The Pamplona

The ground shakes. Not literally, but as our senses are now elevated with heightened consciousness, we are more than convinced that the earth below our feet is trembling. People around us begin to run, but we hold our ground. Drunk with an impression of safety, a naive belief in self-immunity from harm, we dare not abandon our resolve. A rush of excitement pulses through my veins, drowning the few nerves that flared up, flooding my mind with more ambivalent hype than concern.

This elation is similar to those final seconds that precedes the climatic fall on a roller coaster. A drop is no more than a click away, but right now you remain untouchable. So you put your hands up and scream to celebrate the pure weightlessness, the pure freedom of soul, that you are in. All before the plunge.

I feel this now. Freedom of soul. But that’s when I see it. Entering into my horizon of sight, the beast revealing itself from around the corner, from the world that came before this street corridor in which I’m standing. Then, I experience nothing but pure, raw fear.

 

———-

 

When my alarm rang at 6am, I rolled off of the cot in my private, closet sized room. I was tired, but not more tired than any other typical morning, certainly nothing that couldn’t be cured with a cup of coffee. Today was a big day so I was too eager to oversleep, so I practically sprung up from my dormant state. Last night I had even set out my uniform to wear for today’s event, having left the red sash and red bandana neatly folded over the white shirt and white shorts. My friends and I had decided to meet outside the entrance of our hostel at 6:30am sharp, which we agreed would give us more than enough time to have something to eat, and still make the walk to the city’s center in time. The festival didn’t officially commence until 8 of that morning, but we had been informed that city officials would close off entrance after 7:30. Considering that we were foreign to this country, let alone this particular maze of city blocks, we didn’t want to risk getting lost and missing our chance. Not after we had come all this way. 

Thankfully for the six of us, we had a secret navigation weapon by the name of Tyler, or Ty as we knew him. Ty had such a natural inclination for direction that it was virtually impossible to lose our way in his company. Beyond this, he possessed several other qualities that are rare to find in people including, but certainly not limited to, an unmatched genuineness. This created a very organic gravity around him that pulled people in. He cared deeply for his friends, and he was the kind of individual who you’d want to have caring deeply for you. So, with his super power for finding a way through any maze with ease, as if he had a miniature compass twirling inside his skull, he continued to guide us fearlessly through streets. The closer we got to the city center, the more white shirts and red bandanas there were. This was the traditional attire expected of everyone participating: all white clothes donned by a red sash around the waist, coupled with a matching bandana loosely knotted around the neck. And this was a tradition that absolutely everyone honored today. Some were walking solo, others like us marched in packs. I couldn’t help but to think to myself that there was some sort of bond between us, ourselves and these strangers we now walked side by side with. No one spoke a word, not that there was much to say even if we wanted. We were simply all in this together. Our bonds remained unspoken, knowing that we were willingly volunteering for this act of courageousness without reservation. Well, possibly some had hesitations. But if so, they hid it well as we jointly descended upon the single main street of town. Perhaps they were too foolish to even know it themselves.

I know now I was foolish to pretend that there was nothing to fear. 

Finally, as we arrived at our destination, we had to squeeze our way through barricades which blocked off other intersections. These temporary roadblocks were placed strategically throughout the entire city in order to carve out a single route, the single main street of town, from one end of the city to the other. Like a one lane path, once inside the street there was only one way to go. But because the street as a whole lasted several miles, there was no hope of running the entire distance. Instead, as the road had natural twists and turns, really the only choice we had in the matter was finding which block looked most opportunistic for our dash. After passing by four access points we finally settled on one block that seemed to have a long enough straightway to run harmlessly, which was as much of a strategy as we could come up with anyway. As we passed through, some of the bystanders that had only come to observe today’s event began shouting at us. I guess it was fairly obvious that we were American, because rather than speaking in their native language these audience members shouted in broken English. I guess they hoped we would understand their warnings.

“You idiot tourists! Stop! What you are do is not fun. Is not ha ha. Do not do this joke for the fun, you will be hurt! Please, there is no reason. Don’t!” they yelled.

Unfazed by their pleas, we politely waved thank you and continued on. It registered in my mind that there was probably very good reason for their concerns, and that these locals might in fact know what they were talking about more than we did. But it was of no significance to us, we came here for a purpose and were determined to see it through. Turning to the rest, I coincidentally locked eyes with my companion Jon. Shrugging my shoulders I laughed, “oh well, we’re in it now.”

