La Festival de San Fermin (holy s&!#)

After a gruelingly long trek northward across the Spanish countryside (which, if you can't sleep, take a sec and just watch what you're passing. You don't see that everyday), in which I switched buses multiple times due to temperature issues, we arrived in Pamplona.  It's a quaint (#mymomsfavoriteword) city situated on the outskirts of Pais Vasco somewhere in the north of Spain with some really incredible views.  Living in Ohio, it's hard to believe that some lucky bastards get to wake up to views like this every morning.  Like a true culture-seeking young adult looking for a true immersion experience, me and a group of about 10 other Americans set out for the nearest bar to quench the thirst that we had so painstakingly sustained for a 6-hour bus ride.  First, however, we had to buy the essentials: the red scarf/sash thingy that literally everyone wears.  The dude abided, and I paid 5 euros for a red scarf that I would sport around my waist for the marathon that is La Festival de San Fermin.
After stopping into a tienda chino (translation: Chinese store. All the little shops to buy beer, liquor, and candy are run by Chinese people. Kinda like 7-11s in the States.  It still catches me off guard seeing an Asian person speak Spanish) to buy some overpriced rum and Coke, we explored Pamplona.  What a city.  It's got that European charm that everyone's always talking about when they get back from Euro-trips.  It also has an exorbitant amount of hot chicks.  I guess that goes for every place I've been in Spain, but it's downright nuts.  I think I paid more attention because everyone is wearing the same thing at the Festival, so I had to find little things to discern one from the other.  There's something about 'em.  Maybe the language, maybe the fact that they wake up and that's as pretty as they'll be all day (which isn't a slight to them in the ...slightest), maybe the skin.  I don't know. But it's starting to drive me crazy. It's kinda like when you watch a Natalie Portman movie and you know that you will literally never be able to touch or even have any sort of intelligible conversation with her.  Damn.

She went hard.  I actually saw a couple of guys dragging her through the mud to where she is in this picture. She didn't move a muscle.  She very well may be dead.

Anyway, we walked down a little road with a breathtaking view of the mountains in the distance where there was a HUGE gathering of Spaniards, waiting and reverently watching something behind a gate.  I went up to a guy and asked him (culture!) what was going on and he said that each night before the race (held each day for a week in July at 8am) some cowboys or something bring the bulls into their holding pens, where they wait until the next morning.  This was pretty cool.  Everyone stands there without a sound until the bulls pass, at which point everyone cheers really loudly.  It got me to thinking, though.  I don't get the bull-Spaniard dynamic.  It's stuff like this that makes you think, wow, these people have respect for these beasts, but in just 10 hours they let them run wild in the streets behind a bunch of drunk, crazed people, ultimately, to their death.  I'm not judging either way, I just don't get it.  (By the way, vegetarians and vegans, don't go to something like this if you're gonna make a 'moral stand' on how it's a reprehensible, horrible act of sport.  Stop it. Don't put yourself in the situation because you're annoying the shit out of everyone who's there to have fun. You don't eat meat. We get it. Try a burger. They're delicious!)

This is where everyone waited for the bulls
to be filed into their pens.

My buddy Chris and I eventually got separated from the others, and my bottle of rum (another 15 euros pissed away), and explored more of Pamplona.  What a scene.  People say Americans party hard.  These Spanish folk take it to another level.  I take pride in a good ol' fashioned OSU football tailgate, and Saturday mornings in the fall in Columbus are reserved for hearty binge-drinking and school spirit, but I've never seen anything like it. You routinely see people absolutely sauced, face down passed out in the mud.  Culture, I guess?  Anyway, we sipped (housed) on some Mahou and happened on our other roommate, Andrew.  This is when the party started.  In the main plaza, Plaza del Castillo, while we braved the rain (first time I saw rain in Spain after being here for more than a month), we watched them set-up for a concert.  Then the music started.  And then we ran, FAST, to the front row where we danced like crazys to everything from Lady Gaga to The Village People.  Somewhere during this time, Andrew, aka fratstar numero uno, was quoted as saying "I have never been this happy in my life."  Actually, it was more like "I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS HAPPY IN MY LIFE."  He's got a knack for yelling everything he says.  I'm sure his happiness had something to do with the 2 liter of Coke that he had in his hand, in which at least one liter was rum, but, nonetheless, we were crushing life.  It was one of those times where I was thinking, "this might just be something I'll never forget."  Also, "this should be in a movie."

Mr. Andrew Matthews.  He bought
these sunglasses for 10 euros for
some reason.  Alcohol.

The next 6 or so hours were a blur of beer, calimocho (red wine and Coke...damn tasty and really popular in Spain), eating bocadillos, hanging out with some New Yawkaz and a girl with a striking resemblance to Jessica Alba, more booze, speaking some damn good Spanish, if I do say so myself, and passing out on a stone wall, which, at the time, was as comfortable as the first time you lay on a waterbed.  I woke up with a foggy head and a half-hangover.  At 8pm the previous night, I had enough adrenaline to take a bull in 10 rounds of a boxing match.  Fast forward to 5:30am, all I wanted was a blanket, a Big Mac, and a bed.


I didn't run.  But I vow to make it back to Pamplona one day.  Because I think the 13 hours that I spent in Pamplona may just have been the best of my life.

Suerte, y'all.