others stayed asleep.

The sleep is always a welcome treat, especially with not much sleep happening. Once again we go past the park and see all the people who have passed out or slept there before making our way to the Bull Run. I end up hanging out with John again and we make our way to the holding yard in the main square for the hour or so wait for us to get out onto the course.

The quiet before the storm. Arena before the bullrun.

Its a rather nervy feeling this morning, not due to the fact that 6 bulls are about to be let loose on us, but the fact that with not long to go theres plenty of room unlike yesterday where it was jam packed. Not to mention the drunk Michael Jackson walking around.

Its not long til we’re back onto the course and I lose John in the commotion of getting our spots, before getting to about the same spot as before. This time I’m not as nervy or jumpy, but more cautious and understanding about what is about to go down.

At the stroke of 8am, the first rocket goes off, and you see the faces of those around you just drop and scream “holy shit!”. I don’t loose my shit like them, but I still get a fright and start to jog a little towards the arena. The second rocket goes off and then a lot of people straight sprinting straight away. I get to near the entrance to the arena when the first steer goes past, followed quickly by a few bulls.

I look to my right as I am going through the arena entrance, and see more of the bulls coming for us. As soon as I turn around, this fool thats half a metre in front of myself decides to trip over himself, and seeing as I cannot go left as there is a wall or right as there are bulls, I basically trip over the poor sap. Land on my knee and then roll over as the bulls go past and chase them into the arena.

Running into the arena.

Its again, a great experience making it into the arena. Just that electricity and excitement that is in that arena when this goes down is an unbelieveably experience. Its not long til they start releasing the ’small’ bulls onto the crowd.

But for some reason, they seem a lot, lot angrier than they were yesterday. One bull cleared through the crowd with ease, picking up at least 4 casualties. Another did the same, but then went to the people on the fence, and starting going along the fence, taking out punters, I was about 3 people away from being taken out, before the bull turned around and went out a punter that was taping its tail – the guy really deserved it.

A full arena of people.

The last bull out was going at it, but about half way into its stint, it got rather distressed and couldn’t stand up for itself. The whole thing was quite traumatic for the young bull, and its not exactly the nicest thing to watch go down. I felt appalled at the punters that jumped on it and made the situation much worse.

In some way, I feel that this letting the bulls go nuts on half drunken fools, lets the bulls get their own back before what is an inevitable slaughter later in their life.

After the last bull, its back to the bus stop, and a goodbye to some people who are leaving now and not going back to the campsite. After a bit of breakfast and a quick pack – along the way noticing my thongs have disappeared, well no just one thong. A few of us go down to catch the bus back into Pamps.

Its not til we get there that we realise we cannot get a bus back into Pamps til 2pm, and seeing as its 11am. A few of us try to rally 6 people to get a taxi into Pamplona. Its a tight tight fit, but the ride goes smooth and once there, I go straight to the ticket office to try to get out of this place. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the next bus doesn’t leave til 1am.

So I dump my bags at the Lockers and head out into Pamplona for a cruise around and see whats going on. Which isn’t much, it kind of sucks when you aren’t with people. Though the locals are quite fun and still being quite friendly.

I end up at the bus terminal, waiting for the bus to come. I basically sleep on the floor til 12, when I wake up to a guy pissing on the opposite wall. I decide I should go to the where the bus is going to leave, and wait for it.

The bus is fairly packed. However, I have a spare seat next to myself. And the whole journey goes like a blur – mainly cause everyone is so tired and wrecked that they’re all asleep, just like myself.

I drift off as I see the Pamplona Park whiz off in the distance, and hope to wake up to Barcelona.

There are a lot of things I could write about in this blog to complain
about Spain. There are many cultural differences that I find quite
annoying or different here. But instead of writing about that I am
going to write about something which has impressed me. Spanish people
really know how to party…

It all starts off in the early evening when they tend to get together
in parks and public places to do what they call “botellon“. This
consists of buying bottles of alcohol and publicly consuming them
before going out. The idea is you spend less money in the bars or
nightclubs which you will later go to. After that you might go to a
bar or two or three throughout the ‘early’ evening. Be prepared to
inhale a lot of smoke because it is still legal to smoke inside bars
in Spain. Before or after 4am you move on to a nightclub. Most bars
close at 4 so after that time you usually have to pay to be inside
somewhere. The nightclubs entrance fees usually come with a mixed
drink included. Nightclubs in Spain close at 7 am on a Saturday night
so get ready for a long and loud night. To put things in perspective,
night clubs in France have to close at 5 and nightclubs in Britain
close around 3. This means that when most people in Britain are
heading home to sleep, the people in Spain are just about getting
ready to get into the nightclub for another 3 or 4 hours of partying.

