Running with the WHAT?

The camino is over. This post is on time for my self-imposed deadline, which means after this post, I´m caught back up. After 22 hours on the train in 2 days, 13 hours in Pamplona, and back in Santiago in time for coffee, beer, and last night´s firework show, this week´s cultural topic is:

SAN FERMIN

AKA Running with the Bulls. Sounds dangerous, and with good reason. Because it can be. The day we arrived in Pamplona, July 12th, was the most brutal day of the entire festival this year: 7 gorings and some record number of injuries. But, this 40-something year old tradition springs from Spain´s bull culture and need to be macho...or something. On average, there are from 10-15 bull gorings every year and up to as many has 30-35 hospitalisations. All things considered, it´s really not all that bad. In the past 11 years, only one person has actually died from injuries sustained in running.

Spanish bull culture dates back to I don´t know when, the urge to stampede for 825m with 2 tonne bulls is I don´t know why, and the things you see about the actual running are much worse than it would seem, and the way the spanish police actually work every morning is unbelievable. If you do it smart, you won´t get hurt. The problem is, it´s not a calculatable risk. If a bull wants to turn on you, it will and there´s really nothing you can do about it, especially if you´re cornered. Thousands of people run everyday and most of them don´t get gored or hurt (in fact, most people who get hurt get hurt because someone in front of them falls, or they get tripped up, or they bang their head on a railing, or they jump over the fence and can´t catch themselves and end up with a bleeding face), they just run into the stadium and jump the barrier.

The biggest and best part about the eight day Sanfermin festival is the all night party, the parades, the concerts, and the people of all ages all dressed in white with red bandana and sache. Just a big party atmosphere and, of course since drinking in the streets is legal in Europe, the party goes all night long and in every possible street.

The actual stampede only lasts about 3 minutes, and starts at exactly 8am (which is strange because usually Spaniards are taking naps) with the firing of a rocket and the release of the bulls. It´s a easy deadline for all the people still out partying from the night before. In the pack, there are 6 fighting toros, which are chased by a group of non-dangerous hearding cattle to create a Stampede effect. The toros run because they want to be part of the group, but they´re also bread to kill, which is why they can be dangerous.


Animal rights activists are trying to put an end to the tradition, since they claim it´s mistreatment of the toros and blah blah blah. If you ask me, though, if you have enough time to think about animal rights, you have too much time to think. Tradition is tradition, right? After everyone and all the bulls are hearded into the main stadium, where the race ends, a baby toro with corked horns is released and people taunt it and play around and everyone has a little fun. Later in the evening (which is probably what the hippies don´t like), the 6 bulls are put to the true killing test when they go up against matadors in faceoff: the bull fight. Unfortunately for the bulls, the matadors always win.

People start the race from all different points in the course. Dale started from about 100m in. I also ran, but I started about 150m from the end, which means I didn´t actaully see the bulls until I was safely behind stadium guard rail. But, as soon as we figured out Dale wasn´t gored, hurt, stepped on, injured, or whatever, we were back on a train. Long day for a good story. Yeah, I´m hardcore too.