Photo. Bolton John, with 4 pints in hand, 5th of July 1992, starting fiesta in style

Pamplona during San Fermin fills up with an extraordinary and eclectic mix of characters. Quite literally, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The good are many. Pamplonicans, us, you….but there are also the bad, and the ugly. And the arses. I’m not going to say who these bad, ugly arses are or where they are from, but if you’ve been a few times before, or even just the once, you’ll know exactly who they are. Let’s just call them the Stoolies. They’re from Stoolieland.

But some things have really changed since I first came, nearly 30 years ago. The main difference is that the town is cleaner. Cleaner because the toilets work better, last longer and there are more of them. Or maybe there are just more plumbers. And cleaner also because the town hall provides hundreds of those design classics, the portaloo. (And it is a design classic, it’s just that some of the animals that use them aren’t toilet trained). So at 4 o’clock on a sunday morning, when the infrastructure of the city is close to collapse, and you’re touching cloth, one of fiestas many delights when you need a dump is the appearance of one of those lovely molded coffins, and you get to enter a world of chemicalised plastic, coated in piss and poo, while standing in a toxic lake of gawd knows what. Oh, and tip number one: always, always, buy a copy of the local paper at midnight (or always make sure you’re wearing socks)…what, you think these town hall freebies have toilet paper?

Because unless you can find one of those Stoolies to crap on, (and I believe it’s still legal during fiesta thanks to an ancient by-law…trust me!), it’s to those heavenly plastic dream coffins you will go. Eat your heart out, Ikea.

But with cleanliness comes, sometimes, sterility, and this extraordinary city has lost one thing that defined fiesta the first few years my friends and I came. The gypsies, punks and thieves. Okay, they are all still around, although there are a lot less of them, but there was a song once, and the title just reads better like this.

When we first came we lived, danced, drank, ate and slept in the square. And so did the gypsies, punks and thieves. There were thousands of them, and they were everywhere. And their dogs! You may think you see a lot of them now, especially if you walk down Navarreria (Mussel Bar) street, but believe me, that is nothing compared to when I first came. (And what must it have been like in the ’50’s, and ’20’s, and…god, how I’d love to be able to travel back in time.).

San Fermin is, of course, one of the great Spanish fiestas, and over centuries any town in fiesta has attracted the travellers, the itinerants, the curious, the street performers, the professionals, and, of course, the gypsies. And over the last 30 years or so, the punkies, as the Spanish call them. And always, always, the thieves.

Knowing nothing in 1984, our first year, we just wandered into the square (it was only a couple of hours after the chupinazo, and we didn’t know about that, either), and found a patch of grass to plonk our stuff down and make our own, and to make our home. Well, it became our house for the next 9 days (and still is, because although we rent flats now, for some of us, it’ll always be our spiritual home in Pamplona). All around us were locals, young and old, tourists and travellers, mostly young, and the gypsies and the punkies and their doggies.

Obviously, with all groups, there are good and bad, and most people are good, and gypsies etc, aren’t any different. One of the amazing things about Pamplona is that despite a million drunks passing through the town during fiesta, there is very little trouble. And if there is, it’s probably caused by those “Stoolies”. Trust me, most of them are, well, the human version of one of those plastic port-a-loos. When it’s overflowing…Give me the gypsies and punks anyday, but I’d love to get rid of the Stoolies.

So we lived amongst these people in the square for the first couple of years, and living fiesta in the street is a heck of a way to experience San Fermin. The only trouble we ever had was the 3rd year (that’s one incident, that lasted a few minutes, out of, up to now, over the years, 243 days of fiesta). Not bad. We had learnt by then that the gypsies, travellers, tramps, whatever would wander around and around the square, and stop and say “eh, por favor, un trago?” “hey, can I have a sip please?” and we always had what we called our “guest” bottle just for them, usually a litre bottle of beer with about 3 inches left in it, or the same with a bottle of wine. And they’d take a sip or two, say gracias, and move on. And around and around the square they’d go.

One time though, we didn’t have a guest bottle, just a nice fresh, cold litre of beer. This character asked for a sip, and a friend called James passed it to this guy, and he drank, and drank, ignoring the “hey, hey” as we asked him to stop. So James just took the bottle back. And some spilt down his front. He mouthed off something in Spanish, we shrugged, he left. But I kept my eye on him as he crossed to the other corner and started talking to a bunch of people, pointing our way. Then watched as about 30 punks and gypsies got up and headed towards us.

“Guys” I said, “we may have a problem”. I think there were just 5 or 6 of us sitting there that afternoon.They all came over, and we stayed seated. (A bloody good idea in retrospect). One of them, a punk, looked at us and said in English, “Hey, you, my fren’ here he say you speel dreenk on heem”. (No, he wasn’t Mexican, it just sounds like it). We tried to explain how it actually was but they weren’t having it, and it was obvious what was going to happen. A crowd had gathered now, just waiting to see the outcome. The gypsypunks were beginning to lose it big time, so we stood up. If there was going to be a slaughter (and we seemed to have morphed into lambs) then at least we’d be on our feet.

Just then, out of the crowd stepped two of your typical, big, bearded Basques, asked what was going on, believed us rather than them, and tore in (verbally) to this group. Now most of these characters know that whatever fiesta they are at, once the locals are against them, they don’t stand a chance, so they mouthed whatever, and left. We said thanks and gracias and eskerrik asko, and that was that.

About half an hour later, coming back from the beer shop, I saw a big crowd in a circle, watching something. In the middle were our two saviours, and the one original gypodicko who had tried to neck our beer. There was a big argument going on, and it was obvious one of the Basques (who had something in his hand) was just telling this guy to go. And go he eventually did, but just as he reached the edge of the crowd, who had began to part, he turned around and shouted to the Basque the classic Spanish insults of “Your a son of bitch and your mothers a whore” or something similar, but before he could finish, the Basque guys’ hand went up and he threw, hard, and at head height, whatever it was he had in his hand.

Now if he’d missed it could easily have hit, and hurt, anyone of the crowd who was watching. But it didn’t miss and this big set of keys went flying through the air (jingle jingle), and hit him smackbangwallop in the middle of the forehead. Thwock!jingle. Blood spouted and he went down.

