With just a month to go to the start of fiesta in my beloved Pamplona, I’m happier than a badger at mating time. I thought the “Part One” done for last month was really just a piece of frivolous frivolity, but I’ve had some lovely comments so thank you very much. They are much appreciated, but as I always say, it only encourages me…
So now it’s June and the month of the last but one “stairway” day. Or, as it’s properly called, La Escalera. If you don’t know what that is, it’s just a wee song they have, counting down from the 1st of January, 2nd of February, etc, to San Fermin Day on July 7th. This may or may not be the last article before fiesta, as I already have an idea of something I’d like to write before the madness really kicks off, but it all depends on how busy those lokos at Kuku are pre-fiesta, especially that mad man Manu and his blue assistant, Mr. Testis.
As we’re at the tail end of my litany of little lexical lurches around la-la land, there are a couple of tricky letters that appear, (like “q” and “x” and “z”)…so I may have to cheat a little. Actually, I have just thought of the easiest and most obvious “z” one…gosh I’m clever sometimes. Unfortunately, that’s my clever bit used up for the month. Ah well. After the end of this alphabetical amble around old Iruña there’s a thing for the Spanish speakers. And so, without further ado, here’s part two.
SAN FERTHINGS Part Two. M – Z.
M is for Midnight, Marcelianos’ and Missed. Midnight…a personal one this, because when I first arrived in Pamplona way back when, knowing just about zero about anything to do with fiesta, midnight was always spent in the Plaza del Castillo, camped on our patch of grass. Actually, the first couple of years we barely moved from the spot, except when the street cleaners and water trucks came around before the run, and later on around midday, when the public swimming pool in Rochapea was opening up, and we’d wander down there. Midnight in the plaza on the grass by the gutter became my fiesta spiritual home. It was always special. And it still is. The band came on at midnight and then we danced. Even though they’ve rogered the square now, midnight there is still special. And it always will be.
Bar Marceliano. I was never a regular of Marcelianos, but did go there a few times. I mention it because it became in the 1950’s and until it closed all the way up to the…mid-nineties? – the main watering hole of a certain bunch of people and their successors. Some bars will nearly always be there, even if the names change…the bars in the square, for example. But away from there, some bars close, never to re-appear. It’s sad, but that’s the way it goes. But for some people, when a bar goes forever, something important and almost sacred also goes from fiesta, and the new hangout usually just isn’t, well, the same. Especially if it’s the first bar they ever went to and they spent not just years returning, but decades.
They are missed. And it’s the same for people, too. Though a bar is one thing, a Sanferminero…that’s a real live and loved human being. Inevitably then, and sadly, people die, and nothing is quite the same again. But also, friends you thought would be there forever stop coming for whatever reason. Life gets in the way, usually, in the form of marriage and children, or just the sheer impracticality or impossibility of being able to make it every year. Like those from Oz. But at least you get to see them at other times. One classic fiesta friend from my particular group was Dan, Dan the Pacharan Man. Where are you now, Dan? Are you okay, are you happy, are you safe? Come back to us, Dan, we’re your fiesta family and we’ll look after you. Because one never stops missing some that you lost contact with, and I still hope that one day I’ll hear, perhaps from behind as I’m sitting at Bar Txoko, in that distinctive voice of his, Dan saying, “Hey, Tim…?” So things change, eras change, we change, but there is another “M” that never does…the Magic of San Fermin.
N is for Night time, Neska and Nicho. Yes, I know I’ve just done midnight, but night time is different. I mean that wonderful time when the bullfight is over and the bands are starting to play through the square and even though it’s still not dark…it’s coming. And then it is and it’s firework time and you know the whole night’s ahead, full of dancing and laughing and drinking and more dancing, and although you think you know where you’ll end up…you almost never do. And then the skies lighten and that dawn chill comes and what does the town hall throw on to wake you up, (or keep you awake!) and keep you warm? The Dianas…more dancing, but this time in the fresh morning daylight. I love dusk to dawn in fiesta.
Neska…ah, neska. This is a very personal one. Neska just means girl in Basque, and I’m alluding to the Little People I mentioned last month. My first and original bunch of locals I ever knew in Pamplona became nicknamed The Little People, 14 girls at their height, and even though times changed and our partying together only lasted from the mid to the late eighties…I’m still in touch with a few of them and they were, and remain, pure fiesta gold for me. Ya falta menos, chicas!
