Chupinazo

On the 6th of July, at 12 o'clock p.m., every year, on the dot, the mayor of Pamplona steps out on the balcony of the government building in the middle of old town and yells, "Viva San Fermin!" A crowd of around... I have no idea how many, but so many that it's freakin' scary to be in it... this crowd answers back, arms raised to the sky, hands holding red handkerchiefs, "Viva!" The mayor yells, "Gora San Fermin!" The crowd answers "Gora!" Then cheers erupt from the group so loudly you feel your bones shake under your skin and goose bumps jump out from places you didn't even realize you had pores! A single person could hardly hear the rocket that is set off from the government building balcony if they didn't know to look and see it.

I am lucky enough to know to look. I am also lucky enough to have a friend that has an apartment in the government plaza that has its own balcony where I can comfortably watch the wine stained, sweat soaked, drunkenly joyful crowd below. This experience is called the Chupinazo and marks the beginning of the 10 day festival San Fermin, more commonly known as the running of the bulls.

Last year, I wasn't able to make it out for the festival, so this year I had an ambitious goal: 24 hours of P-A-R-T-Y, party! Many doubted me and my approach. "Darby," they said, "you'll be too tired," OR "you're jet lagged though," OR "at least plan a nap." And, though never stated, I know the thought occurred to people, "you're not Spanish, you just can't do it." Well guess what? I DID IT. I so freakin' did it.

Here's how it went... we got up at around 8 a.m. and prepared some reserves of rum and coke for the day. We were a bit worried about not having enough rum to last us, so we emptied half a 2 litre bottle of coke into an empty 2 litre and filled the rest of each with, what else? Brugal. Rum in tow, Iñaki, Irene and I headed to the old town to park and walk the rest of the way into meet at our friend Gallo's house for breakfast, Kalimotxo (wine and coke) and to wait until the festivities commenced.

Here's the view from our perch. The building you see behind us is the government building where the mayor speaks from to start the party.

 I believe the clock in the background says 10 o'clock. 2 hours before the rocket is set off and the crowd was already rockin'. Also, you'll see that Iñaki is holding an unusually large drink. That size is called a Katxi (sp?) and it's Spanish, or Basque if you prefer, for "big ass drink", por favor.

Our breakfast was the bomb. Pilar and her sister whipped up fried eggs, chistorra (a salty red sausage) and coffee. We ate this with fresh bread and other snacks. So yummy! Plus, a good base for the long journey ahead. By the time 12 rolled around the crowd was looking more like this.

As the rocket went off, all of these people tied their handkerchiefs around their necks and the party began. This meant ponytail time for me, as you never know when someone is going to drop a glass of wine on your head! As the crowd dispersed, the partiers begged us to drop water from the balcony. We obliged.

The next step was hitting the streets ourselves. At about 1 p.m., nice and rummed up, Irene and I went in search of our traditional pitchers of sorbete de limon. We happened to get this drink for everyone during one other San Fermin, so it's now a tradition. Sorbete de limon is basically a pint of lemon sorbet blended with a bottle of cava (Spanish champagne). It's freaking delicious. And, Irene happens to be close personal friends with a man who rents out a bar and sells it during San Fermin because he's got the best recipe around. We had to fight to get to the bar, but once there, we were ushered to the back door and given to pitchers and an ear full of fun chat time.

On our way back to meet the rest of the group at the Iruña (a bar Hemingway was famous for hanging out at), we met all kinds of old friends from my basketball team and made many new ones, wanting to taste the mysterious drink we toted. We always said, of course, but traded for a snack or a slug of whatever that person had on hand. The Iruña wasn't as awesome as it usually is and we headed up to the Caballo Blanco, a bar on the edge of town that provides a great view of the city beyond downtown.

At this point, Irene, Iñaki and I broke off from the rest of the group and went to dance the Riau Riau, which we found, had been cancelled. So, photo shoot time!

 We also bumped into the gigantes, giants that roam the streets dancing throughout the whole festival. Iñaki told me there is one from each continent.

It was around 6, by this time and we ran into Iñaki's cousin Fermin. He was on the way to see his dad, so we followed and were invited to a few cold beers, which was a nice break from the rum, which had become warm and sticky as I clutched it to my chest as if it were my first born.

 Iñaki and I hung with them for a few hours and bar hopped until our friends from Barcelona showed up with Irene. I did not know Sara, Ester and Iban before the festival, but we became besties like that!

The six of us headed to the plaza de los fueros for fireworks and one of the free concerts are put on during San Fermin. This one was Macaco. It's a pretty rad group usually, but the concert left a bit to be desired.

This was the moment we had to fight to get over the hump. It was about 1 a.m. and we were all tired because the concert was a little too chill. We needed energy fast. Only one place to go, Irene's favorite bar, El Gorriti. We fought our way to the back and occupied what came to be known as "our corner" until 6 a.m. We danced our asses off, sang, jumped around and I taught our new friends the art of the double fist.

We emerged from the bar with the dawn and it was a downhill coast from there. We went in search of caldo, which is just broth, but a lot of bars serve it during the wee hours when people are heading home. Imagine, a day of drinking, walking, dancing, eating and talking until you're hoarse. Wouldn't a hot cup of chicken broth with a bit of olive oil, garlic and onion just taste so good? Well, I still want to know if it would because we didn't find the damn broth! But, we grabbed a coffee and got ready to ring in day 2 with the Dianas.

The Dianas are songs played by the city band, the Pamplonesa. At 6:45 a.m., the band gathers at a random place in old town and starts playing tunes to wake up the town. All the drunks, hardcore San Ferminers, old folks and families gather together and dance through the streets with them to get the party going again. We ran right alongside them and Iñaki and I got our picture in the paper! I can't find it online, unfortunately. I'm sending it to mom and dad though, if anyone is at their house and wants to check it out. This one is pretty similar.

One of the songs they play has words that Iñaki just taught me this year and is roughly translated as:

"All the priests come here,
to get laid during San Fermin.
The one from my town is a bastard,
Instead of once, he gets laid a bunch of times."

It rhymes in Spanish.

After the Dianas, Iñaki, Sara, Ester and I went to buy the typical breakfast, churros with chocolate, and munched on them as we strolled to a bar to watch the bulls run on T.V. We lost Iban and he never reappeared. Later that day, after we'd all slept and got back together, he told us that we went one way and he thought the other way looked much clearer, so he went that way instead. He expected to meet up with us eventually, but never did. Oh San Fermin!

We got home at about 10 a.m. and tucked ourselves into bed for the day. We went 26 hours strong and it was so much fun. On the night of the 7th, we woke up at about 8 p.m. to do it all again. But that's another blog!