Well…that was some fiesta this year. A San Fermin quite unlike any I have ever known. This heartfelt city is famous for so much and renowned for so many things, but whatever it has become known for over the centuries, be it The Camino de Santiago, The Fiesta of San Fermin and all it entails, the peñas, the bull runs, Hemingway, Osasuna (just kidding…I think!) the clue is in the word “heartfelt” there.
Image: Miguel Goñi
Billseye
by Tim Pinks
The chap in the superb photo below, for those who don’t know him, is Bill Hillman, and he wrote something about one of this years runs that I thought was just so good it needed to be seen.
As those of you who read this more or less monthly series of articles knows, I almost always prefer to write about anything else but myself. But this month I’m going even further, as not only am I not going to blow my own trumpet, but I’m going to use this space to blow someone else’s. The remarkable piece below isn’t even written by me, but by the above mentioned Bill Hillman, one of the “new” generation of bull runners, and a very good one at that.
Although there is slightly more to the article than that, because he was actually running that morning as the dramatic events unfolded, and he gives what for me is a real skin-tingling account of what he experienced. I think it’s an excellent piece, and parts of it, as mentioned, for personal reasons which I wont go into here, left me shaking. As I say, Bill wrote the article, but I’ve furnished it with the pictures. Hope you don’t mind, Bill. Take it away, maestro.
SLEEPERS
By Bill Hillman
There’ve been many deadly human pile ups in the history of Pamplona ’s bull run. This year a pile up hospitalized 23 people and left one battling for his life.
On July 13th it was the Fuente Ymbro bulls’ turn to run the streets of Pamplona and I was happy because they were noble and majestic and I always ran well with them. I left early from my starting position at the last section of the course like usual and was striding cleanly in the center of the street with good vision of the herd as they approached. Three galloping black bulls lined up in a loose string with Aitor, the best young Spanish mozo running the lead animal. Aitor strode in his tall, long gate in front of the snout of the muscular animal?man and beast in perfect synch. Aitor’s white hoodie with black and red stripes fluttered as I matched their pace and approached, shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
As I cruised beside Aitor a woman tripped in front of him. He started to fall and I surged in and swung my paper behind his back and swatted the bull’s horns to attract him away from goring Aitor. Aitor dropped to the stones and I led the bull and ran in front of his horns. We merged into one speeding force before the tunnel into the arena.
As I stepped into the tunnel a small pile-up of five people tripped me. I tried to leap it and fell flat on my belly. The bull ambled on. I crawled to the two-foot tall opening that lines the bottom of the tunnel and slipped inside. The room is large and empty.
Suddenly screams volleyed in from the tunnel and a powerful roar of horror exploded into the dark room. Dozens of runners flew in through the low opening. I reached down and pulled them in. Suddenly Aitor’s striped sleeve appeared and I yanked him through and to his feet. The inflow of bodies stopped but the dread continued. I got down on my belly to look out. A regal white bull sat at the opening of the tunnel in quiet meditation. At the entrance to the ring a horrific mountain of people jams the path into the arena. Then the white bull climbed to his hooves. The runners in the tunnel scrambled.
I decided I should go out and try to help if I could. The white bull gets up and trots into the pile. I crawled back out into the tunnel and finally clearly saw the hundred or so white and red clad people crushed in the opening to the arena. Twelve gigantic bovine are stacked atop them in the center. The white bull turned and I panicked and nearly jumped out through the slot on the other side of the tunnel, but he didn’t attack. None of them did. They were afraid and the fear mysteriously calmed them instead of igniting them to rage.
Then something gives way and the blockage breaks. I helped Josecho nearly close the red metal doors and then followed him in. Regretfully I stepped over the fallen bodies. Then I was onto the sand of the ring. The bulls vanished. I went back to the unraveling pile and pulled people out until they all scrambled away. Underneath it I found a scattered pile of tennis shoes and five slumbering men. Their faces were swollen like big red tomatoes slowly turning blue. All of their mouths were agape but none of them seemed to be breathing. I looked up and the herd materialized and circled the arena dumbfounded.
Afraid that the bulls will return and finish off the unconscious men, I grabbed one of them by the arm and drug him away. It looks like someone bludgeoned his head with a baseball bat. Others appeared and we picked him up and tried to give him to a Policía Foral. The officer only yelled at us and waved his baton in our faces. We put the sleeper down on the white sand. I looked at him and knew he was very bad. His face was bluish-purple and he was clearly dying.
A mozo with a colorful shirt yelled and picked him up. I helped carry him and we cross the ring. A Red Cross medic appeared and I screamed “¿Dónde?” in his face and he pointed. We crossed the ring. There’s an erratic electricity that exudes from the dying; it ejected sparks out into my hands and numbed them as we crossed the ring. The life inside him undulated and surged under his skin warm in my hands. Suddenly I was exhausted and nearly fell as we approached another tunnel.
With the last of my strength we carried him through a door up a flight of stairs. A stretcher flung out of a doorway at the top and we put him down unconscious and purple with his mouth urging for air. As I turned to leave they carried two more in behind him?both asleep and looking very grave. A pale young man gored under his arm walked in?his shirt torn, wet and red. His eyes are wide and strangely placid.
More “Forales” appeared. They push all of us away including the gored young man. I yelled “¡Cornada!” and point at the goring. And I think he got in before the one in the colorful shirt put his arm around me and led me away. I tried to make sense of it all as I climbed out trembling and remembering the way his blood gushed and convulsed under his skin like the life was running scared to escape.
As I got outside I realized I had to find my wife and I ran down to our place and buzzed and they said she was looking for me at the arena. I ran down to Bar Txoko and they said she was just there and I rounded the corner and there she was. I took her in my arms and she throbbed and cried and we held each other in a doorway for a long time. Then she finally calmed and smacked me across the face for scaring her and we laughed, she still doesn’t understand why I do this. As my friends appeared safe and healthy I remembered why I run and we all hugged a lot at Bar Txoko.
Then someone told me they’d screwed up with the doors and I sat with my head in my hands and wondered if the young man was dead.
Later I found out his name was Jon Gerónimo Mendoza, a 19 year old from Vitoria Spain . He’d fallen in the pile up and the many people and the immense, six ton herd crushed his chest and suffocated him. He was in a coma and on life support at the local hospital, most people gave him a slim chance of survival.
As I watched the footage of the run I realized that it was partially caused by a man in charge of one of the doors into the ring. He’d opened it to let some of the “Forales” in so they could line the ring walls and batter anyone who misbehaved. There was a huge swell of valientes (runners who run before the bulls arrive) as the door opened the valientes pried the gate ajar and that set the stage for the terrible. I remembered trying to hand the “Forales” John Jeronimo’s limp body and him waving his baton in my face. I recalled wanting to punch him square in the jaw and I wished I had. Then I saw a video of another Policía Foral carrying one of the sleepers by himself and stopped blaming them.
But there was more to it all than some mistake at the gateway. The pile already started in the tunnel when the door opened. The Valientes caused it. These uninformed first time runners often cause folly on the course. Many of them are American tourists who’ve done no research or people who are half drunk with no sleep, no knowledge, going on rumor and stupidity.