Another thing I have to share about the Spanish party animals are
their ‘fiestas’. From the smallest little town that is celebrating its
annual festival, to parties like San Fermin, Pamplona (the running of
the bulls) and Las Fiestas del Pilar, Zaragoza where over 1 million
people attend. I had the pleasure of attending San Fermin (official website)
this year and have to say it was pretty amazing. The complete change in the
city is shocking. Almost from one day to the next the city is infiltrated
by people from all over the world. People come to run with the bulls,
or just to party, and the party doesn’t stop. The party lasts a total
of 9 days and during those 9 days the bars in the center of the city,
or casco viejo, close for only one or two hours a day to kick people
out, clean up, and open again. Forget about nightclubs during this
week. They don’t even open. All bars are packed to capacity all day
and all night long. In the morning, those daring enough have the
“pleasure” to run with the bulls. If they make it inside the arena
they can stay and run with the ‘vaquillas’ (cows). Pamplona during San
Fermin is a whole different city. Even the people change. Usually the
people from northern Spain tend to be closed and grumpy but during
this week there is no sign of that. Everybody is open, happy and
dressed in white and red. Throughout the city there are several stages
and open areas where there are concerts and even daily firework
displays. The actual bullfights happen during the afternoon and are
always filled to capacity. Although sometimes it is too crowded and
dirty the festival is an amazing experience and I recommend it to
everyone. To make a long story short, I am very impressed with the
Spaniards and their partying.

Pamplomna – July 8th, 2009

I wake up at about 5am, to the same noise as yesterday. This time I don’t have to worry about stumbling around getting ready. I somehow managed to get to sleep in my clothes and only need to chuck my shoes on.

The bus ride in, I catch up on some much needed sleep before being chased by a pack of bulls, literally. Once off the bus, I go and have one last nervous piss, before going to find everyone. I don’t find anyone, but run into John and Dean, who are also running, so head in with them. We pit stop and grab a gatorade to hydrate before going to the cattle pen.

This is where every man and his dog waits to run with the bulls. We hang out and see some photos from the paper. Luckily there wasn’t anything too bad in the paper. It gets a bit nervery towards the end of the wait. About 15 minutes before the run, the place is jam packed full of people, and its very tight. They eventually let us out onto the streets and I lose John and Dean. And start walking down the narrow streets. I get to about 50m past Dead Mans Corner. And begin Jumping up and down, the excitement is just getting to me.

I keep jumping up and down. The anticipation is burning up inside of myself. Everyone around is either like myself or jittery and on edge thinking ‘what the hell have I got myself into?’. Then all of a sudden the first rocket goes off and my heart starts pumping a hundred beats faster, and people start screaming and yelling.

I start jogging and walking a bit. Just to get my body moving. Then all of a sudden a heap of people run on by, I take this as the cue that the bulls are not far behind. And I’m not wrong, I see one massive bull(the steer) and go “Fuck” and start running as hard as I can. About 200m up the road on the final stretch before the turn into the stadium 3 fighting bulls run past about a metre away from where I am, still trying to dodge slow runners and not get in the road of the angry beasts.

At some point in time, running down around the corner some fool trips over, so I try to jump him, only instead of clearing him, his thrusts an elbow up at the last minute and connects with my foot, sending me on a tumble just before the entrance. Then as I look to my right, just over my should I see 2 massive bulls running past litterly half a metre fromwhere I’ve tumbled.

I get up as quickly as possible and run as fast as I can into the arena, still with all that adrenalin pumping through my veins. As you run through the corridor into the arena you get a sense of safeness, til you realise how small it is. Then as you come out into the circular arena, you get smashed in the face by a huge roar that still to this day sends tingles down my spine. Its an amazing experience to just make it into the arena and be met by that huge crowd cheering everyone coming in.

I quickly make my way to the left side of the arena (not trying to make the mistake of the stupid guy yesterday that went left, then right and got cleaned up by a bull). I gather my breath for a second, still puffing I let out a massive yell and raise my arms in the air. A lot of people are doing it. I catch my breath for a second and then spot John and he snaps a quick photo of myself in the Arena.

In the Arena after the bullrun!

We try to get a good position in the ring for the second round of entertainment. Yep, after the main event, they let out smaller and younger bulls into the arena to litterly ‘go nuts’ on the idiots who get in their way. Its rather hilarious seeing still drunken men literally getting into the way of bulls to show how ‘manly’ they are. I just think its rather stupid. But at least the bulls don’t have horns, they put rubber on the ends so that they don’t gore anyone.

Some carnage in the arena.

They let about 6 bulls out into this rather large arena (bigger than I expected) and let them run around for a few minutes each. I remember standing on the fence, on the edge of the circle of where the people where surrounding the bull, and the bull just looking dead at me. A tad scary.