Nicho. It just means niche, and is a nice small word for a nice small thing. But an important one. Down by the beginning of the run as you face the bulls, up on the left in a niche in the old wall is a small statuette of San Fermin. The first song I ever learnt in Spanish was sung to San Fermin, facing this wee figurine that personifies Pamplona, and fiesta, holding my rolled up newspaper towards him, with runners all around me far more experienced than me and far better. I hoped one day to run like they did, but it almost never happened. But when it did…oh wow. My skin is tingling as I type this.
O is for and Orange, Osasuna and Orfeon Pamplones. Orange? Yup, orange, naranja, laranja. Why? One, because in juice form it’s what goes in my vodka, as you’ll read later, and it’s a life saver for me. And two, it’s the Dutch national colour and when our Lost Peña was really rocking and rolling all those years ago in the 80’s and 90’s, we had people from all over the world in it, but for some reason there were a lot of Dutch. I guess they just breed a lot. Must be a massive country.
Osasuna! I almost never bring football into fiesta related things but this is different. Osasuna is the local football team, who unfortunately got relegated this season. But they have a great football song, which I have sung on stage, and “osasuna” also happens to mean “health” and hence “cheers” in Basque. Salud!
Orfeon Pamplones: One of the beauties of fiesta, even after so long, is every year I see at least one thing, or do one thing, or go one place that I never have before. The renowned Pamplona Choral Choir is just one such thing. I know who they are and what they do, and one day I know, probably unexpectedly, I’ll end up seeing them. San Fermin never fails to surprise, even when you know that.
P is for for Plaza and Pastores and Pacharan. Ah, plaza. There is the Plaza de Toros of course, but there is only one place for me and I’ve mentioned it before and it’s the Plaza del Castillo. Now, I’ve mentioned some of this before, but it is going to be said again. Despite the ABH done on it, begun in 2001 by the authorities, (ABH stands in my country for Actual Bodily Harm, but here it stands for Arboreal Bloody Harm) and despite the glass but plastic looking constructions they put in at three out of the four corners to get access to the underground parking, (couldn’t they have built something out of stone similar to the architecture in the square so things might blend in?) and despite those same ignorant authorities taking the white railings down that ran around the square, so providing not only a nice definition to the grassy bits as opposed to the tarred road, and giving also a place for folk to lean against or sit on, and children to play around…despite all that, it’s still a beautiful square and I love, love, love it. And God willing I’ll be there soon. Yippee!
Pastores…what would runners do without these remarkable people? I have seen some wonderful runners and some truly extraordinary running, but the shepherds of San Fermin are something else. I wrote about a famous one from the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s once and I’ll put it on this page one day, and I’m going to write about another one in the future too, but Pamplona’s pastores are amazing. Yes, I know they have a long stick that if used knowledgeably can help control the bull a bit, but they also have to contend every single day with some of the biggest idiots on the planet. No, I’m not talking about the good runners of course or even the bad ones or even the new ones…I’m just talking about some of the biggest idiots on the planet. How do some of these people get past the police? How did I, for that matter…(just kidding.) New rules are in place but per square yard I still think those 850 meters of the run contain more idiots, ignoramuses and just plain dumb people than anywhere else on the planet. But the herdsmen are brilliant. Oh, and those 850 meters contain some pretty remarkable people, too…
Pacharan…oh my aching head. I don’t get headaches, lucky me, but when I do it’s never my fault. It’s the pacharan’s…Made from the endrina berry, mentioned in Part One but not explained, it’s a mild alcoholic fruity liqueur that’s good for your skin, libido and intelligence quotient. Actually, no it’s not, it’s a deceptively smooth drink that is an evil imposter of alcohol and should be banned like rap music, jeans that hang down your backside and women driving. All right, all right, I take it back and was just kidding anyway. Rap music can stay as it’s just down to taste. Seriously, pacharan is lovely but boy, for the uninitiated, please be careful. It’s a bit like the bull run, actually…if you go down on it, STAY down…
Q is for Querencia and Quemado and Quirofano. Qh, the q’s…one of those problem letters. Querencia. This is actually a relevant one and one of the first things I learnt about the corrida…that sometimes a bull will choose a place in the ring that is his querencia. It’s just a spot that he feels most comfortable, safe or secure in. We do it subconsciously, too. It’s why we choose one spot not another in a bar, or one table not another in a restaurant. And in Pamplona I certainly have my querencias, favoured watering holes and feeding troughs and resting places and hangouts. Actually, the whole place is a querencia for me but within that…
Quemado…the fire bull! Yes, I know, it’s actually called the toro de fuego, the bull of fire, and not the burnt bull, but give me a break, I’m on the letter “q” and it’s difficult for San Fers’ sake! I genuinely love the fire bull. My first year, wandering into the Estafeta to get more grog from the shop, I honestly couldn’t believe it when I got surprised by the little f…fire bull. And out in the villages, some of them aren’t just fun, but scarier!
