ADVANCE CHAPTER: Pamplona and La Fiesta de San Fermín

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My second book project follows my three-month journey through Spain as I attended 10 fairs and fiestas, learned about local history, traditions, and cultures, and immersed myself in the world of bullfighting. While the premise of the book is "discovering Spain through the art of bullfighting," it is so much more than just matadors, swords, and capes; it is a journey through my favourite country, a cultural exploration, and, in its own way, a travel guide for those who want to undertake their own voyage through this wonderful country.

This is an advance chapter from the book, which I am still writing. I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback!

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  I started my journey in Pamplona, the Fiesta de San Fermín, and the famed running of the bulls. I first attended the festival in 2022 and fell in love with it. That first time at the fiesta, I was only there for the first few days, not the entire week. This time, I was staying from beginning to end, determined to take in as much of it as possible. I ran with the bulls during my first visit, and a year ago, my friend Jo and I ran three times as we kicked off the long-term travel event we termed "The Great Gallivanting." A year later, were reuniting for round two. We had season tickets to the bullfights, all ten of them, and planned to run in all eight encierros. Unlike Hemingway, we wanted to be in the midst of it all, not on the periphery.

But Pamplona is a city of two personalities: San Fermín and the rest of the year. I wanted to experience the city, not just the fiesta, and that meant returning once the partiers had gone. It was the only way to understand the city's storied past and religious significance.  During the summer festival, shops close for regular business and re-open selling gear, clothing, and souvenirs dedicated to the fiesta as millions of party-goers from across the world fill the streets. The rest of the year, it is a quiet town with a lively atmosphere. Travellers still visit the city, as it sits on the French Way of the Camino de Santiago, but the party atmosphere secludes itself in a couple of bar districts, the shops re-open in their original form, and the cafes regain their relaxed aura typical of an old Spanish town. For that reason, I returned two months after the fiesta, in September, to explore the city’s rich, and controversial, history.

Pamplona is the capital city of Navarre, one of Spain's seventeen autonomous communities. Once upon a time, it served as the capital of the Basque Kingdom of Navarre and, before that, the Kingdom of Pamplona, and the Basque influences were present everywhere, from architecture to official signage to unique pintxos (the Basque version of Spanish tapas).

Pamplona was originally established in 75 BC under Roman rule. In 824 AD, it gained autonomy from the Goths and Córdoba Emirate as the Kingdom of Pamplona, forming an independent Basque kingdom situated between the Carolingian Empire, Emirate of Cordoba, and the Kingdom of Asturias. When it evolved into the Kingdom of Navarre, which encompassed the modern-day autonomous communities of Navarre and Basque Country, it was entrapped by the neighbouring Kingdom of Leon and Castilla, Kingdom of Aragon, Emirate of Cordoba, and the Frankish Kingdom. The Kingdom of Navarre fought defensive and offensive wars to maintain its territorial integrity against the larger, encroaching Iberian powers, but ultimately lost out. In 1512, the last independent King of Navarre, Juan de Labrit, fled through Pamplona's city walls for Lower Navarre (in modern-day France) as the Castilian armies approached. After its fall, the kingdom was partitioned between the French and Spanish, where it formed two independent, subordinate political entities until it was ultimately dissolved and subsumed entirely in the 1800s.

As the years passed, Pamplona lost much of its Basque heritage and identity, and now only about ten percent of Pamplonans identify as Basque. It is even legal to withhold funding from schools which teach only in Basque, as Spanish is the national language. While the Basque separatist sentiment is muted compared to neighbouring Basque Country (a separate autonomous community), it is still present, especially during the Fiesta de San Fermín when posters, banners, and protests abound demanding independence for Navarre and amnesty for Basque prisoners (who committed acts of terrorism under Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, a Basque terrorist group). During the bullfights, Basques occupy entire sections in the bullring and hold signs, waive flags, and unfurl banners insulting Spain and demanding self-determination. This sentiment is not without political and legal foundations, either. Spain did conquer the Basques' territory by force, and the 1978 Spanish Constitution provides the autonomous community of Navarre the right to hold a referendum to join the autonomous community of Basque Country, inconvenient facts that few Spaniards acknowledge. At the same time, that is the way of the world. Conquered territories dissolve, new cultures and political systems come in, and the world moves on with its history written by the victors.

The best way to understand Pamplona's early history is to walk the murallas, the walls of the old city, which I did when I returned after the fiesta. Like most kingdoms' capitals, Pamplona was originally a fortress city whose hilltop position and high walls protected it against foreign incursion. Many of these walls still stand, and most of the historic city centre resides within them; although, some have been removed or replaced by roads over the past century.

I started at the Ayuntamiento, the historic city hall. This building serves as the festive centre for the Fiesta de San Fermín where the opening and closing ceremonies take place, the toro del fuego runs, and all correadors assemble prior to the encierros. Pamplona's ayuntamiento has sat on this very spot since the establishment of the City of Pamplona in 1423, with the current façade being built in 1753, over 200 years after its incorporation into the Kingdom of Castille. While its Basque architecture was apparent, I was sure that few Basques would want to admit that it was the Spanish that constructed this cultural icon of a building.

Continuing along the north wall, I discovered the city's archives (including a mock-up of the city over 100 years before), the French Gate, and several bastions which overlook the northwest approach. In modern times, travellers don't see the invading armies these bastions were designed to defeat; instead, there are pilgrims in the middle of their first week along the Camino de Santiago, the 780-kilometre pilgrimage that culminates at Santiago de Compostela. During the Fiesta de San Fermín, these bastions, which now serve as public parks, become full of partygoers drinking the week (and their fears of the encierro) away. In the off season, I enjoyed the peaceful, scenic views of the Basque mountains in the distance.