Ole’! The crowd looked stunned, then burst into a round of applause. As did I. Shitfuck!

As I said at the beginning, Pamplona is full of all sorts, just like anywhere. But “anywhere” doesn’t have 204 hours of fiesta over 9 days, so things can get a little lively. From those rich enough to be drinking all the time at the terrace bars, to those who spend most of their time at street level, generally everyone is okay.

Except the Stoolies, of course.

Because our group, although smaller in those days was even then pretty varied, we got to know a few of those people that spent the whole fiesta out on the street. One of the best feeds I ever had back then was sitting with some gypsies after the bullfight, back in the square, feasting on all the left over food and drink from the bull ring. And remember, this is food prepared at home to eat in the ring after the 3rd of 6 bulls is killed, but has been left untouched. It’s probably made by mama (honestly), and is delicious. And washed down with fine red wines, chilled whites, vodka and lemon mix, proper sangria…all left in the ring…well, like I said, a feast.

Maybe it was during one of these picnics with the streetnics, I don’t remember, but an English guy appeared on the scene in the late 80’s (I think), Jimmy Dave, who spent his fiesta on the street with these guys, and perhaps through him I met another one, also English. I don’t quite know his story (his brother, Captain Coma, still goes and knows, of course), but he seemed to have been there a while, spoke Spanish, and sometimes lived the life of a travelling punkie. His name was Bolton John, and he seemed like a nice bloke, and we saw him every year with a crowd of gypsies, punks, hippies, etc, living the fiesta outside, in the street.

Well, it’s gotta be pretty tough and pretty rough sometimes, I guess, but none of us who ever met him, or saw his spectacular, um…(crash)landing…as he arrived at our vodka party, have ever forgotten him. (Who ever would have thought a childs bicycle could go that fast?!). Some people live a different life, and then crash and burn. Well, some others (to quote Jack Kerouac) “burn, burn, burn, like a fabulous roman candle”, and I guess that’s what he did. But the crash, when it came, was hard, and it saw the flame flicker, and fade, and then go out, in September 1997.

So if you see some people who are a little different to you on your wanderings around Pamplona, the chances are they are probably pretty okay. And remember, of course, that there but for the grace of God…

Ya falta menos. ¡Viva San Fermin!

See the Part One. Pastureland
See the Part Two. Preparation
See the Part Three. Passage
See the Part Four. Pamplona
See the Part Five. Pandemonium, and the Passing

Part 5.

Pandemonium. People. Craziness. Mayhem. The noise. The unknown. The terror of the human. The fear, the joy,of running in these streets. Not just for us Miura, but for the human too. We can taste it. The cows and steers are around us, but so are the Runners. Everything is out of control, time is running backwards, forwards, stopping.

One Runner goes down, and as he tries to get up, I hit him. Others lie flat, and my brothers run over them. There is no room here to do anything. Escape is impossible. There are human everywhere, but they are so hard to catch. Then the space widens a bit, more light comes in, before what seems like a dead end coming up. One of my brothers swipes at some humans standing against a fence…keep running, fool humans, keep running. It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?

Then the dead end opens up, and there is more space. And many more human. A little further on I see a sharp corner, but it is impossible for most of us to make without falling. We hit the corner at speed, and I hit a lone, solitary Runner, also caught against the wooden fence of this suicide corner, and I slam into him, hard. You lucky, lucky human, that I was out of control, otherwise your guts would be all over the street.

Then comes a long, glorious straight, but we are tiring now. This street is packed with Runners, and it is hard to get them. One falls and I jump over him, then another and I clip him with my hoof as he goes down. I see one of my brothers ahead veer straight into the side of a building, and wonder why, until I see two human run away, but a third is caught on my brothers horns and thrown into the street. I catch one of the escaping runners, and drive a horn hard into him.

We told you, Runners, we told you. If we have a chance, we will have your balls for breakfast. But human is clever, and my vision is blurred by something waving in front of my eyes, and these two runners are lucky, and we leave them crumpled on the ground, and continue our charge up the street. We are mostly seperated now, and tiring fast. The long street has opened up now, and bright sunshine floods in, but suddenly I am heading downhill, towards a dark, narrow tunnel. And I’m picking up speed again, and feel like I am flying. There can’t be room for all of us to get through this space, but somehow there is.

Then just as I come out of this tunnel, a Runner, who has fallen down, gets up right in front of me, and I hit him, at full speed, harder than I have ever hit anything before in my life, and he flies before me into the ring and hits the sand, almost motionless. This arena is packed full of human, and they scream in horror. This Runner is in serious trouble as I hook my favoured horn towards him, as instinct has completely taken over and I am ready to finish him. He is on the ground, trying to move, and just as I am ready to teach him his final lesson, I feel a soft caress, and a sound like the river flowing back home in Pastureland, while the sun warms the dew on the grass, and, momentarily distracted, I raise my horn away from him, and carry on into the middle of the ring. I’m not sure just quite what happened there, but it felt as if something, human, had been touching me. But there was no human near me, and the GhostRunners said we wouldn’t see them, and they couldn’t affect anything in the run, but…it felt like the GhostRunner, Daniel, had just stroked me. Impossible, surely…

Some of my brothers were also in the ring now, along with the cows and steers, and hundreds of human. But the game was over, and we were cleverly coaxed by some human with capes into another narrower, darker tunnel before emerging into daylight and yet another pen. Our hearts were pumping, our lungs bursting, but we noticed we were only 5. Then a noise came up fom the ring, that sound of horrified humans screaming, before finally Cosmic came trotting past us, out of breath, but smiling.

“What the heck was that noise about?”, we asked.

“Ha!”, he said, triumphantly. “Got one! He won’t be running again for a while”.

And we 6 brothers were together again, for the last time ever.

*******************

Our last day in this humanworld ever was spent in this pen, with human constantly coming and going, and always, always, watching over us. There was no privacy, and no peace, but the thrill and excitement of the mornings events kept us buzzing throughout the day. And all day long this Pamplona place, known throughout all Bulldom, hummed and crackled. We could feel it through the earth.