Quirofano. If you end up here your fiesta is probably over. It means the operating room, and you’re having surgery or something. Fiesta is phenomenal fun but it can bite back…almost usually due to one’s own overindulgence or under-intelligence, and as always when the earth spins slightly off axis, or in Pamplona’s case, wildly, things can happen. Good luck!
R is for Rochapea, Romance and Risas. Rochapea is here for two reasons. It’s a suburb just outside of the old town, at the northern end. The first years when we had no or very patchy accommodation, the public open air swimming pool there was a God given, (it felt like it) and town hall provided, fiesta free, (nearly) oasis of calm. Oh, it was packed alright and we still drank, but it was an escape from the madness and a place where we could relax and get clean and get great food, too. It may have had the coldest showers on earth that could have frozen hell over, but those hours there set us up again for the evening ahead. I love having an apartment now but I do miss the pool. Actually, the first year we got a flat it was in Rocha also, so there’re two reasons for the place to be on my list.
Romance…ah, romance. “Love, is a burning thing…” As I mentioned in last month’s piece, James Michener wrote in The Drifters: “To be young, and in love, and in Pamplona in July is heaven itself.” And once upon a time, over two decades ago, I was young, and I did fall in love, in Pamplona, in July. And yes, it was heaven itself…Hemingway also has a fantastic paragraph at the beginning of chapter nine of The Dangerous Summer about taking your partner to Pamplona. And he knew…Some of my favourite people on the planet have met there and fallen in love…so good luck!
Risas. A risa is a laugh, and like any gathering of friends, the laughs abound. But in Pamplona, they seem to be fiestaringly, alcoholicallyingly, partyingly magnifiedled and expandified. Yep, those are real words, I got them from the George Bush Speechifying Book. A laugh in Pamplona seems to be just that little bit deeper, last that little bit longer and echo that little bit louder. And they don’t fade away like echoes, but coat the walls and hide in the trees and break out when you least expect them to.
S is for: San Fermin! San Fermin! San Fermin! I rest my case.
T is for Txoko, The Gutter and Thank-Goodness-It’s-Over, otherwise known as the Pobre-De-Mi. I’m pretty sure the first bar I went into back in ’84 was Bar Tropicana, next to Txoko, and I didn’t even know it was where the Hotel Quintana used to be. In those years, I had a whole lotta learning to do about Pamplona and its history. And as I couldn’t put Quintana under the “Q’s” I get to sneak him in here. I’ll write more about him one day but he ran a hotel in Pamplona in the 1920’s and 30’s and became a friend of Hemingway and was still around in the fifties to welcome him back to Pamplona.
But this is about Bar Txoko. That’s spelt with a “k” folks, not a “c.” There are people who have been going for decades and still spell it with a “c.” Honestly. The only “c” it had in it was the capital “C” when it was spelt “Choko.” See? Super. I presume it changed its name to the Basque version after Franco kicked the cubo. I love Txoko because when we used to live on the grass or sit in The Gutter, it was the nearest bar so that’s where we went. Also, after the run, it’s where I always went to meet up with my fellow Gutter-dwellers and others and have a legumba. Or ten.
