The Big Walk

To the Fiesta – Day 38

We were kept awake much of last night by guitar-playing pilgrims, but were cheered outside town when we saw a signpost declaring ‘Santiago – 825km’. It sounds a impressively long way, but I’m glad there’s no pointer for Istanbul. After several more whitewashed villages, we climb up to the Alto de Perdon, a long ridge topped by a line of graceful wind turbines. At the top of the pass is a cut-out steel sculpture of a motley group of pilgrims, and a great view of Pamplona ahead, backed by further, higher hills. Down the other side, fields of sunflowers bring us to Cizur Menor, a suburb of Pamplona, before the hostel opens at noon. Everyone around the streets is dressed all in white except for a red neckerchief tied round their waist- it’s like a uniform for San Fermin. Thankfully there’s no queue of cow-bell sporting pilgrims here, so we head into a bar for a coffee while we wait. On the television (where again everyone is wearing the white outfits – I’m impressed), the seven days of continuous live coverage of the great Fiesta is about to begin. The scene in the centre of Pamplona looks amazing – almost a million identically-dressed people are crammed into the central square and surrounding streets, all jumping up and down, passing some unfortunate souls around above their heads – a sea of white and red. Even in the bar there’s an air of excitement building, so we have a beer and wait for the launch of the rocket that will signal the start of the fiesta. A deafening boom from the television, then the bar staff fire open bottles of sparkling wine and hand everyone in the bar a glass on the house.

We’re hoping to get a good night’s sleep before heading in for the fiesta tomorrow, so we eventually get away and check in to a lovely private hostel with hardwood bunks, beautiful gardens and a friendly owner, Maribel. She’s clearly excited about the start of the fiesta, though she has regrets at the international character of the encierro or running of the bulls these days.

“There are two many foreigners and backpackers come now. They try to reach out and touch the bulls. They don’t understand that the bulls are sacred to us”. This seems a bit rich, given that the bulls from each day’s encierro are killed in the bull fights that evening.

“Even some women run now,” she continues. “It’s not meant for women. It’s for young men to prove themselves. What do women have to prove?”

She sends us off for free swimming nearby, at a huge, five pool outdoor complex, and we have the Olympic-sized main pool almost to ourselves. On the streets, all are wearing the red and white outfits – since the rocket launch, the red neckerchiefs have been moved from waist and tied around the neck, and when we pop into another bar the tv coverage of mayhem is continuing – we too are getting very excited about tomorrow. I had been worried that it would be hard for a foreign couple to get into the spirit of the fiesta, but the atmosphere is so electric that already we’re buzzing.