Sunfather scorched his way through the long day, until the heat was burning. Stuck inside the concrete pen, built within this enormous concrete ring, the heat was intensified until it was like nothing we’d ever known, even on the hottest of days back in Pastureland. Ah, Pastureland…at least there we were out in the open.

Eventually things began happening, more human appeared, and we could hear the arena filling up. And smell it. It seemed there must be more human than there were our ancestors in the sky. We were seperated, and it was obvious our time was coming. All too soon my brother Sunbeam was taken away, and we knew our destiny was upon us. We all said goodbye to eachother, and said be brave, be strong, and hope to see you soon up there, in the Celestial Pasture. And then…

*******************

…And then, one after the other, my brothers left me. There were five of us left, at first, of course, and though we all tried to talk to Sunbeam, we just couldn’t. With the noise, smells, and extraordinary atmosphere of the ring, and what was happening within it, communication was impossible. But we knew, although we couldn’t see it, that when two human ran past us, pulling two horses behind them, that the sound of something being dragged along the ground behind the horses, was the body of Sunbeam. Our brother had passed on.

We all listened, for a clue, for something, from Sunbeam, that he was on his way to the heavens…but there was nothing. And we were silent.

As I said, one by one my brothers were taken away, to fight in the ring. Occasionally I heard that human scream, and know that one of these bullfighters was in trouble, but it didn’t happen often, and four more times I saw the two human run past me, leading the two horses, who were dragging behind them the body of one of my brothers. Sunbeam had gone, then Moonshadow, then Plutoro, then Comet, and finally Cosmic. I sensed the passing on of eachone as he was dragged passed me, but couldn’t feel him. I hoped this was a good sign.

And now, it was my turn. My fate was upon me, and I was led out of the pen, into a dark, enclosed box. At least it was cooler in here…then bang, the doors were swung open, sunlight blinded me briefly, but I charged out into the burning ring, and to my destiny.

*******************

Destiny hurts, let me tell you. The heat is caught in this cauldron, and with no wind, it is like a fire. I hope it is worse for the torero, the bullfighter, because he has everything else on his side. He has more humans with him, more horses, and weapons that cut, and stab, and hurt, and make me bleed. But the worst of it is the cursed cape he uses. It is filled with magic, and he uses it to make it almost impossible for me to get to him.

I hit him once, and manage to throw him once, but he is protected by what are his brothers, I assume. But I get him again, and this time I see I have hurt him, and while he is on the ground I get him again, before the others come and by magic somehow lead me away. But I am tiring now, and this bullfighter is on his feet again, although clearly in pain.

But I am in pain too. They have attacked me twice, from horseback, and punctured me on my back, exactly at the point where my great strength comes from. Now, I am in trouble. I am out of breath, blood is pouring down me, and I can’t see properly. But I have one more chance, as I see the human standing directly in front of me, no cape this time, just still, unprotected it seems, holding something long and silver that glints in the sunlight. I go for him, thinking this time, surely…but as I get to him he leans forward and I feel a searing, burning pain that starts from my back and seems to go on, forever downwards, actually inside me. My front legs collapse,and they are all around me now, these human, but I refuse to go just yet. As one gets close and hooks this thing out of me, I jump up and drive my horn inside him, and see his face go from suprise to shock to absolute agony in the flick of an ear.

I am on my feet again, but I know my time is coming. My lungs are filling with blood, and I can’t breath. The bullfighter is in front of me again, and without the cape he seems almost naked, and he is still, again, with this long silver thing, pointing towards me, that shines in the sunlight. As he moves forward, I do too, and as I hit him I feel this silver thing go inside me again, but deeper,deeper, than before. I am in agony.

It is almost over now. I feel my passing upon me. My lungs are full of blood now, and I feel blood pouring from my mouth. I cannot breathe. I’m drowning. The pain is excruciating, but the heat of the day has gone. It is cold now, and it is dark…where are you, Sunfather? The noise around me is fading into a hush, and I think of my brothers, and Pastureland, and the river. And I hear it now, the whisper of my ancestors, and I feel it now, the shiver of death, and

*******************

I had seen these bulls from the day they were chosen for the bullfights on their ranch in Andalucia, to their final passing at the bullfight in Pamplona. I am no great afficionado of bullfighting, but having followed them from the field where they were born to the town where they would die, I felt it only right that I stay with them, to the very end. I watched the bullfight with some friends from the ranch, and all the bulls fought bravely, especially the one young Paco called El Pulido, the Polished One.

They were such beautiful, magnificent animals.

Later on that night, past midnight, I was walking with a friend out by the city walls. At least here, away from all the lights, you could see the stars.

It was a chilly night, but a strange warmth seemed to envelope us, like somone had draped a cape around us. We made a toast to a couple of friends who would never again be able to return to this wonderful town, and as we tilted our glasses and looked upwards, we both saw it at the same time.

Not just one shooting star, but six, one after the other, shooting across the heavens.

THE END

See the Part One. Pastureland
See the Part Two. Preparation
See the Part Three. Passage
See the Part Four. Pamplona
See the Part Five. Pandemonium, and the Passing

Part 4. Pamplona!

So, here we are in Pamplona, finally. We were unloaded from the chariotruck, and put into a corral. There is not much room in here, but thank goodness it’s not like the truck. At least we can move. But we are in a different world now, one so far removed from Pastureland that we might as well be like the sliverfish in the river back home.

All day human have come to look at us, and they talk and talk, while all we want is some peace and quiet. But we have to accept how things are in this new world. Our old world has gone now, forever, and will never come back. It’s how things are. It just is.

So my brothers and I wait all day in this corral, and we have the company of some cows and steers from another pasture. They tell us what will happen when morning comes, but also tell us that we cannot control our destiny. What will be will be, they say, what will pass will pass. Our taurine instinct will take over, we are told, but then they add, when you run, it will be spectacular. And our horns begin to burn again.

******************* *********************** ******************

Well, night time has come, just, and the noise and smells of humanworld have lessened a little. It is cooler now, too, and I and my brothers are more or less silent now, on this last night we’ll have together. We glance up occasionally, hoping to see our ancestors in the celestial heavens, but it is nearly impossible. Human, with his cursed light everywhere, has managed to block out even this. Do they have to ruin all that is beautiful?