Thank-Goodness-It’s-All-Over…properly known as the Pobre-De-Mi. I remember being hauntingly uplifted and emotionally moved the first time, (and subsequent times) I went to the closing ceremony. I don’t think I went my first three years, so I suppose 1987 was the first time, and the fact that fiesta was over and something beautiful had ended hit me really hard. It was completely unexpected and it made me cry. Still does, sometimes. There are many, many people out there of both genders and all ages who still cry also. The fact I hadn’t known about it, plus then going, and it would have been with the Little People, just added to the effect it had upon me. We all bought candles of course, and to be with my friends in front of the Town Hall as the cape was brought down on this phenomenal fiesta, amongst a forest of flames in a sea of Sanfermineros, was just wonderful. Te quiero Pamplona.
U is for Uda, Underground and Unica. In San Sebastian before fiesta, at Bar Etxaniz, we discovered a pintxo, (tapa) actually a bocadillo, (think filled baguette) called an udaberri, and it was full of good stuff. Sometimes it was all we ate for 24 hours and it kept us going. If you’re wondering what a Subway type snack in San Sebastian has to with fiesta, well, I did say there were some tricky letters coming up and “u” is one of them, and also, I honestly don’t plan what I write but just sit and type and wait for the waffle to come. So uda is also the Basque for summer, and although it’s a tenuous connection, fiesta used to be held in October until, because of the people being fed up with the bad weather, they moved it in 1591 to…uda-time! (Berri good Tim, berri iberri good.)
Underground…My two favourite bars in all of Pamplona are underground bars. I was first taken to them by, yes, the Little People, and they were hotter than hell but the music was brilliant and we’d spend hours down there in the 80’s and 90’s in our own little fiesta bubble. And yes, for old time’s sake and to remember friends of fiestas past I still go back to them. Names are staying secret though…you’ll know them if you fall into them!
La Unica, the oldest surviving peña in the city, dating from 1903. This isn’t about them though, but again, “u” is a tricky letter and I needed to get 3 of them. And I was going to mention the peñas under “p” of course until I found I’d run out of space and used them all up, so in case I get accused of taking the p’s, (what?!) they go here instead. The peñas, if you’ve never been before, are the beating, thumping, pulsating musical heart of fiesta. There are 16 of these sporting, gastronomic and social clubs in the city, and each one has a band, either their own or hired in, and once you hear them you’ll never, ever forget them. The fiesta without the peñas would be like having the encierro without bulls. Unimaginable.
V is for Vodka, Vinagre and Vasco. What I would do without vodka I don’t know. That makes me sound like an alcoholic but what I mean is this. For me sometimes, drinking too much fizzy stuff is impossible. After so much beer or calimocho I’ve had enough. And the cognac with vanilla or chocolate milks just get too sickly after a while. And I don’t mean after several hours or days here…I mean after several years. The only thing I have found that I never, ever, get bored with is vodka. It helps if it has orange juice in it, but it has to be juice, not fizz. (Yonks ago not many bars stocked orange juice, so I’d have it with pineapple juice, or peach, or whatever.) Some still don’t, but most at least have some multi-vitamin yuk called biosolan. Happily, during fiesta there is a local bylaw that says biosolan can only legally be drunk with vodka, thank god, which makes me a very happy lad. Then it makes me a very merry lad, then a very drunk one. And in some places…the vodka is actually free! Just one of the secrets you may discover…
Vinagre. If you have a look at last month’s alphorgettable tour, there is a picture of The Giants. This gives me a great excuse to tell you about The Comparsa, a wonderful troop of giant Kings and Queens and their entourage. Among the troupe there are five “Cabuzedos,” made up of a mayor and a councillor, a grandmother and two Japanese figures. Don’t ask. Oh alright, I’ll write about them one day too, but my bet is that the Japan connection is due to the patron saint of Navarra who spent a couple of years there. A long time ago. From 1549 to 1551 San Fransisco Javier lived and did missionary work in Japan, and Pamplona today is twinned with three towns, one of which is Yamaguchi in Japan. And…bingo! I have something for “y!”
Back to the Cabuzedos. They all have big heads. Then there are six “Kilikis” who provide the Royal protection. One of these chaps is called Vinegar Face, thank goodness, otherwise I’d be very stuck on the letter “v”…The Kilikis also have big heads. Finally, the gang are made up of the Zaldikos. No, they don’t have big heads, silly. They are half-men, half-horse figures. Obviously…Pamplona, honestly, you couldn’t make it up. You can read about them on Kukuxumusu’s website here of course but their history is great and I’ll save that for a piece one day too.