The east wall has some of the murallas' most important history, including the Cathedral of Pamplona (which I cover a little later on) and the Baluarte de Labrit, a tall bastion built in the 16th Century. The Baluarte de Labrit gets its name from Juan III de Labrit, the last sovereign King of Navarre, who fled the city through its gate to France as the Castilian and Aragonese armies approached in 1512 during the Spanish Conquest of Iberian Navarre. Juan III's flight and the Spanish Conquest ended Navarrese sovereignty and incorporated it under the Spanish Crown. While Navarre continued as a semi-autonomous constituent kingdom, its incorporation into Spain effectively ended Basque self-rule.

It is at this bastion that the city walls fall away in favour of modern developments along the Calle de Juan de Labrit, specifically the road and the plaza de toros. However, one former fortification still exists and houses a garden, and I continued to follow the walls until the Point Vue Sur la Ville, the city's eastern-most viewpoint overlooking the Arga River. The walls used to run, generally, along Avenida de la Baja Navarra then along the streets which connect it to Avenida de Guipuzcoa. Now, roads sporting interstate buses and rental cars surround the old city.

The original city walls cut the Ciudadela de Pamplona out of the fortified city, and it remains segregated by modern shopping developments. This citadel was originally constructed in 1571 and was steadily improved to form the star-shaped structure that stands today. Its shape and position to the city's south provided defences against the Upper Navarrese armies and Navarrese belligerents who did not support the recently established Spanish rule over the city. It is now a park, and during the Fiesta de San Fermín, is used for the nightly fireworks competition. It reminded me a bit of Texas’s Alamo, which held off the advancing Mexican Army during the Texas Revolution, with its beautiful landscape a preserved walls keeping the secrets of its original purpose away from the general public.

My walk from the Avenida de la Baja Navarra to the Avenida de Guipuzcoa passed several of Pamplona's most important cathedrals. The Church of Saint Nicholas sits near the Monumento a Los Fueros (the Fueros were community laws within the Kingdom of Navarre), emphasising its role in the city's history. The Church of Saint Nicholas defended the neighbourhood's residents and their way of life before the establishment of the City of Pamplona. This protection extended beyond the spiritual, as the church was constructed with reinforced brick walls and three watchtowers where residents could seek refuge during times of unrest and conflict. After its incorporation into the City of Pamplona, the church continued to serve as a defensive bastion to the south, a function it performed until the construction of the citadel. Unfortunately, only one of the watchtowers remains, but I can still get a sense of the original feel from the outside walls.

Further down the Calle Taconera is the Church of Saint Lorenzo, one of the oldest churches in Pamplona that dates back to the 1200s. Like the Church of Saint Nicholas, it once served as a defensive structure against invading armies from the south. In an ironic twist of fate, it served this function not just against Castilian and Aragonese armies, but against Pamplona's own citadel after it was captured by the Spanish in 1841 after the First Carlist War (where the Navarrese sided with the Carlists against the Spanish). When the Spanish captured the citadel, they turned its guns on the city, bombarding the neighbourhoods and fortified churches that supported Spain’s enemies in what could be called a traitorous insurrection. But today, with Carlism more or less in the past, the Church of San Lorenzo is known for being the home of the statue of San Fermín, co-patron saint of Navarre and namesake for the annual fiesta. The statue is housed in its own chapel just to the right of the main entrance. Some may even call it a shrine (I certainly would), as it is roped off, flanked by the Navarrese and Pamplonan coats of arms, and situated behind its own set of silver Catholic ceremonial relics in the centre of the Greek-cross-shaped room. I knew San Fermin was an important Catholic saint in this city, but the ornate room seemed over the top, especially after visiting churches dedicated to an Marian apparition with far more reverent, less-fancy décor.

Circling back to the Ayuntamiento, I finished exploring the city's walls with the Church of San Saturnino. Unlike the Churches of Saints Lorenzo and Nicholas, this church wasn't a part of the original city walls or defensive plan, though it wasn't immune from the sectarian attacks from adjacent San Nicolas that plagued the neighbourhood. These attacks notwithstanding, the Church of San Saturnino is one of the oldest churches in the city. It is also unique in that it has two sanctuaries. Upon entering the church, I stood in the sanctuary dedicated to the Virgin of the Camino, the patroness of the Camino de Santiago, specifically, and travellers, in general. It was confusing at first, as the entrance was on the left side of this sanctuary, not the rear, and the chapels to the Virgin of the Camino and San Antonio were off to the left, and the second sanctuary, dedicated to the Holy Trinity, laid directly ahead. Even though the church was named for San Saturnino, the official patron saint of Pamplona, his image was nowhere to be found inside the church. The closest image was the Relief of the Knight, also called the Crusader of San Saturnino, above the entrance, symbolising Saint Saturnino's disciple Honesto bringing Christianity to the city. According to local tradition, it was just outside of this church where he baptised Pamplona's first Christians, including the famous Saint Fermín.

On the hillside above the Ayuntamiento, The Church of San Fermín de Aldapa is a small, unassuming building not generally open to casual visitors. Local tradition holds that this church was built on the site where San Fermín lived prior to his execution. This tradition is deeply rooted in Pamplona's history, and posters advertising the San Fermín Txiki festival (in September) usually incorporate the church's image, often opting to name the festival "San Fermín de Aldapa" rather than San Fermín Txiki.

Of course, the most grandiose church in the city is the Metropolitan Cathedral Catedral of Pamplona, seat of the XXXX. Built in the late 1300s and early 1400s, the Cathedral of Pamplona is the city's main cathedral, though it is by no means the most religiously significant. While it nominally venerates Saint Mary of the Assumption, it is more accurate to say that it is dedicated to Charles III and Eleanor of Trastamara, the former King and Queen Consort of Navarre who are buried in tombs prominently displayed before the altar. The cathedral's Marian devotion is Santa Maria la Real, which literally translates as "Saint Maria the Royal," further reinforcing the cathedral's focus on the Navarrese monarchy. While Santa Maria la Real is the Cathedral's Marian devotion, she is not the city's nor province's primary patroness. Instead of having a primary patron and patroness, the province of Navarre has co-patrons (San Fermín and San Francis Xavier), something unique to this part of Spain. Outside of the Fiesta de San Fermín, visitors can freely visit the cathedral's chapels, naves, and museum (for 10 EUR); however, during the festival, hours are limited to keep the drunken young adults from wreaking havoc on its interior.

