nigel davenport | net

Encierro - the running of/with bulls

I quickly realised that the voice was yelling “If you are running with the bulls today, you need to get up now”. I stripped my sleeping bag from my body, and changed into my whites (the traditional costume of the festival). I stumbled out of my tent, stood up and looked over a sea of tents accompanied by a few lost looking souls. I had had about five hours sleep - more than enough. I had also gone through a few bottles of sangria the night before but luckily enough wasn’t feeling the effects of a hangover. This would certainly increase my chances of surviving the day. Today I was running with el toros.

The bus ride was a bit of a blur, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The hour long bus ride only seemed like 10 minutes which was fine by me. I got off the bus, standing close to the tour guide. He was going to direct the few brave souls through the streets of Pamplona towards a spot to enter the run. The small group briskly walked through the streets, avoiding the partygoers that were still partying from the night before. We had a reason for our hastiness - if we didn’t get there early enough the policia wouldn’t let us in.

As we got closer to the town hall, it got harder to dodge through the crowd. Two barriers stood in the way of me and the run, but luckily the police were still letting folks through. I managed to squeeze into a spot, with Aazza close behind me. Inside the run it was packed worse than a sardine can. I look up at the town hall clock. It was 7.10am. The run started at 8am. Time to relax and soak in the atmosphere of anticipation, excitement and fear.

It was almost surreal in there. It seemed no one really knew what was going on. I had entered the run about a third of the way through, so I would only know the bulls had been released by the sound of a rocket exploding. Even though minutes seemed like hours there was enough to keep the crowd on their toes. If it wasn’t for the crowd egging on some girls to show their breasts, there were street cleaners barging their way through and policeman keeping everyone in a state of fear.

The heat from the crowd was slowly building. I was still feeling the effects of that last bottle of sangria and the heat didn’t help. At one point the sweet smell of champagne mixed with egg wafted up from the red scarf I was wearing (another piece of traditional San Fermin gear). I gagged slightly before tilting my head skywards to get some fresh air. That was a close one.

7.55am and the tension in the crowd was buzzing through me. All of a sudden policia penetrated the crowd and started reigning down their batons on the crowd, trying to thin it out. Some panicked and others stood, frozen. Me and Aazza moved a few meters up the run just avoiding a lashing. The batons had the desired affect though, and the crowd slowly moved up the run, leaving a thin clean line in the middle, space for maybe a bull to tear through.

Crack. The first rocket went off. With some jostling and pushing, people wormed up the run. It would take the bulls a few minutes to make their way here, barring any altercations earlier in the run. The second rocket went off moments later, signifying all the bulls had left the cages. With that sound the momentum of the crowd changed from a light jog to quiet run. As I approached “Dead Mans Corner” a far away voice drifted through my mind. “When approaching Dead Mans Corner stay left”. I was not heeding my tour guides advice. I was on the right side of the run. I hesitated, and Aazza said to me, “Aren’t we meant to be on the left?” I looked over to the other side of the street. Despite the fact the street was only about five meters wide, it seemed like there was a valley between me and there.

“Fuck it”, I said to him. “Someone has to go on the right”. With that sound of clopping hooves approached. I looked around to see the fear in people’s eyes. Some people were trying to get around the corner as fast as possible, and some were trying to hide themselves amongst the bricks of the walls. Then they came. The bulls looked almost as scared as the people trying to avoid them. Luckily I was actually on the right side of the run; my tour guide had got it wrong

Growing up on a farm I had interacted with bulls quite a lot. Most of these bulls were quite docile, would even let you touch them. And usually these bulls were in a paddock so had room to frolic. Here in Pamplona they had about a variable two and a half meter berth to rush through. I had stopped just a few meters before the corner when they passed me. Nothing I had read, heard or seem could have prepared me for the bulls presence. Weighing around 600 kilos and with horns the size of my arms, these boys were massive. And as they approached the corner the slide happened.

A bulls hooves doesn’t give it much traction on the cobbled surface. I watched as one guy slipped over, with a bull following soon after. The bull landed on him, with yet another bull close behind. The bulls quickly clambered to their feet and took off again. I took off not wanting to miss out on seeming them tear through the crowd but I wasn’t quick enough - they were already halfway up the next street.

There was utter chaos on the sides of the street. Bodies were piled into doorways, and people were standing around panicking and looking lost. As I was running through this mess I had to jump people to stay on my feet and not get caught in the madness. Things started to calm down as me and Aazza ran up the final stretch. We even started to reflect on the madness as we ran closer to the giant red gates of “Plaza de Toros” (the bull ring).

