Everyone has seen the images of young men clad in white and with red handkerchiefs and sashes, running among a pack of bulls through the streets of Pamplona. Indeed, the running of the bulls is arguably the most famous symbol of the Spanish fiesta of San Fermin.
For eight consecutive mornings, fighting bulls are raced through the streets of the old quarters towards the bullring. But the dramatic and dangerous encierro-literally, the “enclosing” of the bulls in the bullring, after running them through the streets-usually lasts about three minutes and is only a small part of Pamplona’s 24-hour-a-day, nine-day-long fiesta.
For centuries, long before Ernest Hemingway’s novel “The Sun Also Rises” (1926) transformed the fiesta into an international event, it was a religious celebration honoring San Fermin, patron saint of Pamplona and its province, Navarra.
Actually, San Fermin is honored in numerous other towns in Navarra on three different dates-in January, July and October. But as the capital of Navarra, Pamplona hosts the most popular Los San Fermines, as the celebration is also known, of them all. Every July 6, thousands of celebrants gather in front of Pamplona’s city hall to witness the launching of the rocket that marks the official opening of the fiesta.
Before the signal, the sounds of excited voices echo between the buildings around the plaza. Waving red handkerchiefs above their heads, the participants chant, “San Fermin! San Fermin!” their cheers growing stronger with the approach of the appointed hour.
There are people everywhere, standing shoulder to shoulder on the plaza, hanging out of windows, leaning over wrought-iron balconies, climbing on the sculptures outside the city hall and balancing on the window ledges of storefronts. Filled with anticipation, people are singing, dancing and spraying one another with champagne and wine.
Finally, at noon, with a bang, the fiesta explodes into life. From this moment until midnight on July 14, Pamplona is transformed into the stage for a never-ending flow of religious and pagan processions, street parties, concerts, song and dance, firework displays, carnival rides and bullfights.
The topsy-turvy mixture of spontaneous, outrageous comedy acts and solemn religious rites gives this fiesta a surreal quality. Anything can happen during the San Fermines, and for once, almost anything is tolerated.
It’s no exaggeration to say that during the San Fermines, Pamplona never sleeps. Instead, one naps, stealing short moments of rest between the continuous outbursts of happenings. The veterans know that it’s a matter of pacing themselves, of knowing what to see and what to skip so as to conserve their energy for the duration of the fiesta.
The magic of the San Fermines lies in its popularity among the Pamplonicas themselves. For despite its international flair, it is a local feast that the city’s teenagers, married couples, young families, middle-aged and elderly friends each experience as they see it. This may be the only time of year when Pamplona’s well-adjusted citizens of all ages can be seen dancing wildly in the street, parading in silly costumes in public and breaking into passionate song in front of total strangers.
Yet there are many other celebrants of the San Fermines. There are, of course, the American, European, Australian and, in recent years, Japanese college-age backpackers who descend each year on Pamplona by the thousands. Some of them are attracted by the dangerous excitement of running with the bulls, while others come simply to experience one of the world’s most magnificent parties.
There are also the veterans, foreigners as well as Spaniards, who for years have kept this appointment with their friends, some over decades. And some of them are among the most skillful encierro-runners.
These die-hards rise at 6 a.m. for the daily encierro, an adrenalin-rushing, half-mile run along the narrow cobbled streets, where the object is to run with the bulls, not in front of them.
Afterward, many runners and spectators gather for a hearty Navarra breakfast of eggs and ham in tomato sauce, served with regional rose wine. Restaurants frequently seat patrons at communal tables set up in the street. The meal is rounded off with coffee and pacharan, a Basque liqueur, and perhaps a game of mus, a Basque card game.
A religious procession honors San Fermin on July 7, with a flower-decorated gilded effigy containing the saint’s relics, carried by devotees through the streets of Pamplona. Yet this solemn procession takes on a pagan flair with the appearance of a company of gigantes, robed 19th-Century plaster figures representing European, African, Native-American and Arabic royalty. The 13-foot-high gigantes, each borne by a dancer, perform numbers resembling minuets, and as the figures swirl and turn, their long skirts flow gracefully in the air.
From dawn to nightfall, bands strut through the crowds, playing high-paced, energetic tunes. Occasionally, one hears a jota navarra, a passionate and heart-wrenching song traditional to the region. Every day, accompanying the gigantes, strange-looking characters known as cabezudos, big heads, roam the streets, hitting children over the head with soft sponge balls tied with strings to sticks.
Another children’s favorite is the toro de fuego, the bull of fire, a wooden structure resembling a bull and spewing fireworks. Carried by a runner, it appears at night, chasing children and adults along the route of the encierro.
Children are not the only ones to act up during the fiesta. The penas are societies or clubs whose main objective appears to be to make noise. In the afternoons, pena members in outrageous costumes march together, waving banners and playing loud music, on their way to the bullring. And during the bullfights, they compete at being obnoxious, dousing each other as well as bystanders with food and drink.
The focal point for the fiesta is the beautiful Plaza del Castillo. The bandstand in its center and the surrounding cafes are the main meeting places. The plaza functions as living room, dance floor, bar, cafe and, frequently, bedroom for exhausted young visitors who take naps wherever they run out of energy. They sleep on park benches, on chairs at the outdoor cafe, on the grass, on sidewalks and in the street.
In the evening of July 14th, celebrants once again gather in front of the city hall for the fiesta’s concluding ritual, the Pobre de mi (Poor me). It’s a beautiful yet sad moment. Holding lit candles, the crowds savor the last minutes of Los San Fermines by chanting, “Poor me, poor me, another San Fermin has come to an end.” As the clock on the city hall’s baroque facade strikes midnight, participants remove the traditional red handkerchiefs. During the rest of the night, everyone bids farewell, agreeing to meet again the following year. The next day, Pamplona is asleep, hung over and exhausted.