For the past six years I’ve given two bull-run tours a day for first-time runners, teaching them the basics, warning them on the dangers and giving them practical advice on how to react and plan their run. I can’t help but wonder if enforcing some sort of mandatory certification for first time runners could have at once reduced the number of people on the street that morning and avoided the chaotic pile up all together. I wish I’d had a chance to say something to Pamplona about it. Some way to voice my idea and offer to help.
After over 24 hours on life support Jon Gerónimo miraculously woke up from his coma and began to speak. The bull-run I love dodged a major catastrophe but if nothing changes I fear for the future of Pamplona ’s legendary run.
Tim Pinks again…
Wow, Bill. No matter how many times I read it, I still shake at the same parts. Enhorabuena, my friend.
The photo above, by the way, shows Bill amongst other runners carrying the seriously injured (yes, actually, dying) Jon Gerónimo Mendoza Ruiz to the bullring infirmary. He’s the one between the two people circled. The article is about how Jon’s father has called his rescuers “angels.” Well, if that was your son, brother or friend, you would, wouldn’t you? Jon Mendoza, by the way, is making what the doctors have called an amazing recovery, and is doing okay, although there will be a couple of months before he completely recovers, I understand.
Oh, and “angels?” I understand completely Jon’s Dad calling them that, but I don’t think Bill for one moment would describe himself thus, but I do know one thing…if I was in trouble, he is exactly the sort of human being I’d want covering my back. He’s one of the good guys.
For those of you who don’t know, Bill Hillman is from Chicago and has been coming to San Fermin since 2005, although he had to miss 2007. He has ran the bulls in Pamplona 59 times and so has only missed a very few runs. If you include runs he has done in Sanse (San Sebastian de los Reyes) and Cuellar then it brings it up to 63 runs.
His debut fictional novel, “The Old Neighborhood” is out next April, to be published by Curbside Splendor, and he happily admits his writing has been influenced by Hemingway. Well, that’s not a bad start start, is it?
Thanks again Bill for the article, it is, in parts, a truly emotional and haunting read. Describing those badly injured people as “sleepers” is something that will stay with me forever.
To end, a video of that day. But as many of us have seen the television and bullring filming of what happened that morning, here’s coverage from a mobile phone taken that morning. Scary stuff.
Ya falta mucho, everyone…but ya falta menos.
Tim Pinks
by Tim Pinks
(This was written just before fiesta)
Meanwhile…
Well… we’re nearly there, aren’t we? For those of us lucky enough and if we actually make it, the long wait is over, July is upon us and the next and last step on the Escalera will find us submerged deep in fiesta. It’s the exact opposite of the “Pobre-De-Mi.” It’s the “Oh-Lucky-Us.” This months San Ferscribblings start, as its the 25th anniversary, with something about one of the classic runs of recent decades, ends with the usual video clip I like to put in, and includes, for those that remember from a wee while back, the thing about a lion on the streets of Pamplona. Oh yes, only in Pamplona …
One of the great Sanfermineros passed away on Sunday 24th February, and although so much has already been written about this extraordinary and enigmatic man by his family and friends, and the news has gone around the world of course, I wanted to collect some of what I’ve seen and put it all together.
This piece isn’t just for those who knew and loved him, and his hundreds and hundreds of friends around the planet, but it’s also for those who read this site but didn’t know him, but might like to know a little about a man who didn’t just take Pamplona to his heart, but also had people from that great town take him to their hearts.
My thanks to everyone who has willingly and gladly, or unwittingly and unknowingly contributed to this montage of memories. I shall give credit where I can, but I hope most people who see their photos or words used will understand that they all, every one of them, have added something rather wonderful to this celebration of a unique man. Take it away, Bomber…
A RUNNER WRAPPED IN RAY BANS INSIDE AN ENIGMA
Bomber. February 6th 1948 – February 24th 2013. `When the legend becomes fact, print the legend´, Thanks to Rex Freriks for this version of a Jerry Roach photo, and for the great quote from the film `Who Shot Liberty Valance.´I cannot claim to be one of those who knew Bomber well, to my great misfortune, but over the last few years I did get to know him a little, to my great privilege and pleasure. He lived an extraordinary life, travelling the world with the love of his life, Goldie.
Some of the people I shall be mentioning I know, and some I don’t. Here is just a very brief resume of his life, from someone I don’t know. It’s from one of his brothers, Roger, and was sent just after Bomber passed away.
Bomber and his beloved Goldie.“Keith Baumchen was “The Bomber” or as he was known in Pamplona , “El Bomber”. He was dynamic, powerful and full of energy. He was born in the middle of Iowa on a large farm, the 2nd of four children. He grew up, however, in Southern California during the 50’s and 60’s. His childhood hero was Zorro. He was good in sports and played varsity basketball and baseball at Monte Vista High School . He was the fastest pitcher in the league. When Keith was young he was a very good artist, mostly oils with a brush or palette knife. He won awards and sold many of his paintings.
Bomber made Garmisch Germany his home base in the summer of 1976, a magical Bavarian town nestled in the Alps . He decided to become a world traveler and document his journeys with photographs. The following summer he met the beautiful Karen Anderson and nicknamed her “Goldie”. They became an incredible team with Goldie planning the trips and Bomber making it happen. They would do 5 to 10 month trips to every part of the globe during a span of 31 years. Each year they also went to Pamplona for the running of the bulls in July as well.
Goldie passed away summer of 2008 and Bomber has been on his own since. He was visiting friends in Coral Gables , Florida when he went down with cancer. It was Bomber’s wish to come back to his family in California . He died with hospice keeping him totally comfortable at the age of 65. Like a shooting star, “The Bomber” was a legend and an inspiration for anyone brave enough to take life to the limit.
My brother Bruce and sister Sue thank you for the kind words and unbelievable support. The response to the “El Bomber” facebook page has been incredible. It is impressive, to say the least, that over 500 people have commented on the message we sent out yesterday. We plan to keep it going and also would like to do a memorial in mid June, maybe Lake Tahoe …..what do you think?
Bomber’s brother, Roger
There is of course so much more to a man like Bomber’s life than just a few paragraphs…but this is not about his life, but a celebration of it. Roger mentions Garmisch, where Bomber made his home with Goldie…well, this was Garmisch one evening this week…
Garmisch, Germany, Monday March 4th, in celebration of Bomber.Drew James Benson said of him, about how he left town for the last time towards the end of October:
“He slipped out of town quietly a day or two later, without a going away party or a fanfare. Like the true traveller he was, he slipped out of our lives the same way, quietly, quickly; off to the next adventure. I can’t believe he won’t return to Garmisch again this spring.”
Yoav Spicehandler said, perfectly and succinctly: “If a man be judged by the friends he had, then Keith “Bomber” Baumchen was a giant Sequoia. Tan bueno que era.”
