The Party Professionals
A bus full of antipodeans, two bus drivers and tour guide is how the journey started. It is also how it ended but along the way some epic stories were created, new friends made and a hell of a lot of alcohol was consumed. Except for the stupendous bus journey I can say I had a pretty good time in Spain. The tour company I travelled with were call PP Travel (PP stands for Party Professionals - aptly named). Here’s how it all went down.
Midday Monday was the departure time from Paddington station, London. Everyone had crammed themselves on the bus including me and Aazza, the mate I was travelling with. I had secured a seat down the back of the bus in traditional kiwi style. The journey to the ferry and then over the English Channel was relatively pain free. Well except for the warm beer being served on the bus. I gave that a miss. Beer isn’t nice warm unless there’s nothing else to drink and you’re really drunk
The trip through France into Spain was the killer. Travelling through the night, sitting on top of the engine - with intermittent aircon - gave way to little sleep. The bus arrived at the campsite mid-morning Tuesday and despite the lack of sleep the first place to visit in Zarautz was the beach. The beach was your typical north Spanish beach and was fantastic, and the water was warm. After a swim and lie-down, and a walk around town, it was back to the campsite for a quick nap before drinking commenced.
I was in my typical eager-to-get-drunk mood so I scoffed down some Doritos and poured a stiff vodka. And it was good vodka too (my trip earlier in the year had netted me a bottle of Bulgarian vodka that had yet been drunk). Before I knew it the bottle was gone (I had some help from Aazza as well) and it was time to head into town. PP had organised a pub crawl so pretty much all the campsite went into town. Plenty of Sangria was drunk and with some typical drunken antics (such as trying to see who can make it up the top of the lifeguard tower) the night was really starting to kick off.
That’s when my legendary memory loss kicked in. It always happens when I don’t eat all day then drink copious amounts of alcohol in a short space of time. Anyway apparently one of the kiwi guys was trying to hook me up with one of the kiwi girls when I just walked away. And then apparently an aussie guy came across me passed out on a seat along the beach somewhere. He already had his hands full with another drunken bloke and when he offered to help me out apparently I just walked off again. Typical. However I ended up back at the campsite safely and awoke in the morning in my tent, still fully clothed, and with a couple of new bruises and grazes (which is nothing new to me after a night out).
PP had organised a trip to San Sebastian today, Wednesday, but after a couple attempts at getting myself up, I didn’t make it. I slept some more before trying to get up again, managed to change clothes, but still felt I couldn’t move. I awoke again early afternoon and dragged myself down to the beach for a swim. After the swim I crawled on to the beach and passed out again until late afternoon. On arriving back at the campsite a few people were starting to get back from San Sebastian. I still wasn’t in the mood to drink but managed to chew through a sangria whilst watching the football that night.
Thursday was opening day in Pamplona for Feistas de San Fermin. The bus arrived there around 10am and the party kicked off at midday. Aazza and I had a look around the city centre for a bit first. We tried to get into the Plaza del Consistorial (area outside the town hall) but only managed to get into the outskirts of the throng and even then as more and more people pushed their way through we kept getting pushed to the edge. After getting too much in there we both decided to get out before the official opening firecracker went off and we went into Plaza del Castillo (the city square) where there was just as much chaos. After hanging around there and then watching the silly people jump off the Navarreria fountain (aka Mussel bar statue), we made our way back to the bus. Once at the campsite, a swim at the beach was again needed. After some more sangria I went to sleep around 1am that night as I wanted to get up early for the encierro (aka Running of the Bulls).
A 5am Friday wakeup call awoke me from my sleep and I got on the bus so I could get my place on the street for the encierro. Even at 7am it packed with people. At 8am we ran, bulls went past and I survived the arena. I just managed to make the bus back to the campsite and spent most of the rest of the day hanging around at the beach. Back at the campsite it was drinking time again and after countless San Miguel I headed into town with some of the crew from my bus.
The usual drunken antics came out with some of us (me included) riding the kiddie cars on the way, people got lost and were found again, and the breaking of café furniture occurred. After a few of the crew had left, the rest of us decided to go and mingle with the locals where some of us tried to show them how to dance (albeit very drunkenly). I got back to the campsite around 3.30 am - it was a slow walk as two of the kiwi girls I had with me were feeling quite seedy. I set my alarm for 5am - to make the encierro again.
Saturday 5.30am and I was on the bus again into Pamplona. I’m pretty sure I slept all the way there. I had taken my camera with me today to get some photos of the chaos. Being a weekend there were a whole lot more Spanish folk around and the encierro was more packed than the day before when I did it. I managed to just get tickets to the Plaza del Toros (bull arena) before it all started. It was entertaining watching from the sideline and I’m still amazed that not many people get seriously injured. By the time I had taken a shitload of photos it was time to head off again to get the bus back. We had an 11am deadline for packing the buses and with my blasé attitude towards it I just got my bag on.
I caught the train to San Sebastian and spent the rest of the day there (after missing out on it a couple of days before). After walking around most of the old town I caught a few zeds next to the beach. The bus was picking us up at 8.30pm for the trip back to London, and I was trying to catch up on sleep before getting back on the bangbus.
The bus drove all through the night, which most people (including me) slept through. Well I wouldn’t really call it sleep. It was more like closing your eyes and hoping to fall into semi consciousness. We arrived at the ferry mid-morning Sunday and waited around for an hour or so before getting on. The ferries are much quicker than at home - but they don’t have the Marlborough sounds to contend with. With what seemed like a five minute journey, we were back in London around midday. After saying goodbyes I caught the tube home and coma’d on my bed, only waking to get some water. I had work that Monday and really needed some shut eye.
Photos
Zarautz and the campsite
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