El Santo Patron - San Fermín

The Fiesta de San Fermín officially celebrates Saint Fermín, one of the co-patron saints of Navarre, whose feast day is on July 7th (well, in Pamplona, anyways; in the rest of the world, it is on September 25th). Little is known of the saint outside of local legends and Catholic tradition, and there is much debate as to whether he was an actual person or an apocryphal figure. According to the most popular tradition, Saint Fermín was born in the 200s into a Romanised family who converted to Christianity upon Saint Saturnino's arrival (a place which is memorialised by a plaque outside of the Church of San Saturnino). After developing his faith, Saint Fermín was eventually appointed as the first bishop of Pamplona in the Catholic Church. As part of his preachings, he made his way to Amiens, France, where he was beheaded for his beliefs.

Little else is known of Pamplona's first bishop, but local legends and retroactive traditions have bolstered his legacy. For example, the running of the bulls was never a religious practice, but as the encierros grew in popularity, traditions were modified (unofficially) to portray Saint Fermín's death as having come from being dragged behind a raging bull. A similar tradition, perhaps trying to bridge the gap between the two, holds that the saint was beheaded and his body dragged behind a bull to further denigrate him and his teachings. This version of the story portrays bull running not just as a test of honour and bravery, but of faith and devotion.

Unfortunately for this version's proponents, the historical record clearly demonstrates that Pamplona's encierros and the venerated saint emerged separate from one another. Saint Fermín was canonised in the Catholic Church in some time before the 1100s, and his feast day was celebrated on October 10th. It wasn't until 1590 that Pamplonans implored their bishop (Bishop Bernando de Sandoval y Rojas) to move Saint Fermín's feast day from October to July to coincide with the annual livestock fair established by Charles II in 1381.

However, San Fermín is not the patron saint of Pamplona, nor is he the only patron saint of Navarre. His is Navarre's co-patron with Saint Francis Xavier, who is venerated in the town of Xavier. Born in the Navarrese town of Xavier, Saint Francis Xavier was one of the most important Catholic missionaries in Asia and is credited with Christianising much of India. Unfortunately, Saint Xavier died of fever before completing his evangelism on his way to China. As recognition for his work in India, he is entombed in the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa, and every ten years, his relics are put on display to the public. Because of his dedication in Asia, Saint Xavier is also the patron saint of foreign missions, providing divine protection and assistance to missionaries across the world.

San Saturnino is Pamplona's proper patron saint. He was the Bishop of Toulouse, and was responsible for bringing Christianity to Roman Pamplona in the early 300s. His disciple Honesto baptised 40,000 people with water from a well near the church which now bears Saturnino's name, including Saint Fermín and his family. Unlike Saint Fermín, Catholic tradition holds that Saint Saturnino was, in fact, dragged to death behind a bull in Toulouse for preaching against the Roman god Jupiter. Saint Saturnino's feast day is celebrated on November 29th, complete with processions, parades, dances, and the presentation of the year's Nativity scene.

While Navarre doesn't have an official Marian devotion, Pamplona does: Our Lady of the Camino (also called the Virgin of the Way). The origin of the Virgin of the Camino isn't consistent across all accounts, but the most repeated version comes from 1505. A shepherd was tending his flock when the Virgin Mary appeared to him, instructing him to bring the townspeople to that spot to witness and pay respect to her apparition. In response, the townspeople built the Hermitage of Humilladero in modern-day Leon, a place that still remains. The basilica in Leon is the main shrine of the Virgin of the Camino, but she is venerated in Pamplona in the Church of Saint Saturnino, the bishop responsible for bringing Christianity to Pamplona in the first place.

La Fiesta de San Fermín 

The Fiesta of San Fermín is my favourite celebration in all of the world. It has something for everyone, from teenage partygoers to elderly Basque traditionalists to bullfighting aficionados. However, it is a far cry from its original incarnation. The Fiesta de San Fermín was originally two, separate celebrations. The feast day of San Fermín was celebrated on September 25th, and a pagan livestock fair took place in mid-July. It wasn't until the 1590 that the two were combined into a single celebration, and Saint Fermín's feast day moved to July 7th, at least in Pamplona. Even then, it likely wasn't the raucous, non-stop party it later became. That evolved over time, some would argue as a natural consequence of congregating large numbers of people for daytime activities. It started with the bull runs, originally a practical solution to move livestock from the fields to sale, when young men started running with the bulls to showcase their bravery and courage. Then came the drinking, as these young men steadily took over the nighttime scene. And then impromptu competitions. And then came Ernest Hemingway.

Hemingway is widely credited with putting La Fiesta de San Fermín on the international map with his book The Sun Also Rises. Even though the book didn't delve into the fiesta's particulars, its masculine takes on excessive drinking, bull runs, bullfights, and womanising induced travellers from around the world to experience it for themselves, transforming the fiesta forever. Now, it is a everything, altogether, all at once. For the masculine bravados, there are the encierros (the bull runs) and nights of unending alcohol; for Basque traditionalists, there are dances, musical performances, and rural sports competitions; for the religious, there are daily processions and masses; and for the family, there are parades, children’s games, fireworks, and neighbourhood dinners.

In my opinion, there is only one way to experience the Fiesta de San Fermín, and that is to go all in. I don't mean attend for all eight days, although I do year after year. I mean to throw yourself into the fiesta and experience it in all of its traditional, religious, and debaucherous glory. I can't imagine experiencing it any other way, so every year, I dutifully arrive midday on July 5th, attend the evening's novillada, and ready myself for the insanity that the next morning will bring. On July 6th, I awake early to drink my morning espresso in the relative peace of the Plaza de Castillo, but the party is always already in full swing on the nearby Calle de Estafeta, the city's main bar scene. By this morning, everyone is decked out in the traditional San Fermín dress: a white shirt, white pants, red sash, and a red pañuelo tied around their wrist. The red pañuelo, once tied around the neck after the opening ceremonies, honours San Fermín as a symbol of his martyrdom, and the red sash (called the faja) is a traditional Basque ceremonial accessory. The white clothing, well, that's just practical for the July heat.