Mozos juntos.On Sunday March 3rd Pamplona celebrated the third step on the stairway to fiesta. There was a service and mass held in the Church of San Lorenzo , where the figure of San Fermin is kept. Towards the end, there was a touching eulogy written by Chapu Apaolaza, and read out by Teo Lazaro Armendaiz.
I’m including part of the video here because just listen to what happens when Teo finishes speaking, around the 4 minute 7 second mark. Then, wonderfully, at about 4m 50, they sing a jota to Bomber and all runners. Marvellous stuff.
No words needed.
When news of Bomber’s death reached Navarra, one of the headlines in the local Diario de Navarra newspaper was “Goodbye to elegance in the bull run.” Bomber was pretty much the coolest guy many of us have ever come across, but when he dressed in honour of those folks “back home” in America who’d put on their Sunday best for church when he was a lad, and he put on his Sunday jacket to run with the bulls, well, I bet even the bulls felt the chill.
Elegant from tip to toe, in full respect of not just the bulls but for the town and the fiesta itself, Bomber was a true Sanferminero, accepted by the people as one of them.
Band on the Run. Bomber, Joe Distler, Jim Hollander and Jesse Graham. Photo by Bernard Tyers.There are so many stories, and so many photos, that it would be easy to go on, but, as George Harrison sang, all things must pass, so I’m coming towards the end now. If everyone could have just a little of what Bomber had, this beautiful planet we live on would be a better place.
I’m pretty sure that almost everyone who ever met him will not have forgotten him, no matter how briefly their paths crossed, and when they left him the world would have seemed a nicer place, there would have been a spring in their step, and their mood would have been better and if there wasn’t a smile on their face before they met him, I’ll bet there certainly was afterwards.
Bomber and Chloe, in a photo he sent her after San Fermin last yearHere’s what Chloe Drakari-Phillips said about this gentle soul: “Bomber encouraged me to take chances and whatever decisions I made to believe in them and never look back with regret. The advice he gave was second to none. He was kind, loving, artistic, modest, honest and had the biggest heart.”
Yup, I think everyone who knew him would agree with that. As I said above, I am so fortunate to have got to know him a little bit in Pamplona these last few years, and I will always take to heart his warm words of praise, and encouragement, about my attempts at writing these last couple of years. Said, of course, in his own inimitable way.
For my part, I’d just like to quote here something I put somewhere else about Bomber. It’s from “Last Night in Twisted River” by John Irving:
“We don’t always have a choice how we get to know one another. Sometimes, people fall into our lives cleanly – as if out of the sky, or as if there were a direct flight from Heaven to Earth – the same way we lose people, who once seemed they would always be a part of our lives.”
Sweet Runnings, Bomber. I knew you because of a place that is heaven on earth…Pamplona…and though you may be gone from this earth, you’ll always be a part of so many lives. I have no doubt that while you may be Resting In Peace now, with your beloved Goldie, you’ll also, both of you, be Running In Paradise. It was, and always will be, my pleasure knowing you.
A unique, enigmatic and in the true sense of the word, a beautiful man.
Rick, Joe, Bomber and JacoboJacobo Roura Formoso, on the right in the photo above, wrote: “Goodnight Bomber, never forget your freedom, Pamplona will always be yours. A hug, my brother.”
And Rick Musica, on the left above, amongst other things, wrote this last week:
“As sad as today has been, we must not be selfish and mourn OUR loss. Our loss was truly sad, no doubt about it. But, today, Bomber regained what was, truly, his most immeasurable loss, his Goldie. I am SO honored to have been a part of THEIR time here, and in the most magical place EVER!
As we gather this week (it was for the reunion in Florida) to celebrate our love of all things Fiesta, let’s take a minute to remember why we love it so much!
For all those who won’t be with us this week, you will NEVER be without us….
Tears, but mostly smiles, remembering the great times and people who make this what it is…
Viva San Fermin, Gora San Fermin, y Ya Falta Menos……”
As is the case so often…well said, Rick.
Cool runnings…Julen Madina Ayerbe, front right, Miguel Angel Eguíluz Lopez, front left, and Bomber and bull. One of The great shots.
When Jacobo wrote “Goodnight Bomber,” it is, all too sadly, true. But it’s only “goodnight,” that’s all. Bomber sleeps now, but his soul is with Goldie and they will be running together. And their spirits will be soaring like birds in flight, with only that sense of freedom and life that the bull run can give you.
For Bomber, finally, there are no limits, because for him, he’s made it. Ya falta nada…Viva! Gora!
For Bomber
A lovely video was put together by Jack Denault last week, which is just fantastic. The music and words to the song were just perfect, but he has allowed me to use not just his compilation, but to change the music too. Thanks Jack. You see, I wanted to, if you’ll excuse the pun, have some music with a bit of…San Fermeaning to it. Sorry…
He would probably be a little bit embarrassed by all of this, but for one more time, Bomber…take it to the limit!
Tim Pinks
Some books to snuggle up with during Winterlude
View from the bandstand in the Plaza del Castillo.
Well, it’s all over now, but as this article was originally written for the Christmas period, (but los locos de Kuku couldn’t squeeze it in), I’ve decided to keep the Christmas and snow theme whilst changing a couple of things here and there. But just because Christmas is over it doesn’t mean it’s spirit has to be…and let’s face it for us guiris, with the arrival of January 1st we are given one of the best presents you can have – the “Escalera” and the countdown this year to, yup, San Thirteen! And we get the same present on the same date every year…and it’s always brilliant.
So, although it’s done and dusted for another year, Christmas is such a colourful time, with all the decorations put up at home and around the town and of course the Christmas trees and the bright lights shining their festive fluorescence over us. And when it’s snowing and everything is covered in white, a town develops its own special kind of magical beauty, and Pamplona is no different. For those of us that love the place during fiesta time it has its own unique, crazy and yes, surreal nature. But if you fast forward five months or so, that magic is still there, and it’s still fiesta time, all be it with a Yuletide jingle tinge. And when it snows, well, like most cities when it snows the beauty is all the more ethereal and yes, spiritual.
Sometimes, black and white looks beautiful.And if you’ve ever seen the city at night, blanketed and tucked up in snow, with the Christmas window displays in the shops lighting up the streets with that warm glowing haze that only seems to happen during the festive season, while the plazas and streets shimmer from the illuminations hanging overhead…well, you’ll know just how pretty it can be. Add to that the fact that the Spanish don’t give their presents out until January 6th and you can understand why for some of us who have been there at Christmas time find it is hard to end the festive season on New Years Day. Me included, as I’ve just this week sent out a couple of things for the Spanish present giving day.
I’ve been in Pamplona many a time in winter, and if you can imagine how beautiful the town looks under snow, just imagine what the rest of Navarra looks like. Wow.
The Snow Hall.So as we’ve just had Christmas and it’s been a time of gifts I thought I’d run through a few books that could make a great present for someone, especially if they’re Sanfermineros, but also if they love Spain or indeed just love books. Many of us know some of the fiesta and Pamplona or Navarra related books, so I’m going to lump a few of my favourites together here. Some are on Amazon, some are not, so I’m going to start with a couple of my favourite Pamplona bookshops where these books are available. It’s only fair too that I can only comment on books that I have read, so if there is anything new out there that is Pamplona themed (and there is!) I’m sorry but I can’t write about it until I’ve read it.