Human begins to be active, things are happening, but the cows and steers with us have already told us what is going on. The gates to the corral are opened, and though it has only been dark for a little while, we are forced out of this place, to run a silent, nightime run up a steep slope to the corral where we will be kept until morning. All along the short route, and lining the steep banks above, are hundreds and hundreds of human, watching us, but at least, finally, they are silent now. We are herded into this other corral, which is at the beginning, the steers tell us, of the run we will begin tomorrow. Slowly, human drifts away.

Eventually, nearly everything is silent, and there are no human, except for one or two from Pastureland, looking over us. There is just the faintest hint of mountain, somewhere, in the air, and we like this.

Suddenly, I see something up on the wall. Human! And another appears, and another. They arrive as silently as Sunfather does in the morning, or Moonmother at night, and with the same magic. They are like human, but there is something strange about them. And our humans from Pastureland, Paco and his friends, don’t seem to have noticed them.

“Hssst!”, I whisper to my brothers, “look!”. And my brothers look, and we are almost tongueless.

“What are they doing here?” whispers Cosmic.

“I don’t know” says Plutoro, “but they look, different”.

“They’re moving!”, says Moonshadow. “What do we do?”

“Don’t move!” I can barely talk. And I shudder. “They’re coming down…”

And the most amazing thing happens. Human joins us in the corral, but they don’t jump, they float, gently, as a feather might fall to the ground, and then they are in the corral, and on the sand amongst us.

“Holy cow!”, I croak, ” what’s happening? Do we go for them?”, I ask my brothers. And then…

***************** ******************** **************

And then…”Go for us if you like, Miuras, but you cannot hurt us”. One of them speaks, and we can understand him.

And this is the final proof that this legendary town of Pamplona really is magical, in both our world and humanworld, as the impossible has just happened. Bull and human understand eachother. There are a few of these human with us now, but only one is talking.

“You can understand us?” I ask, incredulous, and for the first time in my life, I am frightened.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “And don’t be frightened, we will not, and cannot, hurt you”.

Not hurt us? My brothers and I are rooted to the spot. We couldn’t move if we tried. And still our Pastureland human have noticed nothing.

“Who, no what, are you?” I manage to ask.

“My name is Esteban Laborra, and I am the oldest member of the group”, he replies. I don’t know what to say, or do. “In fact”, he continues, “for a while I was the only member of the group”.

“Move your hoof ” says another one of them to me, and I do, and the sand moves beneath me.

“Now look at me” this other one says, “while I move my foot”. So I look at his foot as he moves it, but no sand is shifted under his foot.

Comet manages to croak, just, ” None of you are touching the ground. How is this possible?”

And then it comes.

“We are the GhostRunners. There are 15 of us, and we were all killed here doing what we loved, bullrunning. We are dead now, but every year we can come back to this fabled town, and complete the run we were never able to. And, we can do every run, everyday, every year”.

The GhostRunners are moving amongst us now, talking to us, and their voices are like the sound of the river running back home in Pastureland. It is a beautiful sound, and it calms us, and gladdens us. One of these GhostRunners is not saying anything, though.

“We killed you? Our kind, Taurus, killed you?” I mutter.

“Yes”.

“I’m sorry…we don’t mean, I mean, it wasn’t on purpose, I…” I try and explain, but can’t.

“It’s okay”, Esteban replies. “We hold no grudge. You can’t help what you do, as it is instinct…”

“It just is” we both say at the same time.

“You see,” he carries on, “in a way, we as bullrunners could also not help what we did. We loved to run, and lived to run, and for a very, very few of us, it took our lives. It took us away from not just what we loved, but who we loved. It’s too late now, but it was a heavy price to pay. However, it is as it is, just as when human took you away, for what will pass, is as it is”.

Moonmother was leaving us, and Sunfather was just beginning to make his appearance now. The GhostRunners gathered together.

“We have to go very soon”, said Esteban. “We cannot influence what will happen this morning, and you will not see us when the madness starts, but we will be there, amongst you. If you feel a soft caress, it just could be one of us”.

They began to float upwards. There was a strange golden red colour amongst them, almost humanshape, as if Sunfathers’ dawn was wrapping itself around them.

“Estebanhuman, wait”. The GhostRunners stopped, and hovered just above us. “Who is the quiet one there, the one who has said nothing?”, I asked.

“Ah, he is new to the group, and didn’t know he could come back until we picked him up a few days ago. It’s all still pretty much of a shock to him”.

I said gently, “Quiet One, who are you?”.

Esteban said nothing, but looked to the silent one and said, “Why don’t you tell them?”.

******************** ********************** *********************

The quiet one looked at us, with great sadness, and said, “My name is Daniel, and I was taken away while running these streets just one year ago”. His voice was like the sun warming the dew on the grass.

“We’re sorry…” we started to say, but Daniel said:

“It’s okay, it really is. I don’t hate you, none of us does. I was doing what I loved, and what my father and grandfather before me loved. The worst of it is, for me, I miss my family so very, very much. It may sound strange, because of what we human do to you, but we actually love you, Bulls. You are proud, magnificent beasts, not just taurine royalty, but animal royalty too, and it is a pleasure and an honour to run with you”.

Once again, we were tonguetied. The strange golden red glow around them was intense now, and definitely manshaped. It was alive.

“We really have to go now”, said Esteban.

“One more thing,” I shouted, as they drifted up towards the wall. “What is that goldenred etheral, almost human cape that is surrounding you?”

“Ah”, said Daniel, smiling. “This is San Fermin. You might say that this is his party. He couldn’t look after us on the day we died, because after all, he is a saint, not a god, and he is very busy on these mornings, trying to look after everyone. But he looks after us now, always”. And with that this golden red human shaped, yes, being, left the GhostRunners and swooped over me and my brothers, like a giant eagle, warming us as Sunfather does, before returning to the GhosstRunners and enveloping them again.

************** *************** *********************

And with that the GhostRunners were gone, except for one final word from Daniel, as he floated back down to the street with his friends, on the otherside of the corral.

“Hey, Miuras?” And we all looked up at him. “Good luck”, he said, with tears in his eyes. And then he was gone.

******************* *********************** ********************

We were silent for a long time after that, stunned at what had just happened. Finally I asked one of the cows in the pen, that would run and hopefully guide us when the madness started:

“Did you know about the GhostRunners?”