Pamplona explodes at noon on July 6th during the opening ceremonies. There is no other way to describe the atmosphere once the first rocket, the Chupinazo, flies over the crowd in front of the Ayuntamiento. When the first explosion goes off, sangria, beer, wine, beach balls, shoes, and everything else go flying through the air as the festival officially begins. Thousands of partygoers in front of the Ayuntamiento and thousands more in the nearby Plaza de Castillo collectively lose their minds as they prepare for the eight-day, non-stop drinkathon on which they are about to embark.

While the opening ceremony starts at noon, most people, including me, show up around 10h00, after the police have conducted their final clearance, inspection, and threat assessment around the Ayuntamiento. Once the police have finished, the crowd rushes to fill the Plaza Constitorial. Onlookers who have rented balconies overlooking the event (usually in hour-long intervals) shower the crowd with champagne and sangria, locals sing songs to San Fermín, partiers chug sangria and wine, and everyone eagerly awaits the moment they untie their pañuelos from their wrists to salute city hall and officially begin the ceremony. Once noon arrives, the crowd turns to face the Ayuntamiento, holding their pañuelos above their head, until the Chupinazo explodes. Once it does, in addition to going insane, everyone ties their pañuelos around their neck where they will remain until midnight on the 14th.

Several rockets go off during the opening ceremony, and technically only the first one is the actual Chupinazo. Important people to the community light each one, from local organisation leaders to matadors who will perform during the week's bullfighting fair. While these rockets explode over the city, La Pamplonesa, the official Pamplona municipal band, and important fiesta officials push through the crowd (with the help of the police) as they lead the official procession away from the Ayuntamiento on a parade through the city.

The first night of the fiesta is by far the wildest in terms of alcohol and behaviour, and most of the drinking and party antics occur along La Estafeta, the main bar street which leads to the plaza de toros. My first time at the fiesta, I almost got alcohol poisoning as I went pint for pint with a pair of Australian travellers. Thousands of people keep this street full and nearly impassable for eight straight days, especially when local bands parade through the crowds after the bullfights end around 21h30 every night. Whenever there isn't a major event going on in town, La Estafeta is the place to be; however, there are more venues across the city where constant partying occurs. The Plaza de Castillo, where the largest concert stage is located, clears out in the mornings, but fills up at night. The Baluarte de Redin (the part within the city's walls, not far from the Cathedral), too, serves as a central gathering place for partygoers. Despite being off the beaten path, its walkways between the city walls and buildings stay crowded, especially when musical groups pass through them during music in the street performances.

The most famous of all the San Fermín traditions is the encierro, the running of the bulls. Encierros are not unique to San Fermín or Pamplona, but thanks to Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, these are the most famous. Young people, especially young men, flock to Pamplona by the thousands to prove their bravery by running with (or from, in most cases) six 500-to-600-kilogram toros de lidia and six more larger steers. I am no exception, and I return day after day, year after year, to experience the world’s greatest adrenaline rush in what is arguably my most dangerous (and, arguably, stupidest. Young foreigners are not the only runners. Groups of locals train every year to perfect the art of the encierro, often trying to accomplish certain goals with each run. Dedicated foreigners, like me, arrange their annual schedules around the eight mornings of encierros, having found some sort of deeper meaning in their dangerous obsession.

The encierros happen precisely at 08h00 every morning, but running them means arriving early. The only authorised entry point into the route is the Plaza Constitorial, in front of the Ayuntamiento. Many unknowing corredors inevitably gather on La Estafeta, because they read that it was the best place to run for first-time participants. It is, but that is only after the police have cleared the route. At 07h45, the police cordon off the Plaza Constitorial and steadily march down the route, pushing everyone in their way to the side. At the same time, the police allow corredors from the Plaza Constitorial to move behind them to their places along La Estafeta, with even more police screening participants for their suitability to participate. The police look for improper footwear, cross-body bags, trip hazards, and, most importantly, drunkenness, and remove anyone they deem unfit to run. Even the simplest of advance research would prevent corredors from being removed from the run route, but most don't do it and have their dreams of running with bulls dashed by the police's unyielding advance. If only they could read the signs posted along the route, information in the newspaper, or an online blog; then they would know that all they had to do was arrive at Plaza Constitorial before 07h30, wear trainers or running shoes (no boots!), have nothing tied around their neck, waist, or shoulders (except for pañuelos and sashes), not be wearing a bag or camera, and be [generally] sober.

At 07h55, in front of the Niche of San Fermín on the Calle de Santo Domingo, serious runners (and tourists who have decided to start at the beginning of the route rather than La Estafeta) implore San Fermín to provide them assistance and protection during the encierros in both Spanish and Basque:

"A San Fermín Pedimos                               Entzun arren San Fermín

 Por ser nuestro patron                                 Zu zaitugu patroi

 Nos guie en el encierro                                Zuzendu gure oinak

 Dandanos su benedicion                             Entzierro hotan otoi

Viva! Gora!"

With this homily over, corredors running elsewhere along the route take off to their preferred spots, kissing their pañuelos as they leave for more heavenly intervention. The homily is sang again at 07h57, and the next group of corredors leave. Finally, it is sang for the last time at 07h59, with hardly anyone leaving, as the bulls are seconds away from being released. I am usually in the latter crowd unless I am showing a first-time runner the ropes. Up front, the risk of being tripped or colliding with a mozo scared out of their mind is lessened, and that has always scared me more than being trapped between two walls with bulls running towards me. My travel companion, Jo, is of the same opinion, having been shoulder checked, shoved into walls, and tripped by first-time corredors herself on multiple occasions.