“Yeah that’s for sure,” he replied nonchalantly. “One woman even pulled on my shirt. I guess we’re about to live up to the stereotypical stupid American in their eyes.” 

I laughed more at this. Smiling back at him I said, “Then let’s give them one hell of a show!” Jon chuckled, and gave me a lighthearted punch on my shoulder. None of us were deeply rooted in friendship, having only been associated with each other for a short time in this study abroad program. But during that time we were otherwise removed, together as one, from the world back home; which forced a kinship to each other in our own way, our own pact, and so long as we were here we knew we had each other’s backs. 

With all of us now through the wooden barricade, we formed a private huddle. Evan and Kyle began to stretch, or at least attempt to. “I may only be 22, but I swear I’ve got the joints of an 90 year old!” Kyle exclaimed in exaggerated angst. 

Nodding in agreement Rob added, “Yeah, and all the beer we’ve been downing these last few weeks probably hasn’t helped our shape.” To this we all nodded in agreement, and shared around a general look of oh well, because it was certainly too late to do anything about it now. 

As we acknowledge this in consensus, we took note of two things. First, there were now police that also entered through the barricades, and had begun mingling through the crowds. Second, some of the locals had started to pass around newspapers, bundled together initially but everyone just accepted the rule of thumb of ‘take one and pass it on’. 

The police officials, easily spotted in their bright neon green vests, were walking in pairs, pausing periodically at particular groupings of white shirts and red bandanas. From where we stood we could observe this happening around us, but we weren’t close enough to any specific interaction to hear what was being said. We could, however, determine that these police check-in’s were too calculated to be considered random. They almost looked like interrogations. Watching out at the crowds near us, we witnessed one set of officials placing their hands on a particularly stumbling individual. As they turned him away from the cluster he was standing in and lead him out of the street, their purpose became obvious. 

“Oh I get it,” declared Ty, “that’s really interesting.” He paused, assuming we all also understood, but continued to explain when he realized only half of us got what he was talking about. “They’re not allowing anyone who has been drinking to run. They’re walking around checking to see if some of these people are drunk, and I guess removing them if they are.”

“Ahhh,” Jon explained. “Good thing we didn’t bring any beers to the hostel last night. Otherwise we’d be done for.”

“Yeah, honestly it makes sense,” Ty laughed. “You could pretty easily tell that guy was belligerent. Think about it. Considering the shit-show that is probably about to ensue, any drunks here could probably be more of a threat to the rest of us than themselves. I bet these streets get pretty congested once all hell breaks loose, imagine how bad it could be if some drunk person falls in front of you or trips you while running. I know I wouldn’t want to deal with that, considering what we’re running from.”

I immediately comprehended what Ty was saying. And he was right. This block of the main street we had stumbled upon was fairly narrow, and trying to dodge fallen drunkards was not something I would want to deal with. Not on top of what we were already preparing for. As these police officials continued to scan the crowds with our safety in mind, some of the newspapers circulating around finally reached us. Selfishly I grabbed one for myself before Kyle had a chance, and briskly fanned it out in my hands. Even though the text was in Spanish I had no difficulty in understanding it instantly, or at least well enough to be reminded of exactly what we had gotten ourselves into. 

The headline across the paper read, in huge bolded letters: “¡LA FESTIVAL DE SAN FERMIN!” Then in smaller lettering, the subtitle: “¡Julio de 2013 – Historia Corre Por Las Calles!” 

Below these headlines a giant image covered the entire front page. An image I’ll probably never forget. It graphically portrayed a single snapshot of yesterday’s running, showing a man half leaping and half flung into the air. There was an expression of extreme pain painted across the man’s face, but it was no mystery as to why he was hurting. Lifting the man into air was a bull, nearly three or possibly four or possibly ten times his size. And as clear as day on this front page photograph, I could see the bull’s right horn entering the outer side of this man’s left thigh. And it was also clear that there was an unnatural lump protruding outward on the inner side of that same leg. Exactly parallel to where the horn was stabbing him. 

Seeing this picture of a horn literally piercing through this man’s leg was enough to forgo the rest of the foreign text. This brutally reminded us of exactly where we were. In Pamplona, Spain; about to take part in the famous Festival of San Fermín, the famous Running of the Bulls. And as the locals were correct in their attempted warnings, this was indeed not a joke. 