A few girls (Ena, Alica, Tessa, and Angela from the campsite) spot myself in the arena and yell out to me and snap a few photos before yelling at me and pointing behind me, only to see the crowd running in the opposite direction and a bull chasing them. Another tad scary moment.

That guy is gonna feel it tomorrow.

After the last bull, a big raucious applause goes up throughout the arena and everyone makes their way out. We walk past a shop and grab a bite to eat before going to the bus stop. A lot of the tour group is going to San Sebastian today, so the few that are remaining at the site are either going home or have been their already.

After some breakky and a shower, I chill out with those that are remaining. We just chill by the pool, and do nothing. Its a fairly quiet afternoon compared to yesterdays. But Dean and I make our way into town on the 4pm bus to get into the mood.

I have to go make a police report and he has to go get a train ticket. So we plan to meet up afterwards. I thought my police report would take ages, but it was done in 5 minutes, so I go to get to the station but don’t find it. So instead I go and get some more sangria, fill up my slouch and go and drink with the locals.

I mingle around til about 8-9 and go back to the bus stop and find them there chowing on KFC. A bus shortly arrives and Ena, Alica and Tess get off and recruit myself to go see a bullfight, but as we get down there we see people coming out, flooding out to be precise, so we go and find a place to eat and drink. Before walking around the streets before heading back to camp and crashing.

Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009, originalmente cargada por Nino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día: Guiris clónicos. Perfectamente uniformados y pertrechados; misma vestimenta, mismas protecciones, misma bebida.

Haz clic para ver más fotos sobre los Sanfermines 2009

Pamplona – July 7th, 2009

We get woken up at the ungodly hour of 5am to the sound of a megaphone screaming “Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole!” to get everyone up. Its a bit of a ruckus in the morning, people trying to have showers and people freezing their balls off. Its freaking cold. Everyone is stumbling around trying to get organised and onto a bus by 5:30pm.

I don’t bother with a shower, just get my outfit on and wait around in the cold. And it was pretty hard to get changed with how cold it was it was get changed outside or in the warmth of the tent. So I chose the tent, and it sucked.

We all pile onto buses once again and try to get a bit more sleep on the bus. I mean cmon its early, and I doze off for most of the trip but once I get to Pamplona its a hilarious sight pulling into the bus station. Above the pamplona bus stop is a huge park, and this park seems to have been home to a few thousand souls last night, either sleeping there because they are backpackers and have no where to sleep or they just randomly passed out. Those that did pass out looked like they were in the most awkward positions.

Once we get off the train, I can already feel the buzz of the place. Everyone is getting excited. We gather up the top and make our way in. Whilst grabbing a bite on the way to the bull run. A few of the boys are running, I decide I’m gonna sit out and try to watch this one. We farewell the boys who are running and make our way to a decent spot.

The cold streets of Pamplona on the way to the Bull run.

The boys heading to run, most likely with brown undies.

We stumble down the streets and end up on the course, and its packed not to mention a little surreal seeing people still drinking and dancing. As well as the pungent smell of urine. We dart over to just outside the stadium. We find a position on the fence, but can’t see over the people camped out on top of it, so we just peer through the fence rungs. Its a long and cold wait for the run to start. I can feel myself get more and more excited as the hour approaches.

Waiting for the run. Myself, Lauren and Steph.

The view of the course, with security guard in frame.

We are fighting off people trying to get closer and its a good wait, and then we see a bunch of white outfits running down the street. Then about 5 minutes later we hear a rocket go off (this signals that the bulls are out on the course) and then not long after a 2nd rocket goes off (to signal all bulls are out on the course). We then hear a mass of thundering feet heading down the street. Its a blur of white and red basically. I did’nt really see much. I saw the bull for about a quarter of a second. A 3rd rocket goes off, and the security guard (seen in the photo) disappears, so I run through and jump ontop of the first fence, only to see a massive steer that guides the fighting bulls run straight past as well as a crazed mob dressed in white running to get into the arena.

The bull run.

Even without seeing much of the bull run itself, just to hear the thundering of the feet, and the bulls rampaging into the arena was fantastic. The crowd is so abuzz with excitement, well as abuzz as one can be at 5 past 8 in the morning. I’m as excited as can be, I just wish I ran, but I have 2 more days to do that. I am glad I watched it though. We all make our way back towards the campsite, finding out that only 2 of the 4 boys made it in – the other 2 had cameras and were taken out.

We get back to camp and chill out, in preparation for the Sangria BBQ that is going to unfold later on in the day. We chill outside the pool, some got sleep, some swam. Then we go over to the campsite and wait for the Sangria and BBQ to be let loose on us. And by 1pm when this is meant to start the TopDeck crew are filling up our glasses with Sangria and we aren’t even allowed to finish our drinks at first, you would get half way down and then its filled back up. Cannot complain about that kind of service.