“Yes”, it said. They’re not very talkative, cows.

“Why didn’t you tell us?, I asked.

“Somethings”, it said, “should just be allowed to happen”.

Something else was happening, too. Time seemed to have flown, and things were definitely ahoof. There were human everywhere now, we could smell them in the street. There were more human around the corral, too, and we sensed our run in this fabled land was fast approaching.

*************** ******************* ****************

Our last night together has been an extraordinary one. The impossible had happened, but it seemed like a dream. Time also appears to have sped up, as now the streets were full of thousands of human, The morning was getting hotter, as Sunfather warmed us up for the last time. We are being made ready, and though we want to get out into the street first, human is trying to manouvre us so that the steers and cows get out first. We can smell human, and his fear and anticipation.

Amongst us brothers, there is the knowledge that our whole lives are meant for this. We know what will happen in the afternoon, but for now we are still together, still brothers, still Miura. We are calm. We wish one another well, and encourage eachother to stay brave, true and strong. To honour the name of Miura.

And as human prepares to set us into the street, I have something to say to you, Runner.

I and my brothers have nothing against you. We do not wish to hurt you or harm you, let alone kill you. We are here because you, human, have ordained it so. We have no choice in this. It just is. You, however, do have a choice.

But you must know, that once we are let loose to run through the streets of this Pamplona, this legendary Pamplona, we cannot control what we do. Instinct will take over, and all hell could break loose. It’s just the way it goes. What will be will be. It just is.

So run hard, and run fast, Runner, and if you go down, stay down. Because if my brothers, or I, have the slightest chance, we will have your balls for breakfast.

Oh, and one final thing….good luck.

*************** ******************** ********************

Suddenly we hear a sound like the whooshing of air, then a noise like thunder, and the gates are open and we Miura pour out into the dappled sunlight onto the street, and charge like a band of bovine brothers on a bandit bull raiding party. And our horns feel like lightning.

************** ******************* ******************

See the Part One. Pastureland
See the Part Two. Preparation
See the Part Three. Passage
See the Part Four. Pamplona
See the Part Five. Pandemonium, and the Passing

 

Part 3. Passage

When I began this story a couple of months ago, it all started because when I saw the bulls on the ranch, with the owners and his shepherds, I could have sworn that the white horse of the owner was somehow communicating with one of the bulls, the superbly polished black one, the one young Paco calls El Pulido. It was the way they looked at each other. As I said at the time, it must have been the effects of a rather liquid lunch.

Or was it? I’ve been back a couple of times since, and I swear there is something going on between horse and bull. It’s the way they look at each other. It sounds strange, I know, but…it just is.

Just the other day, the most extraordinary thing happened between one bull, yes, El Pulido, and the ranch owner and his horse. I had been invited along to the rounding up, to see how the owners and his herdsmen got those bulls that had been selected for Pamplona onto the truck for transportation, and was privileged to witness something that could have come straight from a film.

And that horse, and that bull, I honestly think…

************ *********** *************

We selected Miuras have spent the last couple of months being prepared by the humans. Not just those of us selected for Pamplona, but all of us bulls who have been chosen to fight, and die, somewhere in this Iberialand. As I said, we have been chased, and harried, and given the runaround by those human on their horses. We have had to say goodbye to some of our brothers, too many, actually, and I know our time is coming soon.

We are fighting fit, and we feel fantastic. And I think that today is the day when we will leave Patureland forever, because human and their horse have all come down to our field, and something is ahoof. Our passage to Pamplona is upon us.

Pamplona! And our horns feel like they are made of rock…

The señor rode towards us on his magnificent white horse, accompanied by many other human and their horses, and stopped. They were talking in that strange way of theirs, while the horses observed us, and looked, well, sad. Especially with that long face of theirs…

“It’s today, isn’t it?” I said to the white horse.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is”, he replied, and he looked a little unhappy, yet so majestic.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Human calls me White Star, but to my family I am White Lightning”.

“Wow!” I said. “Our messengers from the Celestial Pasture are called Lightning. It’s a beautiful name”.

He smiled that funny long faced smile, and said “Thank you. I know. We are all connected, you know, but our masters, human, don’t know it”.

We passed a moment in silence.

White Lightening then said, “As you probably know, you will be rounded up in threes’, and put on to the chariotruck, but how about you and I have a bit of fun first?”

“Oh, yes!” I said.

“Ok”, he smiled, “My señor is a superb horseman, and he can control me like I was a part of him. It’s as if I have wings, like our ancestors did so long ago, but eventually what will be will be, and they will get you into that truck. It’s just the way of things”.

“It just is” I said.

“Yes”, he said, sadly, “It just is”.

And then it started.

************** ******************* *****************

Human and their horses came into our land, our beautiful Pastureland, and somehow seperated three of my brothers from the rest of us, by some magic and manhorseship that was amazing to behold, and no matter how my brothers tried, they were chased and brought together and run together towards a wooden enclosure that human calls a corral. Just when they could have made a break for it, instinct took over, (it’s just the way it is), and my brothers kept following the lead human on his horse, not noticing that behind them came more human, herding some cows and steers so that any escape route was closed. And they were driven into the corral. At least they were together.

“Right”, said White Lightening. “Are you ready? Do your best to avoid being rounded up, and then we can play a bit”.

Well, when the señors’ men tried to get the next three of us into the corral, I was able to avoid the inevitable, and managed to stay apart from my brothers. Just for now.

Try as they might, the ranchers couldn’t coax me away from my beloved Pastureland. Finally, the señor said, “Enough of this! I’ll have to do it”. And he, alone on his white horse, rode out towards me.

And the young one, Paco, looked at me like Sunfather and Moonmother look at us. His eyes were shining. We animals don’t cry, but we feel, and I swear Paco had a tear in his eye.

***************** ***************** ******************

“Well”, said White Lightning, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Horse, I am ready”.

The señor looked at me, relaxed and at one with his horse. Horse and I both looked at each other.Then I gave a small flick with my head, and charged. Horse reared up on his hind legs, and the look on the señors’ face was like that of a calf when he has just been born into Pastureland. It was that priceless look of “what the…?”