But as we countdown the months before fiesta engulfs us again, and you fancy feeding your addiction with some reading matter, here are just a few ideas.
La Casa del Libro
The famous (well, ‘tis to me!) bookshop owned by Carmelo Butini Etxarte.I have two favourite shops in the old town, and the one above is probably the establishment I visit most in all Pamplona, (at least amongst those that don’t serve alcohol) if only to get my daily paper. The other one is also a bookshop, a real little goldmine of literary treasure, and I’ll come to it in a minute.
There are so many people who must know Carmelo, the owner and he, poor fellow, must know everyone. His bookshop, which also sells newspapers and magazines is of course well known and very popular amongst the locals. It is also located in the perfect place, right off the old main square, smack bang and bull-thwacked wallop on the last street in the old town before the bulls turn into the slope that brings them down into the bullring.
Yup, it’s on the Estafeta. There are many much larger bookshops in Pamplona with a much wider range too of course, but if it’s books about the town or fiesta you’re after or just the international press, Carmelo’s your man. He doesn’t just get the ordinary tourists who pass through, but also the fiesta ones, the Hemingway ones, and of course the pilgrims on the road to Santiago de Compostela.
The shop has its own little story behind it too. It has always been in his family, and was first opened in 1943…but not on Estafeta, but on Eslava Street. It then moved to another spot on the Estafeta before finally finding its present spot. Originally it was a place to swop and hire books and novellas, along with selling newspapers. This was the time of the dictator General Franco of course, so his grandfather Benito also provided a rather (by necessity!) clandestine service providing copies of various prohibited publications. This had to remain a secret from the police of course as if they were denounced there was the certainty of at least arrest and probably detention. It was a dangerous game, and they weren’t the only ones playing it.
Many years later, in 2007 I think, at one of the book fairs, La Casa del Libro was awarded a diploma, along with some other book shops, for their part in “la lucha clandestina anti-frankista.” I’m sure you can work it out, but it means “the clandestine fight against Franco.”
Abarzuza
Abarzuza, a little goldmine of a bookshop.Another top bookshop, bigger but still quite small but with all of the fiesta books of course, is Abarzuza. This shop is also on the bull run, about two thirds of the way up from the corrals that signify the start of the encierro on la Cuesta de Santo Domingo. Most of the books I’m going to mention are available at these two shops, but also of course at other Pamplona bookshops like Libreria Gomez, Elkar, and Auzolan.
And so to the books. I am going to leave out for obvious reasons as they are famous, Ernest Hemingway’s “Fiesta/The Sun Also Rises” and James Michener’s “The Drifters” (which I mentioned last month and a few other times previously, too) and concentrate on a couple of others. And I’m going to start with Pamplona’s very own Ramon Herrera Torres, and a book he signed for me when he very kindly agreed to meet me a couple of years ago.
Carnaval de Ladrones. (Carnival of Thieves). A book about a film…His speciality is the cinema, and I couldn’t believe it when I read in one of the local newspapers in July 2010 that there was a writer from Pamplona who had written a book about a film I had long been looking for. Way back in the early 1970’s I’d seen on television a film about a robbery in a town that ran bulls, but it didn’t really register with me until I saw on the BBC news the grainy black and white footage of the various tragic runs in the mid-seventies when people lost their lives, and also when I read finally read “The Drifters.”
A paperback copy of “Caper” that I have.The film itself wasn’t that great but it was filmed towards the end of the sixties in Pamplona and during the fiesta, so it is a unique record of parts of fiesta at that time…and captured in colour. It’s a big easy book to read and written in four languages with a mountain of photos and press clippings, and if you can get hold of a second hand copy of the original book, “The Caper of the Golden Bulls” by William McGiven, and there are lots of copies out there for sale on the net, well, it makes the perfect companion of course to Ramon’s book. And McGiven’s “Caper” is a fun book, too. Yes a poetic licence or three are taken, but I hope you just enjoy the story for what it is.
Fiesta. Ramón Herrera Torres. Two more of Sr. Herrera’s books, with the writer in the bottom photo.
Two other books of his I have are the above two, again very much in the same style. They don’t take very long to read but add perfectly to one side of fiesta that appears to be rather under represented, that of Pamplona on film. The book on the left is all about the 1957 film of the book, starring Tyrone Power, Ava Gardner and Errol Flynn, while 850 Meters of Celuloide cleverly mixes the length of the bull run with a brief look at various films that Pamplona featured in, starting with one from 1926 and ending up with last years Bollywood buddy film.
Oh, and the film Carnival of Thieves? Yes, I now have a copy…
It’s all in the title.
Jim Hollander is not a man I know too well at all, he must have managed to escape me one way or another way too easily over the years, (or just decided he didn’t need to know the guy who occasionally slept with the gypsies in the square…sensible fellow) but he is a well known fiesta man, international photographer, and creator of the above book. It’s a beautiful book, a top quality and heavy tome full of some of his photographs taken during fiesta along with the words of all sorts of people to accompany them.
It’s pretty much a self explanatory book but just make sure that the coffee table you put it on is well made. Also, if having just bought it you’re flying on one of those winged cattle trucks that we seemed to be forced to fly now, that take you to a city nowhere near the one that you want to go to, it might be an idea to check your baggage weight allowance before you check in…
“Into The Arena”…and into Spain, deep inside to it’s beating, pumping, enigmatic heart.Ah, now, “Into The Arena”…um…I didn’t like it very much, actually…hang on a minute, who writes this stuff? Oh yeah, I do…to tell the truth, I loved this book and can only direct you to the piece I wrote on it last year for these pages, which you can click onto here: “INTO THE ARENA” by ALEXANDER FISKE-HARRISON
Suffice to say, whatever your views on bullfighting, this is a wonderful book, well written and a worthy addition to all those books on Spain, many of which I have read, and also no doubt a perfect addition to all those books on bullfighting…many of which I haven’t!
It was short listed for the prestigious William Hill Sports Book of the Year 2011 (now is not the time to talk about “is bullfighting a sport?” – of course it isn’t), the point is, that particular award uses the word “sport” very loosely, and if you have made it to the final six (or seven as it was last year) well, just think of it as similar to being nominated for an Oskar. For my part, it could well have been nominated as a travel book or a history book as well as a “sports” book…it covers a lot. I may know the author now but I loved the book before I even knew him, so my review is written with total honesty.
A book written by a man who knows.
I know everything is available, sadly, at the click of a mouse, but for those who prefer the old fashioned way and like to read something made from a tree (thanks, trees, mankind owes you), then Ray Mouton’s book about Pamplona and San Fermin is just about the perfect way to learn about the city and it’s extraordinary fiesta.
Along with all the info on the place and the peñas and the partying and running, and a whole lot more, he also writes about some of the characters who came to Pamplona and got sucked into the magic of it all and one way or another made a name for themselves or just came back for more, year after year.