Just then, as if reading this newspaper was the queue for the next click on this exhilarating roller coaster, a gun shot off in the distance. No one had warned us that this would happen, but we didn’t need to be rocket scientists to know what this signified. It had begun. The bulls had been released. 

 

———-

 

All of the white shirts and red bandanas that surround us begin to flee, all in the opposite direction of the gun shot. I feel a rush of excitement pulse through my veins. I dart my eyes back and forth between my friends, as they do the same to each other. Ty quickly blurts out, “Okay guys! I know we said we’d stay put and stand our ground until the bulls were in sight. Let’s wait as long as we can.” But now as the earth starts to tremble with the force of an impending stampede, we are less certain that this is a good idea. The ground isn’t literally shaking, but since our senses are so elevated we’re easily convinced of a pending earthquake beneath our feet.  With his confidence evaporating as each second passed he continued, “there’s obviously no chance now we can run this whole thing together, so when you go, be safe! Don’t be a hero. If you see a barricade to jump over, or some corner to dodge out of the street, just do it!” I nod back at him, but am unsure that he registers my acknowledgement. Not that I can blame him, all of our attention must be focused on the pending doom. We must be coincidentally standing near the start, because in the distance we already hear hooves roaring across cobblestone and concrete. I look ahead to gauge the amount of space in front of me so that I’m ready to burst into a blind sprint, and finally divert my undivided attention back to the beginning of our narrow street corridor. Any second now they will surely emerge, diverted through the blocked off street with only one path to take, one road to follow. Finally Kyle and Rob are done waiting, and split. Their departure inspires Ty to run. Followed by Evan. Seemingly all at once the rest of our troupe retreats, and I’m the only one remaining. I’m not alone in the street, but now am the sole individual isn’t yet running for their life, surrounded by a sea of fleeing white shirts and red bandanas. 

Suddenly I feel the urge to close my eyes. I give in, and lower my eyelids while simultaneously taking a deep breath. Time slows down while I inhale as deeply as my lungs will allow. I feel weightless. Purely weightless, untouchable. I remind myself that I am untouchable, that always through my life I have never been hurt, and despite the very real possibility of harm I know that today none will come my way. It’s an impression of safety I’ve carried with me most of my life, rooted in youthful naivety, that nothing bad will ever happen to me. Bad things happen to other people, but not me. It’s like driving car; bad accidents happen all the time, but every time I sit behind the wheel my gut tells me that I’ll always be okay, somehow. I just know it, as if no risk is really a risk at all.

I open my eyes. That’s when I saw it. Entering into my horizon of sight, the beast revealing itself from around the corner, from the world that came before this street corridor in which I’m standing. Then, I experience raw fear.

It all changed. Now only one single thought emerges, immediately dominating my mind. No. Not only my mind. In instant inception, a new realization was erupting through every fiber of my consciousness.

Shit. That thing can kill me.

The realization is simple: death is real. I could actually die today. Doing this. That bull can and, if it gets to me, will kill me. 

I’m running now. I’m running hard. Part of me wants to look back, but I resist the temptation and instead keep my head down. I know I must keep my eyes glued to the road before me, or else I risk the fatal misfortune of tripping. Suddenly the road seems to have shrunk and there are more white shirts and red bandanas compressed into this narrow lane than there were only moments ago. Although this could be my imagination playing an evil trick on me. Hell has certainly broke loose now, and the edges of my peripheral sight start to blur as frantic tunnel vision guides me through the mayhem. For a split second I give in, curling my head back to catch a glimpse of the approaching doom. Now all twelve are in the straightaway of this block, in a cloud of black and brown and off-white husks. There is no doubting that these bulls are constructed of solid steel. A reinforced brick wall wouldn’t stand a chance against these creatures. I only gaze behind long enough to blink, but that is enough to see how they are catching up. I double down, and reaffix my attention at the road in front of me. I’m fast, probably faster than an average guy my own age, and I knew that confidently. But it’s now wildly apparent to me that even in my athletic prime I could never come close to matching the speed of these beasts. Make no mistake about it, those bulls were faster than I could dream of being. 

The first bull is practically breathing down my neck when someone trips in front of me. I know it is a human being, but with everything moving so fast they amount to nothing but an obstacle in my way. This is all I can afford to think of as their red sash comes unknotted and tumbles on the ground ahead of me. I panic. I try to ignore the cold shiver that runs down my spine as I sprint on, but it’s enough that I lose focus. That will most likely be me if I continue on, I think to myself. They must be literally breathing down my neck now, because I sense that even a quick peek again could cost me whatever small lead on the bulls I still have. 