Vasco. I skirted briefly over this in part one but a reminder is no bad thing. It’s best not get involved in any politics but sometimes something just has to be said. For those who again have never been before, the area is made up of two peoples, two languages and many conflicts. There are the Spanish and there are the Basques. Vascos in Spanish, Euskaldunak in Euskera, the Basque language. There, easy! Oh, and the Navarrans…I give up and let’s have a beer.
W is very tricky, especially as there are basically no words beginning with “w” in either Spanish or Basque, (except whisky) so this one has to be all in English. Okay, Wine, Women and Whites. Although everyone raves about Spanish wine and Rioja in particular, Navarra itself has some cracking wines, of all flavours, so you’re in luck when it comes to trying out some local viti-culture. And they especially love it when you mix their top Reserva wines with coke.
Women/men. We did that under “chicas/chicos” last month. And now it’s done under women. If you get my drift. Whatever your flavour, maybe even both, Pamplona people are lovely folk and if you get dragged off by them, just go with them…you’ll probably end up with friends for life.
Whites. Once upon a time in fiesta, as can be seen by the old photos from the late 19th century and through to the 1950’s and even 60’s, either no-one or very few folk wore whites. But, thanks to the butchers in their white livery darting out to run, and a now long gone peña called La Veleta, which you can read about in a previous article, Back In The High Life, people began to wear all white with a red sash and small neckerchief. It became the tradition and the accepted uniform of fiesta.
Lately a debate has begun about how the encierro has become a multi-coloured run, with many people wearing all sorts of coloured tops either to get noticed or because it means something to them. Like, (and this is my personal “un-favourite,”) football tops. As in soccer shirts. And I have mentioned this before. One football top is original. A thousand aren’t. And yet some of my favourite people wear them. One of my friends even wears his university sports blazer. Now that is original. I guess I just have a personal dislike of the “this is my team and I’m going to wear the top. Anywhere. Everywhere. All-the-bloody-time wear!”
But…it does make the run look jolly colourful. Tradition is great and once upon a time it was traditional for people to wear their finest or just their everyday clothes to run in or to party in. After all, many of them had a job to go to immediately after the run. Then the whites took over, which I personally think looks great. Now, it’s going all multi-coloured. And as I wrote earlier and have written many times before…only in Pamplona…!…could they choose the colour white. It’s such a great colour to hide any stains in…but if you’re going for the first time, go on, it’ll be worth it. Go and invest in some whites!
X is for…I really don’t know. Time to get the dictionary out. Xaboi is “soap” in Basque, something we rarely saw our first couple of fiestas. Xarmangarri just looks good. Oh, and it’s Basque for enchanting, charming, delightful or lovely, when describing someone. Xirritu means crack, crevice or aperture. Not particularly fiesta related, I know, but I do know someone who once fell down into a xirritu in the Plaza de Castillo, and his name might or might not be Martin. The hole was actually the street entrance to the Bar Txoko cellars. You’ll be glad to know, thankfully, that no damage was done. He dented not one beer barrel or broke not one bottle of wine. Phew, that’s the x’s done. Not so difficult after all. XXX!
Y is for why, oh why, oh why did I start this? I can’t use Basque words as it’s one of the letters they don’t have. (The others being c, q, r, v and y.) Well, they have “r” but not as a first letter. And they…oh, never mind. Basque has to be one of the most difficult languages in the Universe. And the only useful “w” in Spanish is “whiskey.” So, a triple whisky please and that’s the wobble-u’s sorted. And after a large triple, the wobbles start, no doubt…
Z: I thought this one was going to be so difficult but then it came to me in a flash. Or rather, in a goat skin. Because Z is for Las Tres Z.Z.Z….The Three Zed’s, or zetas. It’s the name of the famous company from Pamplona who make those iconic wineskins, and although it was started in 1873, it didn’t change its name to Las Tres Z.Z.Z’s until 1902. Which I’ll get to in a moment, as the reason why is a lovely story. But I just want to say, if you get one, remember this. I have been told, (and I don’t know if it is true, but it just sounds “right,”) that whatever alcohol you first put in to it, stick with that alcohol and don’t chop and change.