At 08h00, the first rocket shoots above the city, indicating the gate to the corral has been opened. Mozos take off in fear, but serious runners hold the line. When the bulls leave the corral, the second rocket goes off. Often, the front of the route is confronted with the bulls before the second rocket explodes, but those on La Estafeta receive ample warning that the bulls will be upon them in a minute or so. Thus begins the 875-metre run that will end less than three minutes later in the plaza de toros. Some corredors will run next to the bulls for long periods, some will try to run on their horns, while others will jump out of the way at first sight. No one makes it the full run; the reality is the bulls run faster than the humans in the crowded streets, so most experienced runners aim for about a thirty-metre stretch on a good day.

In my opinion, and the opinion of most regular runners, the bulls are less dangerous than the people, as it is impossible to know how you will respond to twelve 500+ kilogram cattle running at you. Some freeze entirely, causing pile ups; some jump to the side, acknowledging that their bravery has its limits; others, still, try to run as far as they can with the bulls. This uncertainty combined with the cobblestone roads means that tripping, being trampled by people, and banging your head on the stone ground are far more likely than taking a horn through your body. The main danger with the bulls comes when one gets separated from the group. Bulls are herd animals, so they typically stay together rather than become immediately territorial. Once one is separated, though, they seek to establish dominance, charging at perceived threats in the street. The pastores in green shirts are there to keep the bulls moving, as are a second set of steers released a few minutes later, but a loose bull is usually what causes the most carnage.

Once the bulls are safely in their pens after the encierro, the bullring releases vaquillas, young heifers, into the crowd for corredors to practice their amateur cutting skills as they try to get as close as possible to the bull's horns without getting hurt. Fortunately, in Pamplona the vaquillas' horns are wrapped in foam and tape, so the chances of getting gored are low, but getting thrown and stepped on can still cause serious injuries. For the most part, though, at least in Pamplona, most of this part of the fiesta is merely for fun, as most corredors aren't going to get close to the vaquillas. The only hard and fast rule during the vaquillas populares (the name for this sort of event) is that it is prohibited to grab a hold of, ride, or wrestle the vaquillas; doing so will incur the wrath of the crowd and the police.

Besides the encierros, my favourite tradition is the Parade of the Gigantes y Cabezudos, something unique to the Basque Country (the greater Basque region, not the autonomous community), although they have been incorporated elsewhere, like Barcelona. These events, which take place most days during San Fermín, are parades of giant, paper mâché statues symbolising different kingdoms of the world, one monarchic pair each from Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Similarly, the Cabezudos represent local figures with their over-sized heads and often pose for pictures with onlookers. Accompanying the Gigantes and Cabezudos are the kilikis, characters with oversized heads that chase and tease little children with foam trudgens. Similarly, the zaldikos, half-man, half-horse knights, do the same, though they are more apt to whack anyone with their foam maces.

During San Fermín, these figures conduct a parade almost everyday through the historic city centre. The routes vary day-to-day, though they usually include a stop at the Plaza de Castillo and the Ayuntamiento, where they dance to the sounds of their accompanying flutes and drums. They also escort the procession to the daily mass at the Pamplona Cathedral, where they remain for the duration before leading the congregation back into town. While the Gigantes y Cabezudos mainly attract families with small children rather than international partygoers, they are one of the most endearing parts of the festival, ensuring a light-hearted mood and focus on local tradition rather than a week-long drinkathon. During San Fermín Txiki in September, the Gigantes y Cabezudos re-appear, providing a much-needed spiritual lift as the city heads into winter.

No festival, however, is complete without fireworks, and San Fermín is no exception. Every night, thousands of locals and tourists flock to the streets surrounding the Ciudadela de Pamplona to watch the annual fireworks competition. Technicians spend all day setting up each night's display, preventing access to the Ciudadela during the fiesta. At precisely 23h00, a single firework flies into the sky, signalling the start of the display with a resounding explosion. Being from the United States, I am no stranger to fireworks displays, and I have even been present for the Independence Day presentation in Washington, DC. Never have I ever watched a fireworks show more impressive than the ones at San Fermín. It is nearly impossible to describe the way the black sky stays illuminated for ten consecutive minutes with an impeccably synchronised pyrotechnic show, and the only way to describe each night's finale is awe-inducing. Time-lapse recordings can't do the presentation justice, as they look like a continuous, bright explosion that should come with a seizure warning and sound like a firefight on the streets of some foreign warzone. Jo and I love taking first-timers to these fireworks, because their faces light up like little kids experiencing them for the first time.

There are a great many other traditions at San Fermín, and throughout my journey I discovered it to be the most action-packed festival in all of Spain. There is rarely a break in the schedule, and if the days were lengthened by an hour or two to provide one, the party would surely fill the time with yet another tradition, performance, mass, or parade. Some of my favourite traditions are:

Deportes Rural. Traditional Basque sports competitions which take place in the Plaza de Los Fueros. The competitions include wood chopping (I particularly enjoy watching the women's competition), hay bail throwing, weight lifting, and more. These competitions are based on tasks traditionally performed everyday on Basque farms, and some the competitors are actual farmers showing off their skills.

Musica en la Calle. Local musical groups parade through the city performing popular and traditional music. These parades last for hours, and they often stop in high-traffic areas to perform concerts to the delight of alcohol-infused partiers. Sometimes they even set off at midnight! Like the Gigantes y Cabezudos, these bands also participate in the San Fermín Txiki festival in September.

Toro del Fuego. The running of the fire bull is one of the most entertaining events of the day, occurring at 21h45 every night. A man carrying a bull mock-up over his head runs through the streets as fireworks shoot from its horns. It is a sort of mini encierro for children, even starting with a rocket exploding over the Ayuntamiento, and it makes two passes from the pen at the foot of the Calle de Santo Domingo to the Calle Nueva.

