A Fortuitous Encounter

From the fourth floor balcony I see a man lying motionless on the pavement. A boot strewn from his foot sits beside his head; an empty Rioja bottle at his side.

The silence is broken as people begin to gather. Night merges into day.

Inside, my host sits in front of the television. I hold my breath with anticipation as she turns it on.

A red-and-white sea of revellers carpet the cobblestone street nearby. They don traditional white outfits and red neck scarves, splashed with stains of wine and sangria – a sign of their previous night’s conquest.

Holding rolled up newspapers above their heads, they chant and cheer for what’s to come.

Contained behind police and barricades, with little room to move, the participants now jog anxiously on the spot.

A firecracker is launched above the crowd. The contenders burst out from their containment and flood onto the street.

I duck outside to unite with hundreds of others already leaning precariously from their balconies. We cheer - eager and excited.

The mood is electric.

A crescendo of stampeding feet approaches. The half-tonne beasts charge around the corner with explosive acceleration. Their horns protrude like matadors’ swords.

Intermingled are the runners. Turning their heads to look behind, their faces are swept with both excitement and fear. Many dart to the sides to hide, while others trip and stumble as they run.

Two girls keep close to the wooden barrier. One climbs over, narrowly avoiding the tip of a horn. The other, still clinging, is gored and knocked to the ground.

My attention turns to the frenzy now directly below. The crowd roars. My adrenaline surges.

The pack charge to the next bend and away from my line of view. With my heart still pounding, I rush back inside to catch the closing chaos on the television.

The three minutes of fretful jubilation concludes.

I thank my host, whom only hours earlier had been a mere stranger.

Our chance encounter, and her friendly nature, had led to viewing the spectacle from one of the best spots in Pamplona.

I set off in the morning sun, grinning to myself, next San Fermin, I will run.