The BBQ was pretty awesome. And incredibly loose. Apart 30 minutes in, there was already boat races and drinking games being played. Its hard to escape it. There is a tonne of drinking being done. Its loose and messy. At one stage on the way back from the toilet I notice about 5 people passed out. There was a lot of stupid things being done. I saw one of the boys spew out of his nose. Nice. It finished at about 5 and allowed people to get ready to go into Pamps for the night.

Sangria Party

Sangria Party getting loose.

Before things escalated!

a

A thorn between a few roses.

The bus trip in is fine, and pretty packed. We walk through the streets and dance and party with the spanish. Its pretty fun just cruising around and drinking sangria. Well it was, then after walking through a crowd, I realise my camera is missing. A good search and nothing coming up with the girls that I was with and we don’t find it. Shit huh. All photos from Madrid, San Sebastian and Pamplona now gone. SHIT!

So I do what anyone does, keep drinking, and partying. Though somewhat in a shitty mood. I demolish my drinking slouch and we make our way back to the bus stop to see the fireworks. The fireworks are pretty good from memory, and then its back to camp and try to get to sleep for tomorrow.

Pamplona – July 6th, 2009

Its up fairly early, about 8ish or something. Well early for myself when I struggle to get up at 9 or 10am. After a quick wake up shower – I don’t want to be in the line for the shower in the morning I whack on my white pants, white shirt, red sash and my panuelo around my wrist (you are not meant to put the panuelo around your neck until the mayor sets off the chupinazo and thats the start of the San Fermin fiesta). And scoff down some breakfast which is little more than some cereal, bacon and eggs on rolls plus some juice and coffee.

Then we wait around and psych ourselves up for the Opening cereemony. From what I hear this is meant to be absolutely crazy and nuts. Not to mention a lot of drinking and a massive food/sangria/beer fight that ensues, not to mention that my clothes will not come out of the thing as being white.

Before the bus ride into town

Clowning around before the bus departs.

So we all pile onto about 5 or so buses and head off into Pamplona. Its a short but anticipated bus ride to get things moving. We get off at the bus station and make our way into the town square, getting supplies on the way such as a sangria drinking bag and plenty of sangria. Some others brought champagne and flour.

Bus ride into town.

We make our way down the small cobblestone streets of Pamplona to the town square. We realise that the square is already truly packed out, and start to push our way into begin the festivities. People are already drunk, dancing and singing to nothing in particular. Balls are flying around everywhere. And people are being flung up into the air. Its pretty intense.

Prior to the Opening Ceremony.

This whole partying thing continues for a few hours. Everyone still drinking and being doused in sangria. People still singing “Ole, Ole, Ole” and other spanish songs with people jumping around like crazy. It is a ridiculous experience. Something that I simply cannot describe to you on these pages. Such an intesne experience.

It gets rather crazy just before Noon, when the Mayor sets off the Chupinazo (a rocket to signal the start of the festival), when everyone pushes and goes crazy. Everyone, and I mean everyone, takes the paneulo off their wrists and holds it high in the air with two hands whilst shouting “San Fermin! San Fermin!”. As soon as the Chupinazo goes off, its carnage, people pushing and shoving everywhere, girls are trying to push their way out, whilst guys are trying to get in. So many people on the shoulders, and so many inflateable balls being smacked around. Definitely an incredible experience.

A Bunch of Bulls at the Opening. Not as scary as the real kind.

Just before the Chupinazo went off.

The town square, just a few of your closest mates.

Dance. Dance. Dance.

We all catch up afterwards and keep drinking our sangria and once everyone is there we decide to do the Encierro which is the spainish word for Bull run. We get up to the bull pen and go a little stupid pretending to be bulls. Before I notice the bull horn marks on the top of the bull pen. They are above my head, eep. We walk down and then see the damage of what happened in the main square, which is incredible. So many broken bottles and rubbish everywhere, but the waste patrol was out and already clearing it up.

Walking from the stable to the first corner.

The clean up starts pretty much straight away.

In the main square doing our bull run walk.

We get to the very end where the stadium is. Its actually quite bigger than I imagined. And walking down the narrow streets has me wondering about the carnage that is going to ensue over the next week, or days for myself. Seeing Dead Mans Corner (a 90 degree corner where the bulls basically slide and hit the wall) is a daunting part of the course and one I intend to not run with the bulls at.

Along our walk we meet so many locals and spainards just wanting a good time. Everyone is sharing drinks and partying still. Its good to see this thing goes on, its amazing. We continue and join in, before making our way back to the bus stop to get back to camp.