Quite simply, it more or less says it all.
The ultimate guide.Finally, I have to mention the book above. It used to be available in, I think, four languages, and it really is the ultimate San Fermin guide. It first came out I think about 20 years ago, and in the those far off computerless days (oh! deep joy – and, okay, computers did exist then but they were made out of wood)) it was the only book that I could find that more or less explained simply everything, literally an A – Z of fiesta, from arrival to zzzleeping………..Talking of sleeping, or at least resting, especially after a gentle afternoon’s shopping in the wonderful world of books, all that’s needed to round it off is nice drink in a warm bar. Like this one perhaps…
El Caballo Blanco…under snow, so most definitely The White Horse.
That’s all folks, until next month. There are of course many more books out there, a lot that are out of print, and I shall get around to some of those one day. Those mad, sorry, I mean kind folks at Kukuxumusu want me to carry on my plagiarising and stealing from other better, more informed and way more intellectual sources this year and continue with my wandering, meandering, waffling scribbles, so until then I’ll leave you with this video to wet the appetite of the bull running mozos out there. But be warned: it’s not for children and is very much “the bull’s revenge.” It’s not great quality either…a good thing, judging by the content. Happy New Year, Feliz Año Nuevo eta Urte Berri On!
So, it’s April, and the escalera to fiesta is collapsing faster and faster and there are only three months to go. I always get the big rush starting in April, as it means that the end of the long wait is nearly over. These scribblings for April are longer than usual, it’s just the way it panned out, but thanks to everyone who helped. Hope you like this month’s mixed bag of bull.
Hang on a minute, that isn’t right (or is it)…ah…I mean I hope you like this month’s mixed bag of bull runnings.
RETARDED RUNNERS. Sorry, RETIRED RUNNERS
(And a “Bullclips” update, and an R.I.P.) by Tim Pinks
Although, let’s face it, perhaps I was right the first time…maybe you have to have a bit of the nutcase in you to run with the bulls. Or some of us do. Or did… Anyway, having said that, the extraordinary photo on the left is of one of the great runners, and I can bandy around words like “great” and “nut” quite safely from my jail cell up here in my stone suite in the Tower of London, and he all nice and distant thousands of miles away in Texas.
It is a wonderful photo though, isn’t it? It shows a man not just running in front of the horns, or even on them, but in between them…and that is some trick. The man in the photo is Rex Freriks, and he really was some runner. I have been thinking for a while now of writing about a couple of the runners who so impressed me when I first went, but who have since for whatever reason retired. And by pure coincidence Rex got in touch just a few weeks ago. Regarding the above photo, I did ask him if he managed to stay on his feet or did he go somersaulting “a over t” and…well, here’s what he wrote:
“Glad you enjoyed the picture. He did send me flying. As you can see we are going up the left side of Estafeta and I was launched toward the side and not directly in front. I don’t know if you have ever noticed but there is a lot of old piping that runs down the outside of the front of the buildings on that street. I was able to grab one of those on my way down and landed on my feet. I remember the eyes of the group I landed among were as big as plates. I bet mine probably were as well.”
He then ends the letter with the words “una ciudad sin igual”. A town without equal. Ain’t that the truth.
The run from the day of the photo above. Bulls from El Pilar. July 14th 1997. Amazingly, you can see nothing of the incident described above. Less cameras in those days…
There are many reasons why some people have to stop running. Old age, sickness and of course death, sadly. Some may stop running after their first injury, some because their wives forbade them and some perhaps because they found they just couldn’t run properly anymore. And yet others still hit the streets despite knowing they can’t really run as well as they used to, and heck, some can’t even walk too good either. But they just can’t give it up, so there they are, smiling, buzzing, adding to that fantastic otherworld atmosphere and chatting to not just old friends, but no doubt new ones too. I think they have earned the right to be there for forever and a day, however they run now. I wonder if they are perhaps hoping that this is the day a miracle might happen and they’ll take off like in the old days, and be flying again.
Others I’ve heard gave up due to bum clenching, bone shaking, skin tingling fear. I’m not going to mention any names or give any clues here, but god it’s difficult to hold a pre-run drink when you feel like that. Or so I’ve heard…Anyway, all sorts of reasons and all perfect and bona fide ones to call it a day.
This was Rex’s reason. Where you or I might cycle, drive or get public transport to work, Rex took the parachute, and it was after one such outing at a place known as The Farm, where things went a little wrong, not helped subsequently by various medical muck ups that forced his hand and meant he could no longer run. I hear now one of his hips sets off car alarms for miles around and makes dogs bark.
For Rex though, the encierro was the thing, and he says it would be just too painful to come back and not be able to run. There are many others like him. But he has written to me with real emotion and feeling about what it was like for him back in the day, and the friendships he made. I’ll come back to him a little later, but there is just one more thing I’d like to say. I’ve always thought (apart from being one of the best), that he was the most modest, unassuming runner out there, and whenever anyone gathered post run at whatever bar they might go to, joder, there was some bull spoken. But not by Rex. As he said:
“Never thought about how good a run, never bought pictures. Just enjoyed it along with everything else and everyone else.”, and that’s amazing. The photo of him above is the only one he has, and that was sent to him by someone else straight to his computer. Modest to the extreme…Though if he had forked out on buying up all the photos he was in, he’d probably be pretty poor in the extreme by now, too.
Now, Julen Madina. I have to mention him, as he also was an all time great. The trouble is, I can’t really add very much to something I have already mentioned before on this site, an article and interview with Madina by the runner Bill Hillman. It really is something else, an excellent piece, and I make no apologies for mentioning it once more. I re-read it again recently, and from the simple but precise questions Bill asks (I don’t know him too well, but he does not grab me as a man who stuffs around), to the haunting honesty of Madina’s answers, well, it left me shaking…he could have died, for goodness sake.
But Madina’s words are chilling, so once again, you can find Bill’s posting here: thebutchersblog.wordpress.com. But as I say…it’s pretty well as definitive an article about running, the adrenaline, getting hurt…and having to give it up that you could ever read. Julen recovered from his horrific injuries and returned to run for the next several years. He only decided to retire due to becoming a father. He gave up for the very best of reasons…his daughter. Top man.
When I spoke to him on the phone just before completing this month’s wafflings, he was, as I expected, full of the enthusiasm and willingness to talk about something that was still so obviously close to his heart. I told him I wasn’t a professional writer or even an amateur one, just a guy who wrote some stuff for Kukuxumusu and who loved Pamplona, and was writing something about runners who ran no more, for whatever reason. He said it was a pleasure to talk, and away we went. I asked a question, he fired off in typical Spanish machine gun style the answers, while I tried to listen, write and translate at the same time as drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. Men and multi-tasking? Of course we can.
But you’re going to have to wait for the Madina piece, I’m afraid, as there is too much good stuff in it and this posting is long enough already. But I hope when I do write it, I’ll do full justice to his words. Till then, Bill’s article is well worth another read.
