Europe´s train system is beautiful. I can´t imagine one like it working at home, since the population density is so low, and everyone has cars. But there is no better way to get from city to city here, I´m convinced. By car, you have to drive, and I can´t even order food very well here, nevermind trying to navigate. Air travel is cheap, but I´m pretty sure Pamplona doesn´t have an airport, and I´ve always found that with short flights you still blow a day waiting at the airport.

The trip itself was uneventful. The car was mostly empty and very, very nice, with seats in banks of two. Despite our assigned seating, we spread out to a bank apiece, and slept or read most of the way. A little way into the trip, this drunk Spanish guy toting a beer can wandered in and said a lot about "toro," "San Fermin," and "encierro," that last one being the proper name for the running of the bulls. He also used his hands to give himself horns and butted a bit, to try to get his point across. I spent most of the time avoiding eye contact and hoping he´d leave, which eventually he did. I looked over to the guy across the aisle, also an anglophone, and we shared a smile of relief.

Once we arrived we put most of our stuff in lockers at the train station. We didn´t have a hostel booked in Pamplona, and knew that the chances of finding one at anything approaching a reasonable price were pretty much nonexistent, so Will and I had planned from the outset to sleep in a park or something. Originally Beinta was going to just go straight to Barcelona and meet us there, but the Canadians I mentioned earlier told us that it was both quite common and decently comfortable to sleep in the park, so she decided to come with us.

Just as we were leaving the lockers, I happened to start talking to an American travelling alone, and he ended up coming with us. His name was Ben, and he spoke what he alternately described as "restaurant Spanish," or "broken Mexican," but it was a far sight more than any of us, so it was really, really nice to have him around. We wandered around a very modern-looking city until we managed to get directions to the site of the festival.

We walked up a steep road, near a very big stone wall, through a gate, and into another world entirely. Gone were the wide ashpalt streets and tall modern buildings, replaced by narrow cobblestone streets and tall old buildings. Everyone, and I mean everyone, at San Fermin dresses all in white, with a red sash at the waist and a red handkerchief around the neck. The getup can easily be bought, and we managed to cobble it together for less than €20. I´ll post pictures of it in a day or two, as soon as I can get that feature of the blog figured out.

Once we had dressed and eaten, we walked the course, and ended near the bullring. As we waited in line to buy tickets, we ran into another pair of Americans, Joe and Mike, and discussed running strategies.

From everything I had read and heard, the best bet was to pick a stretch to run, a starting point and especially an escape route. Those parts of the course that weren´t defined by storefronts had seven-foot wooden fences that had lots of space for diving and climbing. Apparently the smart money was on diving, since the bulls have a lot harder time butting up than down. It really isn´t possible to run the whole course, some 800 metres, with the bulls. The crowd is too tight, and they´re just too fast.

Mike´s older siblings had all run in the past, and his plan was to start a mere 50 metres or so from the bullring so he could arrive in the ring with the bulls. If you get there before the bulls do you get roundly booed by the full stadium, and there´s a decent chance of getting something thrown at you. I hadn´t really thought about actually going into the stadium up until this point, but decided to give it a try.

We bought our tickets and then joined the incredible all-night party that is San Fermin. The streets are packed with people in red and white, everyone is drunk, and there are little brass bands wandering around everywhere. We walked the streets, saw part of a concert in the main square, and then went back to the grass near the bullring to catch some sleep. Very little sleep as it turned out, since Pamplona was only hovering around 25 degrees in the daytime. We were only wearing our cheap, thin white clothes, and it was a cold, uncomfortable and largely sleepless night.

Current Location: Barcelona, Spain