But the señor was a superb horseman, and it was as if horse really had grown wings…man and horse flew around me, and although I gave them the mightiest of runarounds, (I even got the señor to lose his hat under the branches of a tree), he got me towards the corral, and, on his own, despite the help of the cows and steers behind me, I was finally driven into the corral. To be with my brothers, together as always. As it should be.

Well, we were loaded onto the chariotruck, and jammed into our own individual space. Although it was uncomfortable, I understood that it was so that we couldn’t injure ourselves on the journey through Iberialand.

The chariot roared and began to move. A couple of the human had got inside, including the one called Paco, who had looked after me ever since I could remember, and I could see some of my brothers and horse, yes, that horse, looking at us. We all said goodbye to those we loved, and the last thing I heard was White Lightning saying, “Hey, Miura?”.

“Yes?” I said.

And I swear he did have a tear in his eye as he just said…”Good luck”.

**************** ********************* ********************

Our passage through Iberia really was another world. We had left in the early evening, after the heat of the day, and although we couldn’t see much, and it grew dark, we saw enough of HumanWorld to be staggered, and amazed, at the strangeness of it. And we also saw, and smelt, the wonderful beauty and diversity of this great PastureWorld. What a wonderful place it is, despite humans attempt to kill it.

After the longest day of our lives, which although Moonmother only looked down on us once, seemed to last as long as a season, the great chariotruck, although it had stopped a couple of times, finally pulled up at the side of the road, near a field. A greener field you have never seen, believe me.

This land we were in smelt beautiful, and it had that magic taste of mountain. We thought we knew where we were, because we had heard of this place, but it wasn’t till the chariotrucks heart had died down, and we could hear human speak, that we knew for sure where we were.

Navarra! Human said it excitedly, and we could taste it. The Bulldom of Navarra, that fabled and fabulous land of taurine legend.

There was also something else in the air…the presence of other bulls.

**************** ********************* ****************

“Hello?” we all said.

“Kowxo!” came the reply.

“What?!” we said.

“Cowshow!” came back the reply, but it sounded different this time. “Don’t worry”, they told us, “we speak differently here in Navarra, but we also speak your tongue”.

This was very strange.

“But you are bulls, aren’t you?” we asked. “NavarraBulls? Because we are…”.

“We know who you are, maestros. You are Miura, and it’s our pleasure to welcome you to the Bulldom of Navarra”.

We were almost tongueless. “How do you know?”

“Well”, one of them said, and he was a huge bull “It’s Pamplona-Time, and every year when the Human-Andalus drive up here, they stop by our Greenfield-Land for a final puff on their smokey-sticks, and drink that hot-black-mud they call cof-fee, which smells delicious, by the way, before they go to…” What a strange way they had of talking.

“Pamplona!” we shouted.

“Yes” they replied. “Pamp-lona! Are your horns…”

“Tingling? Oh yes!”.

I carried on. “I am Mercury, and I’m here with my brothers, Cosmic, Sunbeam, Comet, Plutoro and Moonshadow”.

“Well”, said one, the big one, “I am Kali, but as you can see, I am big. A lot of bull. Because of this, they call me Kali-Mucho”.

And the rest of the bulls in the field fell about laughing, as if there was some kind of joke in this. We didn’t get it, though. But we liked these Navarrans, and their land.

The humans noticed something was happening, and began getting ready to leave.

“Who is your friend next to you?” I asked.

“Ah!”, said the bull next to Kali-Mucho, ” I am Patxi. But when I was born, I apparently started running around my mother before I could even walk. So they call me Patxi-Ran”

And with this all the bulls in the field roared with laughter. We laughed too, though we didn’t know why. It was infectious, this Navarraland. Beautiful, too. So green, and with that wonderful taste of mountain in the air.

“Hey!”, shouted another bull, up on the hill. Though it sounded like “Hay!”. It got more magical, this Bulldom of Navarra, with their strange language.

“And what’s your name, you up on the hill?” asked my brother Cosmic.

“Well”, said the lone bull, up on the ridge. “I am Grassi”. And he had that look on his face that all these NavarraBulls seemed to have.

“So, then, Grassi, what’s the rest of your name?” I asked, because we were beginning to understand now.

“Ah!”, he said, with that beautiful look these Navarrans had. ” When I was born, they called me Grassi, but because I kept falling down all the time, onto my backside, they called me Grassi-Ass”.

And even we got this, and the truck shook, and even the field seem to shake, with our laughing.

*************** ******************** *******************

When we had all calmed down, there was one more thing we wanted to know.

“What is this strange doubletongue you speak?” I asked.

“Ah, well there’s a thing” said Kali-Mucho. “Our friends over in the next field there, the sheep, call it Baa-sque, but us cows and bulls call it…”

And the one called Patxi-Ran finished it off. “Mu-skera”

And all of us, Andalus and NavarraBull alike, roared with laughter.

************* *************** ***************

Human were getting nervous now, and were muttering things that, although we only half understood, we could understand.

“This always happens when we get near Pamplona” one said. “Every year it’s the same, wherever we stop before Pamplona, the bulls get fidgety”, said another. “It’s Navarra”, said Paco. “It’s legendary”.

“But you’ve never been here before”, said one of them.

“I know”, said Paco, “but you can feel it, can’t you, the beauty of this place, the wonder…”

“Si, si” they said, and prepared to leave.

**************** ******************** *********************

I looked around this gorgeous land of green, green, green, perhaps the last pasture any of us would ever see.

“We are leaving, I think” I said to the NavarraBulls, “but before we go, we know you are of Navarra, as we are of Andalus, yet are Miura, but Navarrans, what are you called?”.

They gave us that look, with that spark in their eyes, and said, in their strange way,”We are Imp-ekas”

“Impecas?” we said.

“Yes!” they sang, and began to laugh, and we had to laugh with them when they carried on singing, “We are the Imp-eka-bulls”. This was great, too much…

As the truck moved away, we heard them shout one last thing.

“Hey, Miuras?”

“Si?”

And they had that look in their eyes, impossible for animals.Tears.

“Good luck”.