Another character who seemed to be known by all and sundry was Hal “87” Jennings, and he will always be remembered for his fantastic running…amongst other things, apparently! For those of us who were new in the mid-eighties, we knew people by sight before we ever actually spoke to them, and Hal was distinctive in that he ran with the number “87” on his top. I always left these people alone and thought I’d just bide my time and earn their respect and get to know them by running as well as they did, but I never quite made the grade as a runner, (although I did have some fantastic moments), and…well, it never happened. God, how I miss it though.
When, thanks to Rex, I got in touch with Hal about this article, he didn’t send any photos at first, or write about the run, (he’s not a “this is me, me, and me” type of runner), but rather he told me more about Rex and how he was looked after. Which may or may not explain a lot, (I did mention something about “amongst other things”, above), but this is what he wrote:
“Yeah, Rex is one of the most decent human beings I have ever known. Besides being built like superman, he always had my back. I was taking so many sleeping pills to bring me down from the constant high of the Fiesta, that they started making me highly aggressive. After I punched several guys (I was a former boxer missing several teeth: clearly not a good one), Rex would always make sure not too many jumped on me. Curley kept saying to me “Don’t look at me. I don’t want to fight you”. I didn’t realize what I was doing. That said, as you can imagine, there are so many stories. Unfortunately, many lost because of my concussions”.
Hal Jennings hasn’t written anything to me about running, and I love that because of this: when I asked both Rex and Hal about their memories of running, the first thing they did was to write about the other one. But Jennings later sent me an extraordinary set of 32 photos that his girlfriend put together, and trust me when I tell you that the pictures do the talking. Which is apt really, as Rex said that Hal was one who “definitely never talked about how his run went afterwards”. So I have to use Rex’s words, as later he wrote, “One of the things Hal loved to do was position himself so as to run in front of the bulls when they ran through the tunnel. That was always too much for me, so many times I would end up behind the bulls so as to watch him take them through there. I tell you it was magic to watch and I can’t imagine the rush he must have gotten”. Always a sign of the modest runner…talking about someone else’s run.
By the way, those are my italics there, as when I made it through the tunnel or wherever, it was all I could do to concentrate on staying upright and surviving, without admiring how other runners were doing. And Rex was still running of course, he hadn’t stopped to check out the view! Also, I like his turn of phrase there, as remember earlier Hal saying that Rex was built like “superman”? Well, I don’t think you’d be able to fit a thousand pound bull and him through that tunnel…not side by side, anyway.
I know there are all sorts of ways to run and not run, but I truly believe that some people just have a natural rhythm and grace of running, however light footed or powerfully built they are, and I’m sure sometimes a bull thinks: “this guy, I’m going to run with this guy”…it doesn’t mean it made it any easier for the runner, but boy does it make it beautiful for those watching. Rex, Hal and others, I’m positive that, despite what you may have thought about “that bull, he’s mine”…there were times I think when they chose you.
There is more from Hal’s first email, but I’ll come back to it later or at another time…I’m trying to get in touch with a couple of other people that I wanted to write about and he mentions them, as does Rex…but I can’t find them. By the way Hal, (and after your comments above about Rex), while writing about his first (and subsequent) years in Pamplona, and how you helped him, Rex says, “I can never thank him enough and even today if he were to call and say he needed help I would be on the first plane to California”.
Now, sorry about the little love-in there, but I just wanted to make a point in case there is anybody out there reading this who has never been to San Fermin, but is thinking of going. As so many of us already know who have had the luck to discover and fall in love with Pamplona…that’s the way some of us feel about some of our fiesta friends. Good times always happen, and bad things come to pass too, and Pamplona during fiesta can be an extraordinarily intense experience, but as long as you keep talking and sort it out, you’ll have friends for eternity that you’ll do anything for.
It has been great writing this and reliving some of the old days, and my heartfelt thanks to all those who got in touch and told me about their experiences and memories, and as a by product also brought back for me some always remembered, and deeply treasured, bull running days. And some I’d forgotten about too…did I really do that?
So to Rex and Hal and Julen, and to John Riley, who I finally found and had a cracking hours plus chat with on the phone that really brought those streets to life, and who I’m going to write about in the future, along with his brother James, (and hopefully Curly too, once he’s finished trimming his moustache), I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your responses to my request for some old, precious, and not to say priceless memories of your days in during fiesta. Your words and thoughts and the sheer joy and emotions you convey really shine through about your time in a town called Pamplona. I hope to come back to these fantastic ex-runners and others in a couple of months for the last piece I hope to do pre-fiesta.
Well, from the song with the words “una fiesta sin igual”, to Rex’s “una ciudad sin igual”, for the last time, gentlemen, un grandisimo gracias to all those runners who let me write about them a little, and perhaps ruin their running reputations a little, too. For they are surely, in their own way…”gente sin igual”. And people mad as hell, in the nicest possible way too, if you look at the picture below, taken by Gary Shrewsbury.
Now I hope this doesn’t lead to an outbreak of people playing their game this year, (oh alright, I do), but the picture above shows some of the No Bullshit Monkey Peña (no relation to Graeme Galloways excellent little funzine, “No Bullshit”, the NBMP were there long before the fanzine), playing “1000 to 1” with the little bulls after the bull run. The game? While playing with the vaquillas in the ring after the run, you put your foot on the page of newspaper…and you don’t move. The chances of being hit? Well, 1000 to 1, apparently…And I’ve played it. Ow. Ow ow ow…
Gracias, señores y señoras. ¡Ya falta menos! ¡Viva San Fermin!
An update about March’s article, “Bullclippings”, and an R.I.P.
There is a famous photo shown in last month’s article from 1960 of the human traffic jam in Estafeta. I mention a man just behind the bulls, looking like he’s out for a Sunday stroll, cigarette in mouth, elegant in a suit and open-necked shirt, looking for all the world as if he’s thinking…”Oh, what’s going on here?”.
I wondered about who he was, whilst hoping in my heart it was the legendary Matt Carney. Happily, his daughter Deirdre Carney wrote and said, “Well, he’s wearing a suit, as did my dad, he looks nonchalant, which he would have been and clearly blond…I don’t know for sure but it does kind of scream Matt Carney”.
In a later message: “Hey so my mom said it really looks like him and his style of walking. She doesn’t know for sure either but both of us felt it was him immediately. I don’t know if that helps. But who else would walk up to a pile-up smoking a ciggie?”
Who else indeed…I’ll leave the last words to Dave Pierce: “It was Matt. Not only was I in that pile-up but started it to my shame”. Few words, but perfectly said.
I think we’ve gone definitive on that then. But about the pile up Dave…more please!
Rest In Peace, Joe Moskaluk. Run In Paradise, Big Joe.
Sometimes someone passes away that you hear so much about you wish you’d known them. I didn’t know Joe Moskaluk, but he died very recently, towards the end of March as I was writing this, and the messages that I have seen doing the rounds have been truly touching. Here are just a few of the thoughts (as they wrote them) of some of those who knew him. And loved him.