Another white shirt and red bandana falls slightly in front of me to the left, but this time it works in my favor. Oddly enough, like a fateful sign, my attention is swiftly drawn to a unique emblem that is stitched onto his neck bandana. It appears to be a family crest, embroidered with gorgeous gold and blue fabrics criss-crossed to shape a crown. Underneath was etched the city name, Pamplona, also in gold fabric. I see all of this in a flash, and somehow know that this is my microscopic window of opportunity. As he falls I dodge his flailing sash, stepping with all my might on my right foot to create a burst of momentum, which I use to thrust myself to the left. The void left where he fell leaves a pocket of space just large enough to get through, which I use to jump out from the swarm of chaos. I slam uncontrollably against the brick wall of an adjacent building. Still panicked, I flatten my body against the brick with my arms were spread out like wings. This is my most humbling attempt at being as flat as humanly possible. I only have enough time to drawn in one large breath, and hold it in my lungs, before they are upon me. I’m afraid to release this breath, that maybe despite the hooves and bells and screams one of these bulls might somehow hear me. If I release this breath one of them might somehow decide to fix its attention on me, of all the hundreds, leaving me utterly helpless. Here I am close enough to touch them, as they storm through this pinched bottle-necked avenue, if only I choose to extend my arm forward.

But there was no chance for that. I remain frozen still against this wall, and none of the twelve bulls turn their rage on me. In the span of twenty seconds while holding my breath, they come and go, advancing onwards through the twists and turns of this enclosed street.

None of it seems real, but it’s over. Slowly I peel myself from the bricks, not yet able to comprehend all that just happened. Maybe I’m smiling now, maybe I’m not. At this point I couldn’t care less about my own facial expression. Perhaps I should be thrilled now, and celebrate, but the intensity of the last few moments doesn’t wear off right away. While looking around at the people around me, all of us trying to catch our breath, I am still. Hunched over, with my hands on my knees for support, I am still. My thoughts have flatlined, and breathing seems to be the only thing my conscious mind can focus on. Some of the other white shirts and red bandanas collect themselves quicker than I do, and begin to disperse. But I take my time, I’m in no rush now. I allow a few minutes to pass, and watch what seemed like hundreds of thousands dwindle to a handful of remaining stragglers. Finally one clear thought does surface. I need to find my friends. Knowing that there isn’t much left for me to do standing around here, I march forward, now at a well earned walking pace. 

Luck must be on my side, because after a mere five minutes of walking, I find Ty. He’s sitting on the ground now, leaning back against the leg of a wooden barricade. Since he is looking down into his hands he doesn’t take note of me as I approach him. I lean over and give a light slap on his shoulder to get his attention, which it does. “Hey! Looks like you made it too.”

“Yeah. It was….wild,” I respond, still not having regained my breath fully. The adrenaline that had fueled my frantic dash was fading, and I was becoming more aware of my own exhaustion. Ty noticed this, picking up a large leather canteen from the ground at his side, and thrusting it into my hands. 

“Here. Drink up.” he said. “Once the bulls passed the barricade that I jumped through, some random stranger came over to me. He patted me on the back and handed me this pouch. Before I could ask or say anything, he just smiled and walked away.” 

I look at him and ask, “what is it?” But I don’t wait for him to answer before I take a gulp. I don’t care. I just ran from twelve bulls. I wasn’t going to be afraid of mystery canteens from strangers. Not now. The wine tastes absolutely awful, but at the same time I swear it’s the best damn wine I’ve ever had. Without helping it, I let out a great sigh after swallowing, and immediately drink some more. I feel a relief blanket over me. A warm blanket of relief, that smells of sweat and tastes of cheap wine. 

“Thank you,” I say while handing it back to him. Still on the ground, he is looking back at me and smiling now.

“Hey, you know what?” He asks through his smile, “Do you realize what just happened?” Pausing for emphasis, he added, “do you realize we just ran with bulls?” 

“Yeah…” I trail off. I reach out and take back the wine. I sip a little more, and now I am smiling. Briefly I gaze back towards the cobblestone and concrete where I had just run from. I’m breathing freely now. Without looking back at my friend, keeping my sight on this place, I say, “lets do it again sometime?”