Conciertos. Throughout the fiesta, local and international groups alike perform in the city centre. Some of these performances come from traditional Jota clubs, traveling symphonies, or, occasionally, La Pamplonesa itself, but most of the ones in the main party hubs are well-known DJs performing highly-curated sets. These sets last long into the night, and many mozos go straight from the concerts to the encierro dunk and hungover, hoping to sneak past the police.

As with all things in life, the festival reluctantly comes to an end at midnight on July 14th in an event called Pobre de Mi! After the final fireworks display, festivalgoers who still remain in the city make their way to the Ayuntamiento to say goodbye to San Fermín until the following year. Many carry candles to pay respects Navarre's patron saints, and a local band performs songs like "Uno de Enero" and "Riau-Riau" as the crowd sings along. Unlike the opening ceremony, this is a somewhat solemn event, and sangria, wine, and beach balls don't fly through air. Instead, a small fireworks display illuminates the sky behind the Ayuntamiento as the crowd sings "Pobre de Mi" and removes their pañuelos, mourning the festival's end. While all of this is going on, city workers jump into work to clear the road barriers, concert stages, and debris from the cobblestone streets and plazas. When the next morning arrives, the city returns to its pre-fiesta state as if the past eight days had never occurred.

Tauromaquia

Pamplona has a strong bullfighting tradition. In his book Death in the Afternoon, Hemingway opined that Pamplona was the heart of Spain's bullfighting culture. Indeed, despite the fiesta's religious themes, it is the bulls that bring the consistent crowds. The encierros attract the young and the brave, and each night's corrida sells nearly 20,000 tickets. Without Hemingway's emphasis on the bulls in The Sun Also Rises, the chances are that the fiesta would never have exploded in popularity, at least not to the degree that it did. The 1954 film adaptation used scenes from real bullfights, even though most of the movie's scenes were shot in Mexico.

The central figure of tauromaquia in Pamplona is the Plaza de Toros de Pamplona, the grey, concrete bullring situated just outside of the Plaza de Castillo. The current bullring was constructed in 1922 after it was determined the original arena was too dilapidated to continue using. It isn't built on the same site as the original, but it is close enough that the fiesta's main traditions, including the encierro, didn't have to adjust to fit the new location. The current structure was crowd-funded by Casa de Misericordia, and the organisation still owns the bullring as a private entity. Heminway himself watched bullfights in the new ring, sometimes from callejon, sometimes from the terrace which, in 1966, was removed to add 5,000 seats and bring the plaza to its current form.

It is possible to tour the ring only in the off season. Most areas of plaza are open, including the bullpens and its shop in the butcher area, but some, like the infirmary and capilla, are always closed to spectators. These areas are for bullfighters only. During the fiesta, the plaza is closed as a matter of practicality; most of the staff is busy preparing the ring, caring for the bulls, and cleaning the stands in preparation for the night's events. Even so, for the first time aficionado, it is a surreal experience to stand in the ruedo surrounded by empty stands imagining what it must be like for a matador to be out there, alone, with the bull. During my September visit, a couple of students from the local escuela taurina were practicing with their instructor. I stood behind the barrera and watched for almost an hour, enchanted by their slow, deliberate movements with the capotes and muletas.

Pamplona only has one bull fair a year, which they call the Feria del Toro, officially sponsored by the Casa de Misericordia. The fair lasts for ten nights, starting with a novillada con picadores on July 5th, a corrida de rejones on July 6th, and traditional bullfights on the remaining eight nights. The final performance on July 14th is called the "Corrida de Miura," where bulls from the Miura ganadería perform. The Miura bulls are considered the most cunning and deadly of all bullfights, and to be chosen to perform with them is both a highly competitive process and an honour. Miura bulls seldom weigh less than 600 kilograms, and those that do only just miss the mark.

I am a season ticket holder at the bullring in Pamplona, and every year I have to purchase my seats whether or not I will attend the feria. If I let a year lapse, I lose my tickets. Procuring tickets to the bullfights in Pamplona is no easy task. By law, ten percent of tickets must be available for purchase for each performance at the ticket office during the feria, and most of the rest are held by season ticket holders like me. Some families have held the same seats for generations, and it is entirely possible that the grandparents and great-grandparents of current holders attended corridas with Hemingway.

For the non-season ticket holder, the only practical way to purchase tickets legally is to get them at the ticket office, which opens at 20h00 the night before the desired performance. Unfortunately, ticket scalping is a major industry during San Fermín, and entire families wait outside of the ticket office all day to purchase four tickets per person (the maximum allowed by Casa de Misericordia policy) to resell at a steep markup. Some local businesses buy entire blocks in the stands to sell on the internet, which was how I attended my first ever corrida in 2023. Where season tickets in the shaded upper decks cost around 220 EUR, I paid that much for a single ticket through a reputable third-party vendor. On the streets of Pamplona, the prices are much more reasonable, somewhere in the 50 to 100 EUR range, and negotiable with the scalper. Unfortunately, it is nearly impossible to tell if a scalped ticket is authentic or not, and more than a few people shell out their hard-earned vacation money just to be denied at the door.

In all major bullfighting cities, there are peñas taurinas, bullfighting clubs that support and advocate for causes in the world of tauromaquia. In Pamplona, there are several, and these peñas comprise the street bands that march into the plaza de toros behind the aguacilillos every evening. The oldest, most professional of these is the Club Taurino de Pamplona-Iruña, located across the Calle de Emilio Arrieta. Before each night's performance, its bar is crowded with aficionados pre-gaming for the night's events. Unlike the other peñas taurinas, which are more interested in the party than the performance, the patrons at the Club Taurino de Pamplona-Iruña are smartly-dressed, serious aficionados who keep the city's bullfighting tradition alive during the off season with conferences, special exhibitions, and award ceremonies.