Amongst what Bunny Centurion wrote, I’ve chosen this: “Our Pamplona family has lost another member, always too soon. Rest in peace Papa Joe you will be in our hearts every morning this July and always”.
“Very, very sad. Joe was a man’s man, a good man, a gentleman.” Jeffrey Hare.
“A saint indeed, standing alone and one of a kind, shedding light with his humour when things seemed so dark. What I would give for one more breakfast at Tres Reyes and a couple of cigars thereafter. You I will remember always”. Leon Friedrichsen.
“God Bless you and watch over you Joe”. Junerose Conlin.
“I don’t want to imagine a world without Big Joe”. Carl Butrum.
“A wonderful man Joe. He will be missed”. Bob Smokey Clark.
“Our lives all were so much better for knowing Joe, he was one of a kind, cigar smoking will never be the same”. Steven Kendler.
“We have lost a guy who probably loved us more than we will ever know…” Rick Musica, who wrote so much more, but I love that particular quote.
“For those of you who knew him, he was a special man. He was a great lover of life, and he lived it well and heartily.
You could see it in the twinkle of his eyes, and in his smile and his laughter.
You could see it in his love for Belle.
You could see it in his love for his family.
You could see it in his love for Spain.
You could see it in his love for the bulls.
You could see it in his sense of humour.
I loved Joe for many reasons, and I will miss him very, very much.
Abrazos”.
That last one was from Yoav Spicehandler, and that says it all, about a man I didn’t even know, but wish I had.
Chinese waiter training.
And now, something I hope will put a little smile on the faces of those up in the Great Fiesta in the Sky, and those still here on beautiful Planet Earth. I’ve often wondered how the Chinese waiters cope and survive during San Fermin, having to handle some of us lot, and after much research, I have found a video of the passing out parade for those selected for Pamplona during fiesta, after no doubt a gruelling, Ghurka style training course:
This has been a long one, hasn’t it? But look on the bright side…ya falta a little bit less now…
These upcoming pages of The San Fermin Echo were first published in short form in the daily Navarran newspaper, ‘Diario de Navarra’ and in a full version on their digital pages, every day from the 5th to the 15th July. They’ve been changed a bit from the original as it’s now post-fiesta, and any mistakes in these slightly revised versions are all mine, but as fiesta for me doesn’t begin to fade until a couple of months after it’s all over, we thought it would be nice to repeat and re-live those heady days of San Fermin 2014. We were going to put out two a week, but after the first two at the end of August, (July 5th, and then July 6th), things got in the way. But we’re back, and although Fiesta is well over now, remember…¡ya falta menos!
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…
One of the beautiful things about writing about Pamplona and everything involved with it is that there is just so much to choose from. Any town that was established well over a thousand years ago will have an almost inexhaustible amount of history to choose from. When that town is already strategically placed as to be fairly be important, and hence become famous as being part of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, well, it’s place in the history books is assured.
Think about it…tourism didn’t exist a thousand years ago, of course, but if you were to go a-wandering for any reason, there is a good chance it would be to make a religious pilgrimage, and whether be it to Jerusalem, or Lourdes…or Santiago de Compostela, and if you were going to Santiago and coming from the north then you’d almost certainly pass through Pamplona.
Throw in a famous saint, the local population, a crazy bull run, nine days of organised anarchy, and some of the most famous people from the last hundred years, along with alcohol, music and bucket loads of ice, and you have the ingredients for the ultimate hedonistic cocktail.
Yes of course, this extraordinary city is famous for many things, but especially for its fiesta. I often think that if aliens landed to invade us, say, somewhere in the outback of Australia, they’d think, yup, this should be easy, or if they landed in central London or New York, they might think, jeez, these people need our help…but if they landed during fiesta in Pamplona, I think they’d be on the first spaceship back home. Unless they were party animal aliens, of course, in which case they’d stay for the whole thing, leave with their two heads tucked between their luminous tails, but return every year.
As we’re in that bit of no-mans land between the post fiesta highs and come down, but not yet being able to look forward to Christmas and New Year, and of course the first of the countdown-to-fiesta “escalera’s,” I thought I just go off on my own sort of meandering, Pamplona style.
El Maestro: Manuel Turrillas Ezcurra
Fifteen years ago on October 20th 1997 one of the great Navarrans died. His name was Manuel Turrillas Ezcurra, and he was born in the village of Barrasoain , just under 25 km south of Pamplona. And beautifully, for those who know not just what the “Escalera” is, but the song too, he was born in 1905…on January 1st. Just perfect.
He is now known just as El Maestro Turrillas, because he really gave the modern fiesta as we know it now it’s beating, thumping, pumping heart. I mentioned him briefly in last month’s piece about the heavenly peña “La Veleta” but I thought it was about time I mentioned him more fully.
If you’ve ever woken up, say, on the grass in the Plaza de Castillo in the old town, and felt the earth moving, (steady!), or woken up in a flat and felt the walls pounding, you might quite possibly have been feeling the effects of your heart going into overdrive trying to keep you alive…or it could be that one of the peña bands was going past and playing one of El Maestro’s songs. Or both of the above, quite possibly…
This amazing man was a true Pamplonican too, as he moved there when he was 20, and pretty instantly joined the town hall band, La Pamplonesa, where he stayed for 50 years. He wrote about 400 songs of all kinds, and some of those you will have heard and no doubt danced to during fiesta. Many of the peñas asked him to write their club hymn, and he also wrote the local football club’s song too.
And yes, he is honoured with a statue to him in his home town of Barrasoain, and they also put up a bust of him in a plaza named after him in a suburb of Pamplona, Berriozar, which was inaugurated in August 1998, but unfortunately it was stolen just a year ago and still hasn’t been found. Some people just have no learning or respect, actually, just no idea, and I hope at least once every day a pigeon in Pamplona poops on the perpetrators.
Now, just as I love the fact that he was born on January the 1st, there is something else that is rather touching. Maestro Turillas didn’t just live in Pamplona, but he lived in the Casco Viejo, the old town. And where would this man of Pamplona , of fiesta, who through his music will always live on, and has hence become an indelible part of San Fermin, live do you think? Well, there is a plaque marking where he used to live, in a street called La Cuesta de Santo Domingo. For those of you who don’t know, that is where the bull run begins.
And oh-so-perfectly, as so many of us know, before the encierro begins, a short refrain is sung three times to a replica of San Fermin that is put in the little niche in the old walls near the beginning of the run. Way back during my first fiestas I joined in singing that song, and my skin is tingling now as if it were just yesterday. The words go like this: “A San Fermin pedimos, por ser nuestro patron, nos guie en el encierro, dandanos su bendicion.” They have been singing this song before the run ever since 1962,and they also form part of the words to the club hymn of La Unica, formed in 1903 and the oldest of all Pamplona ’s peñas.
What do the words mean? Just this: “To San Fermin we ask it,as he’s our patron saint, guide us in the bull run and give us your benediction.” And why do I think it is “oh-so-perfect” that this particular song is sung on Santo Domingo Hill, where the maestro Turillas lived? Because he wrote the music to it. Sometimes, you just can’t improve the script or better the truth. I bet there is one happy man up in that great fiesta in the sky when he hears his song sung every July. What a musician, what a maestro, and by all accounts, what a lovely man.