A quick wash – try to get the pants a bit more respectable, I basically ditch the T shirt as its soaked with Sangria, and dry them on the roof of the tent. We all hit the pool up or doze off in a siesta. The rest of the day is spent laying about, drinking some more sangria or beer, a bit more swimming and a bit of food (I stick with a budget and go for baguettes) before being entertained by the other tour groups ‘dj’ and join in on the festivities with boisterous sing a longs to classics and plenty of table dancing. I try to crawl in at a respectable time as we leave at 5:30am tomorrow morning for the first bull run, but I think I failed miserably as I don’t get in to after 12 sometime.

Pamplona – July 5th 2009.
There are two festivals that I were on my to do list on my European travels. One is a small little spanish festival called the San Fermin Fiesta otherwise known as Running with the bulls. Yep, I was making my way to the capital of Navarre to get amongst thousands of punters in one of the craziest festivals in the world.

I wake up to the annoying beep of my alarm clock. And then the cracking of the headache comes in. I grab a quick bite to eat and pay the hostel for my accom before setting off for the bus station. I get there rather early and chill for my bus. I mistimed how long it would take to walk with a backpack on. Oh well.

I get chatting to two cute Aussie girls who didn’t know where to get tickets from and we get on fairly well. Its only a quick trip to Pamplona, just over an hour. I fall asleep as soon as I’m seated in my seat. And wake up as we pull into town.

The 3 of us try to figure out how to get to our respective campsites, til we realise we cannot a bus to about 1. So we go to get a taxi, til we realise our camp grounds are in completely different directions. Oh well, they go off and I go and wait for the bus.

On my way back into the bus stop, I ran into another Australian guy, Dan aka Miyagi, and we work out we’re going to the same tour groups camp site. So we start to chill, then a whole bunch of people Miyagi knows turns up. Pretty much all Australians and a welshman. After a bit of dirty bird – it was the only thing to eat – and it didnt really make me feel that good. We finally get on the bus to Camping Estella – well Estella. And its a good 50 minutes out of Pamplona.

Pulling in we think theres a shuttle bus, but we dont see one at the Estella bus stop, and we go to get a taxi. Til we actually see the shuttle bus and pile on in. We check in and get all the details about what is happening over the next few days. Then we get given our tents and I end up sharing with Mr Miyagi.

Its a scorcher of a day, so we all head to the pool and see Edi and go and say hello to her, its been a fair while since I saw her so we catch up. I go and catch up on some laundry too, drying it all over the tent.

The campsite itself is pretty good. Its big and its pretty clean. Its not exactly packed out either, considering its proximity to Pamplona. But there are two tour groups here so theres a good amount. The campsite has its own supermarket and also a bar which comes in handy for a late afternoon drink.

Whilst having some sangria and beer in the afternoon. The bar gets fuller and fuller due to the amazing Wimbledon final that is being played. Roddick v Federer in a tough game. It goes down to the last set and the place is full and buzzing. What an amazing match to witness in a tiny bar in some tiny town in Spain. Amazing.

The night is fairly quiet, but the other tour group has organised a bit of a party and encourage our group to get involved. So we duly oblige, albeit sitting on the grass and drinking our big cups of Sangria. There is a good crew hanging out and its definitely welcome to meet some amazing people.

I try to keep it quiet, but with the party raging on til all nights it is a tiny bit hard. So I end up crawling in pretty late.

San Sebastian – July 4th, 2009

…Not  a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Thats hardly what happened on this day. But it definitely has that day/night before magic to it. I’ve wake up with a giddy sensation, knowing one of the best festivals in the world is not far away.

After a bit of breakky at the hostel, this one actually provides a decent breakky, a bunch of us head up to the bus station to buy tickets to Pamplona for tomorrow. I go with the 8am one, to get there as quick as I can and not fuck around all day in San Seb – its been to long really. Before getting some food – my staple of salami, ham and a baguette also comes in handy.

I split up with the rest of the people in our room and end up walking around town finding and exploring san sebastian for my sanfermines outfit – which for those of you who dont know is all white with a red sash and hankerchief. And its an effort but I do find all the essential gear for about 20 euros. So it isn’t too bad.

After a bit of an email check I head back to the hostel via the beach, and see that there is a floating pontoon with a diving board on it. I decide I should go for a quick dip and swim out there. It doesn’t take too long but it did take it out of me, it was a good 500m plus swim out there. Maybe I am over exaggerating but it felt that long.

I end up chatting to a few blokes who are camping at pamplona and are lazing about on the pontoon. Before having a few dives off the board. It starts to get a bit overcast so I dive off and head in before going up to the hostel.

I realise as soon as I talk to all the guys after a shower that I left my sunnies somewhere. I run back into town and find them at the netcafe and then race back and catch the guys from the dorm. I only really remember one name – Baz. They are all going to a 4th of July party at a club with all you can eat and drink hours.