Then it happened again. As the street barricades closed into the narrow entrance to the arena, that same feeling from moments ago spread through the crowd. More bulls were on the way, and I could hear their hooves grating across the cobbles. Either side of the street people tried to melt into the walls. The bulls brushed past me, their eyes on the populated arena. Confusion once again reigned and shortly afterwards the giant red gates were slowly closing. Fearing I wasn’t going to get in I made a dash for them, just squeezing through. A few people managed to follow me just before the gates clanged shut. Aaaza hadn’t made it.

I walked out into the ring. Dust from the thousand or so feet was being kicked into the air. A quiet roar from the 10,000 or so onlookers filled the air waves. It was an amazing feeling. Another surreal moment. This was the part of encierro that I was well briefed on. A heifer would be released into the ring, with horns padded, to toy with the runners. She would spend 10 or so minutes careening through the crowd before being led back into the pens by a steer. It was meant to be a lot of fun. I was looking forward to it.

I managed to get near the gates to the pen before she was released. Scores of guys quickly ran up to the gates and knelt right in front of the heifers exit. Apparently this is a kind of manhood test for the Spanish. The heifer was released and charged through this bed of bodies. The people kneeling at the front were the lucky ones - she decided to jump them. Some were bowled out of the way, others were trampled, and some quickly got out of the way of the horns. An amazing spectacle to witness.

There were so many people crowded into the arena floor that it was hard sometimes to know where she was. Luckily I was tall enough to see the pulsating crowd moving around as the heifer tried to charge through. I never let myself get close enough to her to get hit. I knew all to well the damage an angry heifer could inflict. At one stage she was behind me as I ran, but I never felt in any real danger. A lot of people were actually trying to touch her - this is frowned upon by the Spanish. One guy actually grabbed her tail. He thought he was a hero - a typical American attitude (he was after all a yank). Several Spanish guys ran up to him, throwing fists in his direction. Some blows even connected before he was dragged out of the arena and taken away by some of the local police. He was off to get a beating.

A few more runs through and I had had enough of the excitement. I also needed to get back to the bus stop so I could make it back to the campground. I recognised a fellow tour member standing on the outside of the ring, and he helped me over the fence. I made my way around to where I had entered the arena. I decided to take one last look at the excitement before jumping the small gate to freedom. As I looked back into the arena I saw the heifer nail one guy. He dropped like a stone.

His body lay on the ground lifeless. Fearing the worst, a group of guys surrounded him. Two guys picked him up. His body was completely limp and they struggled to hand him over the arena fence. One guy held out his arms to receive the limp body. As he took hold, the man’s body almost folded in two between the receiver’s arms. There was something definitely wrong. He was laid on the ground. He didn’t look dead - but then again I have never seen any who has died in front of me before so I wasn’t too sure. The medics arrived shortly after and stretchered him off. I left the arena unsure of the man’s fate.

I walked briskly through the streets of Pamplona with the adrenaline of the mornings events coursing through my veins. I had achieved a new milestone. Some would say I was foolish, crazy even. Others would say it was something to be proud of. Looking back on the whole thing I am glad I took part in this centuries old tradition. However over the following few days I came to realise how dangerous it was. Reading the papers I gathered a sense of the scale of the carnage that occurs. I would never encourage anyone to take part in the run, or the arena antics. I think that participating through watching is definitely the best way of experiencing this aspect of the festival.

Some statistics about the run:
The day I ran 3 men were seriously injured. One of these, a kiwi lad, was gorged in the leg by a bull horn close to the start of the run. He survived, albeit slightly crippled for some time. Another had a heart attack. He is said to have recovered.
The guy I saw get taken out in the arena is now a paraplegic. He will never be able to walk again.
Six bulls, weighing an average of 600 kilograms each, took part in the encierro. They were all killed later on that evening in the days bull fight. Each day the encierro is held another bull is added. Therefore the next day seven ran, the day after eight, and so on until the festival finishes a week later.
The day after I ran was busier, with more people inside the run. It was also a Saturday. I struggled to get into the run to take some photos. I did however just make it into the even more crowded arena to take photos and experience what I now consider a spectator sport.

On a side note, I partied my arse off the night I ran. I drank copious amounts of sangria and slept for half an hour before getting on the bus to spectate and take photos for my album. It was a crazy, hazy few days filled with adrenaline, fear, anxiousness and drunkenness. I can’t wait for next year!

Photos
Pamplona

Aaggh not sure what you were doing rubbing the balls of the bulls but I don’t remember ever been that asleep...he he he.
They were not Bulls, they were monsters!!! I was making my own cobbles as we ran along..!
Never again Nige… Next year its the tomato festival instead..!