My Travel Writing Scholarship 2011 Entry- My Big Adventure

Every day at 8am from July 7th through July 14th a lone rocket bursts over Old Pamplona ritually commencing a stampede of bulls and men.

As it exploded overhead several hundred others and myself begin making our way down the course. Ceremoniously clad in white pants and T-shirts with red scarves and sashes it’s quite clear that we are being chased, but at the same time, we too are chasing something.

Another CRACK rings out. The second rocket, signaling that all of the bulls are out has just gone off. For mere seconds the droves of runners humble. Our paces slow and the balcony spectators become silent, but only for a breath. Impetuously the audience resumes their cheers towards the once jovial street where we now move at a faster, almost solemn pace.

I hear them before I see them. Cheers begin to erupt behind us and finally the unmistakable clank of angry cowbells echoes up the narrow corridor of cobblestone street as I pass centuries old buildings and barricades with bystanders wiling me onwards.

My head turns about and I see them. Maybe four bulls charging forward, a sea of red and white parting before them. I burst into a sprint, finally diving into a convenient corner with about three-dozen others taking refuge, like ants from rain.

The bulls pass as fast as they come, and as I detach myself from the human mass and proceed cautiously for the last 100 meters towards the bullring, the third rocket goes off; the first bull has entered the ring. I look around at my companions and smile; we are all smiling.

Finally, the 4th rocket explodes, announcing that all of the bulls are safely off the course. An older Spanish gentleman beside me takes off his scarf and kisses the patron saint stitched on back; undoubtedly thanking him for another year of protection.

We enter the stadium to cheers from spectators radiating towards us runners on the sand. We found what we were chasing. It’s an emotion that no words describe. That overwhelmingly fulfilling sensation comprised of bliss, awe, excitement, and even fear that we often travel so far to feel, and can so rarely find in modernity’s midst. But here in Pamplona, on this day, I am one of thousands enjoying that very sensation.

Making my way through the crowd I search out and embrace my brother who I came to Europe with on two conditions. One: we see, do, and enjoy everything we can, and two: experience San Fermín.

The eight bull runs of San Fermín are but parts of an eight and a half day celebration. The runs draw controversy and questions; but they also bring over a million travelers together for “204 horas de fiesta” where the people of Navarra, the Spanish region that Pamplona plays capital to, proudly welcome anyone and everyone to celebrate the traditions of their culture and above all; enjoy themselves and the great company of the strangers around them.

¡Viva San Fermín!