I dump my sunnies then head off with them. I catch up to them at the club, and the thing hasn’t started yet. Apparently its gonna start a bit later as the venue wants to cash in on tourists who want to eat. So we go grab a few cans of San Miguel and watch the game of Beach Soccer on the surf beach.

We head up to the club and wait for the food to be served, and its quite suprising. Its all ribs, chicken and hamburgers. Fuck yeah. So I grab at least 3 plate fulls during the hour of power eating edition.

After that its time to wait for the drinking hour of power to begin. However, we get smart about it, we line up and order 3. Drink and wait for the line to go down, and get another 3. We basically keep going til our whole table is covered in Sangria pints. And then we are set for an evening of drinking without paying a cent. Its not bad, theres some decent tunes on and loose people everywhere. We even make a tall pint glass snake tower that misses the ceiling by 2 pint glasses before it gets notice. A major achievement, if I do say so myself.

We head off into town and go to the 2 for 1 bar, but that deal is over after 12. So we just have a few san miguels anyway before the majority bail and its just me and baz drinking. We decide to head off and find another bar and come to Tas Tas. Baz buys 2 vodkas and red bulls as you get a free Pamplona Scarf. And we demolish them whilst watching some Bullrun carnage on the tvs. I remember going to the toilet to find it blocked – some poor sap was locked in and couldnt get out – the door wasnt budging either. So we let him be, but told the waiters at the bar (we’re cruel but not that cruel).

We bail after last drinks and head off to the hostel via the beach and end up talking to some spanish girls who only know sydney from finding nemo. Weird. By then we’re fucking beat and the girls run off to talk to other people so we bail on them and go to the hostel and crash. Its only about 3 hours before I have to get on the bus to Pamplona. Shit.

Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009, originalmente cargada por Nino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día: Un vendedor ambulante el día del chupinazo

Haz clic para ver más fotos de los Sanfermines

Sanfermines 2009. Las mulillas, originalmente cargada por Nino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día: Alguacil a caballo con las mulillas, en la Plaza del Castillo, camino de la Plaza de Toros.

Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009, originalmente cargada por Nino Lasaosa.

Una foto para un día. Pamplona, Sanfermines 2009. Dos gigantes muy distintos.

“A las cuatro, el seis de julio,
Pamplona gozando va
pasando calles y plazas,
las Vísperas a cantar
al glorioso San Fermín,
patrón de esta ciudad,
que los pamplonicas aman
con cariño sin igual.
Delante van
chiquillos mil
con miedo atroz
dicen ‘aquí’:
un cabezón viene detrás
dando vergazos y haciendo chillar.
Riau,riau”

No aparecía nunca en el programa oficial de fiestas. Al Riau-Riau no le hacía falta. Tenía, como los propios Sanfermines, ese carácter de acontecimiento festivo espontáneo, de profunda expresión del pueblo de Pamplona. Ya desde el último tercio del siglo XV existe constancia de que las autoridades locales acudían, con acompañamiento popular, a una celebración litúrgica la víspera del día de San Fermín. Paseo de apenas quince minutos entre la plaza del Ayuntamiento y la capilla del santo patrón, en la iglesia de San Lorenzo. Corporación consistorial vestida de gala y acompañada por una comitiva de clarineros, timbaleros, maceros, libreas y guardia municipal. Delante, la Comparsa de Gigantes y Cabezudos y la banda de música La Pamplonesa. A través de las calles del actual Casco Viejo y, desde principios de siglo, al son del Vals de Astráin.
Y en 1914, por fin, el Riau-Riau. Se cuenta que aquel año un carlista coreó el Vals al grito de “riau, riau” para obstruir la marcha de un Ayuntamiento de diferente signo político. Desde entonces, una multitud de mozos de Pamplona saltaban y empujaban, una y otra vez, al compás de la incesante música con el único objetivo de obstaculizar el camino a la comitiva municipal. Un pulso entre la autoridad y el pueblo.
Durante sus primeras décadas, el Riau-Riau nunca superó la hora y media. Pero a mediados de los años sesenta, la duración comenzó a dispararse y en repetidas ocasiones se suspendió la marcha. Sectores radicales del público impedían violentamente cualquier avance de la comitiva municipal. En 1980 La Pamplonesa tocó el Vals de Astráin 170 veces antes de llegar a la función de Vísperas cantadas, cinco horas y 25 minutos después de la salida del Ayuntamiento. Una de las últimas veces que el Riau-Riau llegó a terminarse fue en 1985, tras tres horas y media de vaivenes y ya completamente desvirtuado. Y en los último años ha sido sucesivamente suspendido con numerosos altercados de por medio.
Sin embargo, desde los primeros incidentes, parte del público unió su esfuerzo al de la comitiva municipal en el intento de mantener viva la tradición. De nuevo un pulso, esta vez con el pueblo dividido: unos en solitaria minoría y otros hombro a hombro con la autoridad. Y esta es la historia de dos mozos pamploneses, rescatados de entre esa anónima multitud, que expresan su postura sobre algo más que una costumbre.