So…the name. The founder, one Gregorio Perez, changed the name because of the birth of his three daughters…at the same time. Yup, triplets, and it caused a sensation at the time. And because the Spanish word for “lass” is zagala, to honour his daughters he changed the name to The Three Lasses, Lasses, Lasses…isn’t that beautiful? And as I have never, ever, even after all these years, bought one, I think that this year it is going to be my post-fiesta present to myself. Las Tres Zagalas… perfecto.
And I have to squeeze some Basque words in too, because they sound and look so good. Zangamanga…I saw it once and have completely forgotten where or what it means. Might even be Spanish, believe it or don’t. Zurriburri, can’t remember either. Zurromurro means rumor. I could go on but just get a dictionary, the language has some great words. Just ask the guys at Kukuxumusu.
And finally, there is a zurromurro that we have come to the end of this particular section, and
indeed we have. So as I started with “awake,” I’ll finish with some sleep. Sleep, and I mean a good sleep, when it happens in fiesta, can be a blessed relief. Sweet dreamzzz…
204 PALABRAS DE FIESTA.
A chap I know, who actually hails not just from Pamplona, but from the Estafeta itself, is part of a wee group who put together a fantastic writing competition every year. It’s called the Certamen de Microrrelatos de San Fermin, and this year was actually the 6th edition. Their idea is fiendishly simple in the invention but devilishly difficult in the execution.
You have to write about any fiesta related theme in 204 words or less. For the uninitiated, there are 204 hours of fiesta spread over those 9 days from the midday chupinazo start on the 6th to the midnight Pobre-De-Mi finish on the 14th. This year’s window of opportunity to enter has closed now, (you get the whole merry month of May to enter, which means you have nearly a year to think about a tale for next year) but if I can remember I’ll mention it sometime early next year as a reminder.
I did enter this year, but only at 40 minutes to midnight on the last available day, 31st May, and I was drunk, so I haven’t got a hope in heck of winning, but that is more because I spent the whole month trying to think too hard of something to write rather than just sitting down and rabbiting on without thinking, which seems to work okay for these articles. But it was fun to enter again and I’m glad I did.
But the beauty of their competition is that you can write in Basque, Spanish or English, and although this year I wrote in English, last year I wrote in Spanish. And in poem form. Oh dear. (And I do have a tune for it, too!) But for the Spanish speakers among you and just for fun, here it is. And because tomorrow, (as I write this,) Is June the 6th, let’s have one of these:
¡Ya falta nada! Viva San Fermin! Gora!
204 HORAS EN 204 PALABRAS
Como explicar el imposible
No hay nada como este, es increible.
Las Fiestas de San Fermin son fenomenal
En este ciudad del mundo, sitio sin igual.
El cinco de julio, tsunami de guiris
Nosotros al Txoko, avalancha de bebidas.
Llega el dia seis, terremoto humano,
Un alud de alegria, ¡Aupa chupinazo!
Entonces el siete, y primer encierro
Toros y caos, y mucho peligro.
Y el procession, es algo bonito
¡Viva San Fermin! Nuestro santo querido.
Luego el ocho y la fiesta de vodka,
Es la gracias de nuestro peña a Pamplona.
Asi caen los dias, lleno de cosas
Este pueblo unico, hecho de sonrisas.
Todos los noches y dias tambien,
Ellos nunca paran en este poblacion,
Musica, bailes, toros y corridas,
La mezcla perfecta de alegria con risas.
Y quiero decir algo importante,
Del corazon latiendo de la gente:
Las peñas y charrangas, im-precionante!
Y el estruendo, algo gigante.
Nueve dias locos sobrevivimos la fiesta,
Poco dormiendo pero mucha de juerga.
Y espiritus de antes por magia nos dan
En vez de sangre corriendo, tenemos pacharan.
Finalamente el catorce, media noche si,
Son acabado las fiestas, y Pobre-De-Mi.
Y el dia quince, hay paz por fin…
Pero…¡Ya falta menos! ¡Viva San Fermin!
Okay, it’s now June 6th as I write this, the last escalera day before fiesta, and I am a happy, happy man. My favourite band on the planet are from Pamplona. I mentioned them last month under “I” as they used to be called Impekables, but are now called Zopilotes Txirriaos. Don’t ask! But I think they are bloody brilliant and I love them to bits. This is just a tiny sample of their music…and so again…
¡Ya falta nada! ¡Viva San Fermin! Gora!