The 2024 feria del toro began with a disappointing reality in Navarre: rain. Pamplona's albero is made of special, water-resistant sand to prevent damage during performances, but the novillada con picadores was ill-fated. After the first two novilleros performed, the president suspended (i.e., cancelled) the rest of the performance. I was disappointed, as the third novillero was Samuel Navalón, whom I had watched during the Feria de San Isidro in Madrid earlier in the year. He was a naturally talented bullfighter, at least at his skill level, and I had looked forward to watching him live for months. It was not to be so, despite he and the crowd imploring the president to allow him to perform just once.

The corrida de rejones was a special night for Pamplona, unbeknownst to me at the time. The famous Navarrese rejoneador Pablo Hermoso de Mendoza had announced his retirement earlier in the year, and he was on his farewell tour. My friend Jo and I weren't necessarily fans of rejoneos. Sure, they were supreme displays of horsemanship, but one of our draws to bullfighting was the meeting of man and bull on the ground, each at risk from the other. Rejoneadors lacked such risk as they faced bulls with shortened horns from their mounts on highly-trained horses. Nonetheless, Pablo Hermoso was a national and regional icon, a legend in many people's eyes, and his last performance was a big deal in Pamplona. Also performing was his son, Guillermo Hermoso de Mendoza, a young man of just twenty-four years following in his father's footsteps. Pablo Hermoso cut two ears off his first bull, guaranteeing his leaving through the puerta grande on his last performance. Jo and I wondered aloud how much of those trophies was for his performance and how much was just to ensure a triumphant send off. Not that such distinctions mattered. Trophies were trophies; it didn't matter how they were awarded, at least according to the regulations. At the same time, Jo would never see Pablo Hermoso perform ever again, and to watch a bullfighting legend perform in the year of his retirement in his "home" bullring was a memorable experience.

The following night, July 7th, was the night we were most looking forward to. Our favourite matador, Borja Jiménez, was performing on the feast day of Saint Fermín. Jo and I first watched Borja the year before in Pamplona and a second time a week later in Madrid. After these experiences, Jo had convinced me to follow him around Spain like a couple of groupies in August and September, so we were well-acquainted with his style. Borja is one of those athletes that "gets it." He possesses that sixth sense in the ring that enables him to read and adapt to the bulls while performing flawless, daring passes with the muleta. He never gets frustrated with the bull, even when the bull isn't performing as well as he would like. Borja is also a master at controlling his cuadrilla, expertly integrating them into his performance. During the Feria de Abril in Sevilla earlier in the year, I had watched as he expertly stepped into the ring to control a difficult bull on behalf of another matador, getting the performance back on track in a matter of seconds despite being the junior matador of the night.

Borja gave one of the most impressive performances we had seen him give in our year of following his career. He got close to the bull with every pass, and he had clearly trained with this estoque in the off season, because he nailed the estocadas both times. Whereas some matadors performed in the America's season during the winter, Borja had been busy preparing for the 2024 European season. His hard work paid off, and he was awarded two ears and a trip through the puerta grande during his second ever performance in Pamplona.

Unfortunately, he didn't make it to the puerta grande. During his second estocada, the bull caught him. Borja was short for a matador, so he has to lean over the bull's head and horns to strike the bull every time, which puts him closer, and in more danger, than taller matadors like Mauel Escribano. That is what got him. As the estoque sank between the bull's shoulder blades, the bull drove a horn into his right leg, launching him into the air before slamming him down to the ground. Banderilleros from every cuadrilla rushed in to distract the bull from the fallen matador, but Borja quickly got to his feet. He was bleeding badly, something Jo and I could see even from the upper decks. Borja didn't seem to care as he stood and waived off his fellow toreros as they tried to carry him to the infirmary. Maybe the injury wasn't as bad as it looked? I had seen plenty of wounds that turned out to be superficial, but I had also seen wounds that seemed superficial but were actually life threatening. Borja's was the latter. He tried to walk off his injury, but after the bull succumbed to its wounds, he allowed his team to carry him to the infirmary. The prognosis wasn't good. The horn penetrated the Scarpa triangle, bisected his femoral artery, and tore through his quadricep muscles. For any other athlete, it would have been a career-ending injury, but bullfighters were made of tougher stuff than us mere mortals. Still, Jo and I were concerned that we had just watched the unceremonious end to our favourite matador's career. All we could do was wait and see.

The next two days brought performances that showed just how precarious and frustrating bullfighting can be. Isaac Fonseca, one of the few Mexican matadors to make it big on the international stage, returned after nearly two months recovering from an injury sustained during Madrid's Feria de San Isidro. While lining up for the estocada, he had miscalculated and struck bone, dislocating his elbow as estoque slammed to a sudden stop. The injury was more serious than initially assessed, and Fonseca was performing in Pamplona despite his doctors' concerns that he could hurt himself once again. He gave a great performance with the muleta, though it wasn't the best I had ever seen from him. His elbow was clearly still bothering him as he angled his passes to cause the least amount of strain possible. Unfortunately for him, aficionados are unforgiving, especially in Pamplona, and don't consider injuries an acceptable excuse for a poor performance. It was a hard lesson in reality made even harder when, despite sinking the estoque into the bull, he dislocated his elbow once again. Unlike most matadors, he didn't give it a second thought and immediately headed for the infirmary, essentially tanking his chances at a long and successful 2024 European season.

Sebastian Castella and Gines Marin, too, gave frustrating performances. Castella is a Frenchman who is a household bullfighting name. He is skilled with the cape, but can sometimes come across as emotionless despite his artistry. In Pamplona, he, too, struggled with the estocada, taking multiple attempts to strike the fatal blow to the whistles and protests from almost 20,000 spectators, and his anger with himself affected his performance. Jo and I tried to catch him for an autograph afterwards, but Castella stormed straight to his van, wanting to put the night behind him as fast as possible. Gines Marin's performance that same night was, simply, lacklustre. He is not an unskilled torero, but being the junior matador is always a tough sell as they have to keep the crowd engaged to the end lest they leave the stands before demanding the president award an ear. Marin had a lot of ground to cover after a basic, unemotional first performance. Unfortunately, he tried to regain the crowd's graces by being overly performative and taunting the bull, two things the Pamplona crowd doesn't like. He wasn't whistled out of the ring like Castella, but spectators started to leave as soon as he executed the estocada. It had been a wholly immemorable evening.