Javier, el optimismo militante
Dos brazos que asustan enmarcan un pecho inmenso. Y en su centro, sobre una camiseta gris de manga corta, un colgante de plata. La silueta de la Comunidad Foral con el escudo navarro en su interior. Javier del Castillo nació en Pamplona hace 22 años. Hoy ha tenido un examen, “bien, era una de las marías de Industrial”, y después ha ido a nadar. Pelo largo, moreno, muy moreno. Y así, enmarañado como lo lleva, tiene aire de revolucionario, pero revolucionario romántico y sosegado. Los cabellos armonizan con dos ojos oscuros y pequeños. Su mirada, dinámica como él, viaja continuamente del infinito a lo más cercano. Ahora, cuando habla sin pausa de su tierra, la boca se le queda pequeña para expresar tanto orgullo.
Para él, “el Riau-riau es una tontería, no es un acto fundamental de San Fermín. Se ha convertido en importante porque los de HB han ido a reventarlo, a bloquear a la comitiva, a escupir y a pegar a la gente”. Además, el escenario del acto favorece a la minoría radical, porque las calles por las que discurre son muy estrechas y tan sólo 30 o 40 personas pueden obstruir el paso de toda la marcha. Delante del zaguán del Ayuntamiento, “con 50 tíos en primera fila y que no dejan ni salir a la corporación municipal, sientes impotencia porque ellos están más organizados que tú y no puedes hacer nada”.
En su opinión, costará muchos años recuperar esta tradición. Actualmente, “hay dos soluciones. Se puede dejar correr el tiempo, que va en contra de ellos, o provocar una solución rápida, que puede desembocar en un conflicto y les daría alas. Pero, la verdad, es que no interesa alentar un batalla campal por algo que no es prioritario”. La situación sería diferente si se intentará boicotear el chupinazo, la procesión o los encierros, “pero con eso no pueden, aunque lo intentan, porque la gente no les deja”.
Reconoce que lo abertzale está muy presente durante San Fermín, sobre todo por su presencia en las peñas. “Por eso no defienden el Riau-Riau, HB les mete caña y no les deja. En general, están muy manipuladas, porque son muy politizables. Sólo con 10 o 15 tíos dedicados a eso controlas la asamblea de una peña. Es normal, ellos van a manipular, es su especialidad y viven de eso”. A pesar de todos los incidentes, afirma con rotundidad que no se rompe el espíritu festivo, se mantiene intacto.  “En absoluto se ha convertido en algo político, es una fiesta abierta a todo el mundo. Los navarros, la gente castiza, es muy pacífica, muy discreta y educada, con unos fuertes sentimientos interiores”.
Sin embargo, expresa con rabia una sola queja: “Me pone histérico la gente de aquí que pasa, que en general no se moja para nada hoy en día”. Para Javier lo fundamental es demostrar con hechos el rechazo a la violencia, en la calle, en las manifestaciones. “Además de ser lo más adecuado, es que no tienes otra manera”. Y por eso critica la pasividad de la sociedad navarra. “La gente tiene miedo de que les fichen y les pillen por la calle”. Él cuenta que, desde el principio, acudió a las concentraciones organizadas por Gesto por la Paz en la plaza del Ayuntamiento para rechazar las acciones de ETA. “Sólo éramos 30 personas y enfrente había 300 de HB que nos miraban con cara de odio, nos insultaban y nos tiraban tornillos o bolas de goma”.
Apuesta por un hacer “un vacío total” al entorno radical. “Yo le he retirado el saludo a mucha gente, porque no sé cómo pueden apoyar lo que están apoyando, y sé que les duele sentirse rechazados”. Y continúa. “El nacionalismo actual no lucha por la tierra, la destruye. Además, nacionalismo es fascismo por naturaleza, porque es querer imponer tus ideas”. A pesar de todo, sus palabras incesantes suenan a optimismo. No lo niega. “La minoría seguirá siendo una minoría. En Navarra va hacia abajo en picado, no hay más que coger los resultados de las elecciones. Pero, ¿hasta cuándo aguantarán? Yo que sé”.

