#Eurafrica2013 || Running an 800 meter race... wtih bulls.

Our next Spain destination was Pamplona for the annual "Running of the Bulls" aka San Fermin Festival. And it.is.crazy!! Not just the fact that insane people willingly volunteer to be chased by HUGE bulls, but there are also millions of people watching the event, and most are extremely drunk or hungover the entire time.

We had to wake up at 6am to make sure the boys (who were part of the crazy group actually running) could get a good starting point, and I could get a good spectator spot along the fence. I was lucky an old man was nice enough to let me squeeze in front of him so I could take pictures. [I would later regret accepting his kindness...]

The two-hour wait for the race to begin felt like for.ever. Plus, I was super nervous because for the past 6 months, I kept having visions of the bull's giant horns piercing through Husband's stomach as he is pummeled to the ground and killed right before my eyes. (Graphic, I know...sorry.) I secretly just wanted this race to be over, so the nightmares could stop.

Finally, I heard lots of commotion and the race had begun! I was smashed up to the fence by the mass of crowds behind me, and started snapping away on my camera, hoping to catch a frame with the boys in it. As I was taking pictures... an obese, old Italian man started groping me from behind. The crowd was so strong that I was trapped and couldn't move away from him. I yelled at him to stop, but I didn't want to keep turning around because I was afraid I would miss the 0.25 second window of the boys running by. He kept touching/massaging me in all the wrong places, AND I was wearing a dress. I wont go into detail, because it's gross and I'd rather just forget it... but let's just say I was mildly molested and felt extremely violated and disgusted.

Luckily, the race was over quickly and I later realized that I did get several shots of the boys and the bulls running by. (Yes, Chris is on his iPhone, haha.)

Maybe the suffering was worth it? (Shudder) Ugh. Let's not dwell on this.


I then hurried into the arena, hoping to find a spot to watch the action, but it was PACKED. I was lucky to find some guys my age (extremely drunk/hungover) but they gladly let me squeeze in next to them. After two minutes, one said he loved me in Spanish. His friend translated. I smiled and replied with an awkward, "Thank you" - which his friend translated into "Gracias." (Hah, he definitely didn't speak ANY English.) Funny/awkward... but at least they left me alone after I told them my man was in the arena.



When they let the bulls out, stupid people huddle on the ground and the bulls jump over top of them. Well, usually. There was at least one time when the bull didn't jump and just trampled everyone...

Let's just say, the people in the arena were CRAZY. Guys were taunting the bulls, grabbing their horns, getting trampled, bucked around... it was seriously insane, because they were doing all of this voluntarily and on purpose.

 
One guy's pants got ripped off. Yep. Completely naked from the waste down. And I caught it on camera. But this one is censored. (You're welcome.)

One guy got knocked-out flat and was completely limp as they dragged him out and threw him into the crowd. That part was really scary.

I was super nervous and anxious the entire time because I couldn't find the boys and didn't know if they were safe or even made it in. In a giant arena, with everyone wearing the same exact white pants, shirt, and red scarf, AND running around constantly... it's basically impossible to keep track of people. Luckily, after the whole thing was over, I spotted them in the distance, hopped the fence and ran down to give Husband a BIG squeeze and kiss!! He was alive... and safe. Such a relief. 

Then I heard their crazy stories (and watched a bunch of video clips). A few minutes before the race, Dave got kicked out for wearing his Go-Pro and then with the help of the locals distracting the police, he rolled under the fence and sneaked back in, just in time. Kyle was the last one and said he barely made it in to the arena. In fact, he actually got stuck inside the tunnel WITH the bulls when they closed the gate. (WORST place to be.) Luckily, he made it out alright. Christopher ended up playing it safe, but still touched the bull once. They all said it wasn't really as dangerous as it seems, and usually the people who get hurt are just stupid. But overall, they loved it and would totally do it again.




Husband said if he could par-core, he would have run up the side of the wall, back flipped, landed on a bull, and rode it into the arena. bahah. Funny. Let's just pretend instead.



I am glad Chris got to accomplish one of his biggest, most exciting "Life Goals"... and most of all I'm SO happy that I didn't have to see THIS in real life.



After the race and during the day, the city of Pamplona is dead. Everyone stays up all night and parties, then runs (or watches) the race in the morning, and then passes out in the parks on sleeping bags, air mattresses, benches, train station floors...everywhere. They sleep all day until night time when the partying begins again.

Later that night, we decided to get the full cultural experience and purchased tickets to the Bull Fight.



When we sat in our seats, a girl quickly warned me that we were in the "Sangria Splash Zone" - aka: all the drunk people throw purple wine everywhere. (Stains your nice white clothes AND ruins expensive cameras too.) Dave & Kyle decided to stay, but I was SOOO thankful she warned us and we got out of there ASAP. Our new seats were next to a nice couple that fed us yummy snacks the entire time. Much better than the Splash Zone. After a few minutes, I looked around and saw we were completely surrounded by old people. Hah, that's when I realized we no longer fit in with the "young crowd." But that's ok with me! 

At the beginning, I thought it was going to be a fun experience. There was music playing, people were singing, dancing, having a grand-old-time... but turns out, the entire event is torturing the bull, tiring it out, and then slowly killing it. It was extremely sad and traumatic to watch. Each bull was stabbed in the spine many times and then worn out by the matadors waving their colored flags.

I knew they killed the bull, but I thought it was more like a quick ceremonial kill at the end and I could close my eyes... but turns out that killing IS the event. The deeper the stab, the more blood, the louder the crowd. The death is a celebration. And then it all repeats, over and over and over again throughout the night.

I tried to view it from a cultural perspective, but after a few kills... I couldn't handle it. I had a complete break down. I tried not to cry, but that always makes it worse. The bulls were so helpless and pitiful. Plus the matadors were such pansies and had a big wall to hide behind when they got scared. The bull doesn't even have a chance. By the end of it, I wanted to cheer for the bull. I wanted him to stop chasing that stupid flag and gore the matador, slam him up against the wall, trample him... I wanted the bull to win for once! But it wasn't really a fight... it was just torturous suffering and killing. I put sunglasses on to hide my tears from the crowds, but then tons of mascara and sweat got in my eyes, which made it burn, and I cried even more... ugh, not a good experience. I was relieved that we had to catch a bus back to Bilbao because I was SO done. I guess I'm glad I had the experience.... but even the boys agreed, running with the bulls is cool, but bull fighting is NOT.