The refrain sung to the saint before the run.
La Casa de la Misericordia
The word “misericordia” means forgiveness, pity…or mercy. The House of Mercy is an institution that has been going in Pamplona since 1706. It started out as a place that looked after the most “unfortunate” and “unfavoured” of the city’s inhabitants. Originally this included the young as well as the old, but it wasn’t until 1980 when they began to only look after old people who needed help.
But in 1920, when the town authorities decided to demolish the old bullring and construct a new one nearby, the rising costs effectively meant the town hall couldn’t afford to finance it, and eventually in stepped the Casa de Misericordia, who thanks to finance from various people and places in Pamplona to build the new Plaza de Toros became the de facto owners. Construction began in March 1921, and was speeded up when the old ring burnt down in August of that year, as they had to have a ring ready for the following year’s fiesta. And ready it was for its inauguration the following July 7th, 1922.
Ever since then this charity organises everything in relation to the bulls: the contracting of the ranches and the bullfighters, the setting up of the corrals where the bulls stay when they arrive in Pamplona,the arrival of the bulls into those same corrals, the setting up and construction of the wooden barriers that keep, hopefully, the bulls away from the watching crowds during the run, the shepherds (pastors) that run with the bulls and have saved so many runners from injury or worse, (as Alexander Fiske-Harrison pointed out to me, “shepherds” look after sheep…but I don’t know what other word to use – herdsman? Got it! ) and everything else you see or don’t see in the ring – the ticket collectors, bullring staff, the band, and even the butchery…the Casa de Misericordia looks after the lot.
James Michener and“The Drifters”
I thought it was about time I wrote my own little homage to a man I never met but who changed my life for ever, and for the better. And that is one of the most understated things I have ever written. This man didn’t just change my world, he introduced me to a whole new one. Pamplona , of course, and the Fiesta of San Fermin.
In 1980 I bought a book about a bunch of travellers at the tail end of the sixties, 3 guys and 3 girls from various countries, who meet up in Spain and decide to travel together. The first place they decide to go to as a group is Pamplona, during fiesta time. The Pamplona chapter is 100 pages long and quite frankly I just didn’t believe it. I knew the book was fiction, but this was just fairy tale stuff…surely, in this modern day and age a festival as medieval and crazy as what was described in the book just couldn’t exist? I knew one day I would go and find out.
Well, four years later with a friend I rode my Norton motorbike down through France, crashed the thing near the border, but made it to Pamplona by train. I still feel glad that I crashed…maybe I wouldn’t have arrived in Pamplona when I did, or chosen the corner of the Plaza del Castillo that I did…and hence met the people I did. But I tell you what, when I walked into the square on that July 6th afternoon, I knew I had found what I hadn’t even been looking for, a paradise on earth that still brings the goose bumps up whenever I think about it or whenever I am there.
Michener wrote many books, mostly fiction, but also a superb factual book called Iberia, packed with history and stories and photographs, and is well worth a read, especially if you love Spain. There is also his autobiography, “The World Is My Home.” But for The Drifters, I have to thank you James Michener, as my life has been immeasurably blessed by that one book.
I could go on… thanks Hemingway, for influencing Michener, thanks Gertrude Stein for telling Hemingway…but really the thanks are due to Pamplona and it’s people, for turning a religious event into something that really is out-of-this-world…as I said near the beginning,what on earth would one of those other-worldly aliens make of this town and its inhabitants? I know what I made of it, and it changed my life for the infinitesimal better. Thank you Pamplona and Pamplonicans, I love you to bits, and as I wrote somewhere else recently…I blame the patxaran.
Monty Python
Oh, and Monty Python? Well, sort of, but not quite….but another “M.P.” for sure. And no, not my brother, Michael Pinks, but Michael Palin.
For those who don’t know, Michael Palin was part of Monty Python, but he was also a huge Ernest Hemingway fan. Ever since he was a boy growing up in the northern English city of Sheffield , he read Hemingway’s books and fell for this world outside his own that the great man wrote about. As he wrote in his book that accompanied a BBC travel series, “Hemingway Adventure,” after reading some of the man’s stuff, he felt like, he wrote, “I’d grown up a little. Lost my literary virginity. Books would never be quite the same again.”
He decided he would go out and experience Hemingway’s world, and that; “I must be bold and fearless and go out there and do it for myself.” He goes on to say; “Unfortunately in the 1950’s there wasn’t much call for provincial English schoolboys to carry mortars up Spanish hillsides, and though I had a goldfish I hadn’t fought for seven hours to land it.”
Decades later, and well after the Monty Python series and films were over, he has become a bit of a traveller, in fact a hugely entertaining, knowledgeable and funny one, who does wonderful and witty travel programmes for the BBC, and for the centenary of Hemingway’s birth in 1999, the Beeb, as we call them, sent him around the world following the writers path. And so it came to pass, of course, that he ended up in Pamplona during fiesta.
He stayed in the La Perla hotel in the square for the three days he was there, before having to move on and film more for the series, but he certainly caught the mood of fiesta. After all for those who know, those first three days are madness personified. Magic, marvellous and manic madness for sure and if you can only go for a few days, make it the beginning!
He didn’t do the run itself, but watched it from a balcony window in the hotel, but he did of course talked to people about it, including John Macho and James Ballor, always known as Curly. In the book, when he asks Curly about the run and why he did it and what he felt from it, one of the reasons Curly gives him is; “It’s an aphrodisiac, Michael. Believe me.” His reply? “Believe him or not, I can’t help thinking taking Viagra would be easier.”
“Michael Palin’s Hemingway Adventure” was a great series, and the book is a colourful and interesting travelogue through Hemingway’s life, written in Palin’s own simple, straightforward and inimitable style. It’s funny too. (He also wrote a funny novel called “Hemingway’s Chair”, for those of you interested.) But I’ll leave with this quote from the book of the series, before he watched his first run.
“There is not much rest to be had in Pamplona tonight. Those who have run with the bulls before will try to sleep as best they can. Those who haven’t will, likely as not, have been awake most of the night saucing themselves up. Those of us who are here to film have to be getting into positions on the course by six o’clock. And the noise goes on. It’s like the night before battle.” Two things I love in that paragraph…”saucing themselves up!” and “the noise goes on. It’s like the night before battle”. He got it!
The Osasuna song
So, back to El Maestro Turillas for this months ending video, and let’s go from bulls…to balls. I mentioned he wrote the club song for the local football team, Osasuna, so here it is. There are many versions out there on the net of course, and of much better quality, but these guys in the band are my friends, and I love them to bits too. They are a Pamplona band, and used to be called Impekables, but are now Los Zopilotes Txirriaos. The song is “We’ll always be Reds.” But for some reason that night the words were changed to “We’ll always be guiris” (foreigners). Can’t imagine for the life of me why…the song starts after about 40 seconds. Remember, the music is The Maestro’s…