Joaquín, la leyenda de un apellido
“Qué hago yo aquí/ qué hago yo aquí/ si el lunes tengo un examen/ qué cojones hago aquí”. Es 6 de junio, día de Escalera. La última etapa de los musicales uno de enero, dos de febrero, tres de marzo y compañía. Fechas en las que numerosos peñistas pamploneses celebran el camino, ahora la proximidad, a San Fermín. Alrededor de una docena de socios de la Peña Mutilzarra (mozo viejo o solterón en vascuence) disfrutan además de su peculiar encierro. De vez en cuando, de manera espontánea,  siguen el mismo recorrido que los toros y mozos durante las fiestas. Pañuelo rojo al cuello, bailes, canciones y paradas obligatorias en todos los bares del itinerario para echar el preceptivo potecico. Cuesta de Santo Domingo, plaza del Ayuntamiento, calle de Mercaderes y Estafeta. Un impresionante jolgorio de habitualmente tres horas de duración.
Entre ellos, Joaquín Baleztena. Pamplonés de 27 años y médico en Estella. “Joder, si me vieran mis pacientes en este estado…” Es muy menudo. Tanto que, en un instante, cuatro o cinco compañeros lo levantan sobre sus cabezas y abandonan el bar, camino del siguiente, al ritmo de una improvisada marcha fúnebre. A pesar de su apariencia frágil, es el más movido. Un verdadero terremoto, anima el ambiente como un niño revoltoso. Pero sus dos ojos claros y pequeños, también saben mirar con seriedad. Y más con esta conversación.
Recuerda que ya de niño, a hombros de su padre, acudía a la plaza del Ayuntamiento todas las vísperas de San Fermín. “Todo el mundo con los brazos en alto y, después, de repente, el primer chunda. Era algo que se sentía mucho”. No en vano, su apellido es toda una institución en las fiestas de la capital navarra. A principios de siglo, su abuelo, Ignacio Baleztena, fue el primero en entonar un “riau, riau” al final de los acordes de La Pamplonesa. De forma natural, castiza. Simplemente para obstruir el paso de un Ayuntamiento que no era carlista como él. Pero fue una reacción espontánea que se impondría como costumbre con el paso del tiempo. Una herencia de su abuelo y que Joaquín aprendió sobre su padre, por lo que en su casa “siempre lo han vivido mucho, pero, más o menos, igual que todo el mundo en  Pamplona”.
“Primero, la intención era obstaculizar la marcha en plan gracia; después, retrasarla para conseguir un récord de duración; y, en los últimos años, fue degenerando. El Riau-Riau se politizó por el problema del separatismo en Navarra y el País Vasco”. Y por el momento, Joaquín no divisa una solución a corto plazo. La cercanía de la sede de HB y su actuación organizada favorecen el objetivo de la minoría radical. “Ellos tomaban enseguida las primeras filas, repartían guantazos y los demás sólo podíamos empujar para intentar que la cosa avanzara”. Sin éxito. “Quienes quieren impedir algo lo pueden hacer más fácilmente que los que queremos sacarlo adelante”.
El año pasado, la Peña Mutilzarra organizó el llamado “Riau-Riau alternativo”. La tarde del 6 de julio, acompañados por una charanga que interpretaba el Vals de Astráin, recorrieron el itinerario de la corporación, pero “sólo a título individual y para pasarlo bien”. Joaquín señala que recibieron mucho apoyo de la gente: “Se asomaban a los balcones, aplaudían, se unían a nosotros. No encontramos oposición porque, simplemente, no representamos nada”. En su opinión, las peñas apoyan el Riau-Riau, pero no pueden controlar las ideas y acciones de todos sus miembros. Por su parte, Mutilzarra, de 6 años de antigüedad y alrededor de 100 socios, no entra en cuestiones políticas. No es su función, sólo forman una cuadrilla, un grupo de amigos que se juntan para pasar un buen rato y compartir su sentimiento sanferminero. “En las fiestas la gente sólo quiere divertirse, pero siempre hay alguien que las utiliza para algo más”.
Se expresa con claridad. Sin confusiones, con la limpieza y confianza del que, desde niño, lo lleva todo muy adentro. No le importa hablar, pero mide sus palabras. Se nota que prefiere otra, desea que el ambiente de la Peña, de Pamplona, de la gente, hable por él. “Vente con nosotros, luego tenemos cena”.
“Después vienen los muchachos
en un montón fraternal
empujando a los gigantes
con alegría sin par,
porque llegaron las fiestas
de esta gloriosa ciudad,
que son en el mundo entero
una cosa singular.
Riau,riau”
Sólo dos personajes, dos historias. Quizá, apenas representativas o carentes de significado. Quizá. Pero sobre las calles de Pamplona todavía resisten unas cuantas pegatinas. Desde hace varios años, casi descoloridas. Y ahí siguen, sobre farolas, papeleras o señales de tráfico. Fondo blanco, recuadro rojo; uniforme de mozo pamplonica. En su interior, con letras negras, un simple y contundente mensaje. Sólo dos palabras separadas por una silueta roja de San Fermín: Yo (…) Riau-Riau.

Armando Camino
Pamplona, julio de 1998
(leer Vuelo atrás)