**************** **************** *********************

Soon we entered a world of concrete and steel, chariots of all sizes and more human than you could ever imagine.. But it had something, this place. And although we knew where we were, it wasn’t until Paco and the two other human said together, at one point, “Pamplona!”, that we knew for certain.

Pamplona! Fabled in all Bulldom, mythical town of all tauromania…Pamplona.

As we entered the old part, you could taste the history. The ancient walls kept the sounds of all our ancestors who had ever run, and we could here them, just, amongst the incredible noise that the human was making.

Good luck, they were saying from the walls, good luck, good luck, good luck.

And my horns were on fire.

See the Part One. Pastureland
See the Part Two. Preparation
See the Part Three. Passage
See the Part Four. Pamplona
See the Part Five. Pandemonium, and the Passing

Part 2. Preparation

Pamplona! And my horns are still tingling.

I am Miura, bovine royalty, and I am going to run through the streets of a place that is legendary in all Bulldom. A royal animal in the Kingdom of Navarra. Perfect. It is the way it should be. It just is.

A whole bull moon has passed since my brothers and I heard the news, and we are being made ready by those human. But going back to that day when our destiny was sealed, my brothers and I waited until the humans had left and then talked excitedly amongst ourselves. That night the whole herd went down to the river, and if you could have seen our thoughts passing between us it would have looked like a thousand fireflies dancing by the waters edge.

And Moonmother, she was just beautiful that night, huge, round and glowing. We knew she was looking at us, thinking about us. We were to be 8 chosen bulls, of which 6 would fight, and 2 would be kept in reserve, just in case they were needed. When I say “fight”, this isn’t strictly true. It isn’t a fight, and was never intended to be, but rather it’s a way that Iberian human devised to demonstrate his prowess and skill over a wild animal. Bullfight? That’s such manshit.

It was a lovely night, with bullmoon round and smiling, when our ancestral mother has her full attention on us. She even looked up at us from her reflection in the river.

Amongst our herd is a very special bull, respected by all. He is very old now, 24 of your years, perhaps a hundred in our world. He is one of the very few bulls to have survived a bullfight, which he managed to do by being, well, unkillable. He fought bravely and fiercely, and it was decided by those human in charge that he could return to where he came from. Back here, to Pastureland. For a bull to be so honoured by human is almost unheard of, but it happens, once in a bluemoon.

The old ones’ name is Mercury, and he is my great, great grandfather. To tell the truth, he is father, grandfather and more to a great many of us! Bulls will be bulls…But he had a great tale to tell, and though we had heard some of it before, every bull in the field listened as he told us his story.

********** *********** ************ ***********

“It was one of those rare times when Sunfather and Moonmother became one, and I and my brothers were put on one of those great smoke billowing, giant wheeled, roaring chariots that human calls truck, and we were taken away from here, our home, across the deserts and plains, rivers and mountains of this Iberia”.

Every single one of us was silent. This was to be our destiny, too. You could have heard a leaf fall.

One of my brothers, Cosmic, asked “And what did this journey smell of?”.

“Oh”, said Mercury, “the smells. At first we could still smell Pastureland, but as we moved farther and farther away, the sweet smell of home left us, and eventually all our noses could sense was the taste of dry, like when the riverbank hasn’t had any water during the hot time. Oh, and the odor of human and his world, of course. But finally, after a night which seemed to last as long as a season to us, we began to smell mountain again”.

“Ah, mountain”, said a young bull. “Wonderful. Anything else?”.

“Ha, yes. There is the odor of human and his world, like I said. It is hard to smell things properly in his world. They have many of those noisy, wheeled chariots. Big ones, small ones, long ones, and they cough and splutter, and yes, fart all the time”.

The young ones laughed at this. Another of my brothers, Sunbeam, then asked, “Tell us about these mountains of rock that some of the human choose to live in”.

“Great Toro!”, Mercury exclaimed, and a strange look of complete bafflement appeared on his face.

“Some of the human choose to live in great piles of concrete and steel they have constructed, packed together in their thousands, like ants in their tunnels. These places are bovine free, with no pasture, and the air stands still. They make what they call windows so they can see out of their concrete cells, but nothing can get in. No smells, no birds, no mountain breeze”.

There was no noise amongst us on this most silent of nights. We couldn’t imagine such a thing. Even our breathing seemed to have stopped.

“And the smell?” asked Cosmic.

Mercury wrinkled his nose. “The smell! Oh sheepdip, the smell. The small ones, that they call villages, are okay. The bigger ones, towns, are not so good. But the giant ones, my goodness…You know when you pass a field, and it is way too full of sheep who have been there too long, because they are still waiting to be moved to pasture?”

Everyone, not just the young ones, nodded and made “yuk”, and “ugh” and such noises.

“Well”, continued old Mercury. “That is the smell!”

A collective “pooaagh” rang out from all of us.

Another of my brothers asked, “What are these windows made of, that you can see through but nothing can get through?”

“Well”, he said, “we think that they are made from the river. It is water that human has killed, so it no longer runs”.

And in disbelief, and shock, the whole herd turned to stare at the river.

************* ************** ************** ***************

For a long time after that, nothing was said. The reality had really hit home that some of us would be leaving our world for ever, for a completely different one. Human world.

Finally, Sunbeam, said, “Great old bull, do these giant places where many human chooses to stay have a name, like our home is called Pastureland?”

And with that question every single animal in the herd turned to look at Mercury, because we knew what was coming.

“Oh, yes” he said, eyes twinkling. “As I said, there are little villages and bigger towns, but the jungles of concrete and steel they live in are called…”

And we waited, because we knew.

“Shitties”. And with that thousands of tons of taurine aristocracy fell about laughing.

***************** ****************** ******************

Old Mercury died soon after that, one evening during a storm, eating grass by some trees. The dark light in his eyes had shown brightly after he’d told us again of his adventures, of how he’d survived a bullfight in a far off town, and been chosen to return to Pastureland to, well, make more of us.

The night of the storm he even said he could feel a tingling in his horns, thinking about us going to Pamplona, and some of us were looking at him in admiration when suddenly one of natures’ messengers roared and exploded and a screaming ray of fire came down and hit him, leaving his body on the field but taking his spirit and soul and being up to the heavenly pastures where all the bulls and cows that ever were look over us.