The next four nights passed in relative obscurity, at least to the aficionados that followed the entire season. Roca Rey, the Peruvian matador, reigned triumphant by passing through the puerta grande and making the front page of the local newspaper, and Rafeillo gave a rare performance with his fuchsia and green capote as one of Spain's older matadors. Every night, Jo and I occupied a place outside the puerta de cuadrillas along the Paseo Heminway to get autographs and photos with the matadors and their teams. I tried to get Daniel Duarte's autograph. He was a banderillero on Miguel Angel Perera's cuadrilla, and Jo and I had seen him perform several times the year before. Duarte is an expert with the capote and a trusted advisor to his matador. He, himself, took the alternative in 2001, thus certifying him as a matador in his own right. Unfortunately, he was reluctant to sign autographs and take pictures. Like a good banderillero, he ensured the spotlight stayed on his matador.

The final night, as was tradition in Pamplona, was la Corrida de Miura – the Miura bullfight. Antonio Ferrera, Manuel Escribano, and Enrique Colombo faced six 600-kilogram toros bravos. It was a Sunday, too, historically the most dangerous day for the morning's encierros even without the Miuras, and that day was no exception. Seven runners were injured that morning while running with the Miuras, one with a penetrating wound. I watched this one happen right in front of me. A man was pinned next to the wall as the Miuras ran by, and one of their horns caught his arm and pulled him to the ground. The penetrating wound wasn't serious; the head injury was. Either way, it was impossible to predict these bulls' behaviour at the bullfight based on the encierro. They lumbered their way through the 875-metre route, finishing it in an astonishing two minutes and thirty seconds. That was fast, even by bull standards.

The bullfighters arrived that night to great fanfare outside of the puerta de cuadrillas. The combination of matadors, Miuras, and Pamplona's final corrida of the year generated a lively atmosphere which only elevated the matadors' already massive personas. Jo managed to get Escribano's autograph right as he entered the plaza de toros, an impressive feat given his popularity and the crowd closing in around him. Escribano has always been well aware of his popularity and charming alure, and it translated to his performances. He was a skilled matador who had achieved greatness, lost it, and achieved it again over his more than twenty-year career. That said, to me, his performances were more about performative grandiosity and self-aggrandisement than showing off the bull's qualities. I couldn't deny his skill, but his style only exaggerated the mismatch between man and bull in the ring, and I was one who was in love with idea that the two were on equal footing, at least until the end.

Even so, Escribano put on a grand performance, even going as far as to place his own banderillas with Enrique Colombo. When matadors do this, their cuadrilla remains in the callejon. He sets up, entices, and charges the bull alone. Unlike the banderilleros, who adhere to a standard process for placing banderillas, matadors are granted substantial leeway. For one pair, Escribano behaved like a banderillero, jumping high into the air in front of the bull's horns as he placed the banderillas in the bull's back. For the other, he stood still, both banderillas in one hand, as the bull charged. He stepped to the side at the last second, redirecting the bull's path, reached the banderillas over his head in a large arc, and placed them as bull ran by. Colombo placed the third pair, a not-uncommon occurrence when matadors decide to conduct the tercio on their own. In exchange, Escribano placed a pair of Colombo’s, and the two's friendship was on clear display to the entire plaza de toros (and anyone watching live on OneToro TV).

The reality of bullfighting is the adversaries, man and bull, are both living, breathing, thinking creatures, and it is impossible to anticipate how they will perform when the moment arrives. That night, Escribano's bulls gave him trouble. His first bull of 650 kilograms probably would have put on a great performance, but, unfortunately, it broke its horn charging the callejon before Escribano got a chance to engage with it. The replacement bull of 530 kilograms caused him significant trouble. Despite his grandiose performance, he struggled to entice his muscular partners to charge. This was partly due to the wind, which played with the muleta, and partly due to the bull's learned behaviour at the ganadería where the bull, not the man, controls the atmosphere. The first bull asserted his dominance as Escribano launched his estocada, throwing the matador into the air with a horn to the chest just as the estoque pierced its skin. Luckily, Escribano wasn't injured, but he could easily have been gravely, if not mortally, wounded. The second performance was marginally better. Again, the Miura paid the matador little mind, the muleta no more a threat than a piece of paper in the wind. While Escribano earned an ear for his trouble, to me, it was a sympathy award. He had faced a difficult set of Miuras with bravery and skill, and to many in the crowd, that deserved something. To Jo and me, part of being a good matador is working with the bull you have, not the bull you want, even if that means forgoing trophies in the name of respect for the performance and culture.

Colombo had the most luck of the night, pulling two headstrong, aggressive bulls. It was just the luck of the draw. Like Escribano, he placed his own banderillas, and his passes with the muleta kept the bulls focused and engaged, at least at first. Being the hefty weight that they were, both bulls charged less and less as the tercio passed the time until the estocada came. Colombo nailed both estocadas on the first attempt, earning him three ears in total and a trip through the puerta grande. In a night of reluctant bulls and frustrated matadors, luck and skill combined just enough to declare the junior matador the most triumphant.

Thus ended the bullfighting season in Pamplona. The bullfighting associations would later declare who the winners of various awards, such as best estocada and best banderillero, but with that final thrust, Pamplonan aficionados entered the long year until the next novillada on July 5th, 2025. For our part, Jo and I were heading to Sevilla for a couple of days before travelling to Spain's southernmost city, La Linea de la Concepcion. Borja Jiménez was scheduled to perform with six bull en solitario during the city's annual patron saint festival. We didn't know if he would make it. His severe injuries threatened his entire season.