A divine one was back with his ancestors and the tears fell heavily from the celestial pastures that night.

***************** ************************* ****************

The next day things started happening, many human came on many of their horse and chased us, harried us, charged us and teased us. Then they’d leave us alone, and then come back. It was hard work sometimes, but we were never hurt and we got fitter and leaner. It was fun, too.

Then we realised what was happening. Some of our kind the human makes fatter for food. But we were being made fitter to fight. To fight, and to die, in a far off town called Pamplona.

Pamplona! And the tingling in our horns is becoming like the fence human uses to keep sheep in sometimes. Electric.

See the Part One. Pastureland
See the Part Two. Preparation
See the Part Three. Passage
See the Part Four. Pamplona
See the Part Five. Pandemonium, and the Passing

Bullseye. I have often wondered what would be the bulls eye view of Pamplona, from their life in the fields where they were born to their final ending in Pamplona. Recently, while visiting friends at a bullranch in Spain, we went out into the fields after lunch with the head shepherd and some of the cowboys, to look at the bulls, as we had just found out where some of them were to be sent to.

As we rode out we found some of the ones we were looking for, and sat in silence for a few minutes and just observed them. They are such magnificent beasts, big and strong, powerful and noble. Beautiful animals. But as we sat there, marvelling at them, I noticed that one bull would not take it eyes off the head shepherds’ horse. They stared at each other, and maybe it was the effects of the lunchtime wine, but I could swear they were talking, somehow.

Part One

Pastureland

“Which one do you call Pulido”?

The question was asked by the human on the big white horse, to the other, younger human on the smaller horse.

Pulido, The Polished One, is what they, human, had named me, because my skin wasn’t just black, but it shone, as if it had been polished. But to my family and friends and the other bulls in the herd I was called Meteor, and I was named after the first thing my mother saw after she gave birth to me.

It is a wonderful name for a bull to have, because although we live here in Pastureland, a beautiful place of grass and meadow, river and mountain, we know that up there beyond the clouds our ancestors live. The sun is our ancient father, and the moon our first mother, and from them came the first cows and bulls, and it is from them that we are all descended.

Our Sunfather looks after us during the day, he warms us up and feeds us, through the grass that grows underneath us, the fruit that falls from his trees, and the life he brings to Pastureland. When he begins to leave us at dusk, our Moonmother comes to take care of us. And with her in the night sky come all the other bulls and cows that there ever were. Their eyes blink at us, and smile at us, and sometimes, when we have to leave our home, they cry for us. Human calls them stars, but we know they are the eyes of our forebearers, watching over us. We hear human sing a song sometimes, about a bull that’s in love with the moon. If only they knew…

And when we see a meteor speeding across the heavens we know it is the spirit of not just a newly departed bull, but a special one, a divine bull, rushing to join his family. So to be given the name Meteor is an honour, and one I will try to live up to.

****************************************************

I am a Miura bull, and so was born into bovine royalty. Amongst the human we are famous, for we are fighting bulls, wild but noble, almost free yet born to die far from our home and before our time, in what human calls a corrida de toros, a bullfight. But until then we live in paradise in Pastureland, able to feed on barley and cabbage, broad beans and grass. Pastureland has endless and nourishing fields of green delicious grass, which is like nectar to us, and we can eat grass until, honestly, the cows come home.

But one day I and some of my brothers will be rounded up and taken away from our home. We would normally live to about 20 or 25 of your years, very old in our world. I wont live that long though, because I am Miura, and they will take me away when I am still young, at about 5 years old. There is almost nothing I can do to change this. It is my destiny.

We are born to die young. We have no choice. As we say in our world, it just is.

So when we saw Man coming, we were more than a little curious. We are used to Boy, watching over us with his horse, and the other shepherds, but today he came with Man, on his big horse. Now if there is one other animal we respect, it is Horse. Horses are animal royalty also, proud and noble like us, and we respect them. We can’t communicate too well with them as the way they talk is very strange, but like many tongues there are similarities.

He was a fine horse, and we had all seen him before. He was as white as I am black, and his rider wasn’t just human, but someone special. A señor. They stopped and said nothing to each other, just observed us, in their way. The horses looked at us, and we acknowledged them. White Horse was looking especially at me, and appeared as if he was about to say something to me when Little Horse, just a colt really, said excitedly “Hey bulls, guess what? You’re going to…”

“Silence!” said White Horse to the colt. Little Horse didn’t have to ask “why” but I could see the question was in his eyes.

White Horse looked at me and said “You are the one your family call Fast Star, are you not?” Although all I understood was “You family Fast Star, no?”

“Yes White Horse, I am” (Fast Star! Not as good as Meteor, but I liked it). He had already put me in a good mood with that.

“Well, the señor has some news for you and your brothers, but you should hear it from him”.

And White Horse smiled, kindly. But to us bulls, we think horses look hilarious when they smile, what with that long face, and I was feeling great now, even though I was about to hear the name of the place where I would almost certainly die.

In our world, Pastureland, there are many places of Iberia that are famous beyond your stars. These names are brought to us on the wind, through the river, and in the rustling of the leaves on the trees. Sometimes, as rare as an eclipse, when Sunfather and Moonmother make magic, a bull does return back to his field in Pastureland, and we hear directly from the bulls mouth what will happen to us, and of those places in your world you call Seville and Madrid, Granada and Ronda.

Ah, Ronda, beautiful Ronda, where it all started, the home of bullfighting. But there is one place where all bulls want to go, and it is legendary in all Toromundo, and it is the only place which at the very mention of the name makes our horns tingle.

The señor finally stopped looking at us and turned to his shepherd and said,

“Which one do you call Pulido”?

“That one, sir, the one with a hide like black gold”.

“He is magnificent, isn’t he?. What a beautiful bull. Well, Paco, as you have been looking after him and his brothers so well, you will be coming with us in a couple of months when we take them to the corrida”. All I could understand from this was “beautiful bull brothers corrida”. Like the dog human likes to keep, you hear words enough times and the meaning becomes clear.

“Thank you, señor”, said Paco, extremely happy, “And where is it that we are going”?.

Human looked at him, then turned to me, and his eyes seem to burn as he said… “Pamplona!”

And my horns began to tingle.