Dispatches - 13 July 2025 - A Week of San Fermín

What a year this week has been! As always, the fiesta has yet to disappoint!

I joined my friends Andy and Katie for the fiesta. Andy had been before, but this was Katie's first year here. The Chupinazo, the opening ceremonies, were as crazy as ever, with flying sangria, beer, champagne, and even inflated condoms. We got there around 10h00, though the Chupinazo, the rocket announcing the start of the fiesta, wasn't until noon. Even so, it was crazy. We started towards the back of the Plaza Consistorial with a group of locals that lived for the fiesta. Jo and I discovered this group two years ago, and I have sought them out ever since. They lead songs, chants, claps, you name it, much to the delight of on-lookers. Katie, Andy, and I took three bottles of Sangria, each, but it was gone before we knew it. Naturally, we met some other travellers, and we took turns going for resupply until we couldn't push through the crowd anymore. One guy, Harvey, tried to make it back with a bag of twelve bottles of Sangria, but when he finally made it back to us, only two had survived the throngs of people celebrating in the square.

The encierros started on the 7th, and I ran every single one. I am rapidly becoming one of the "old guys" on the route with my twenty runs under my belt. It will be twenty-two by the end of the fiesta. I had mostly good runs, which is a rarity with the number of guiris that try to run on too little rest and too much alcohol. I decided a few days in that I would seriously work to improve my runs rather than just giving them a try. First, I tinkered with when I start running relative to the bulls' position and pace as they gain speed up the Calle de Santo Domingo. Then, I began adjusting my positioning on the route to get more in front of the bulls and around the mozos. It has been successful thus far, and I've only had one issue with someone grabbing ahold of me out of sheer panic. Unfortunately, he didn't grab my shirt; he grabbed my left arm hard and left a handprint-shaped bruise on my bicep. I was mad to put it mildly, and you can see on the video him grabbing me and me yelling at him.  Andy said it best: you have to keep your fear under control so that it doesn't affect others.

I've done a great job at pacing myself this year. San Fermín is a marathon, not a sprint, so I only attended one or two daytime activities each day. I watched a Latin orchestra perform interpretations of pop songs in the Plaza de la Cruz, the youth rural sports in the Plaza de Los Fueros, tentaderos and rejoneo exhibitions at the Plaza de Toros, and, my personal favourite, tagged along with the Gigantes y Cabezudos as hey paraded through the city with hoards of children in tow. While San Fermín has a reputation for being a massive party (and, indeed, I describe it that way to most everyone I meet), its program is chocked full of activities for all ages and interests from midnight to midnight every day. Once the opening few days pass, there are even mock encierros for the children who aren't quite old enough to run with the real bulls. That makes it the perfect fiesta, as one can enjoy the different stages of their life year after year.

Of course, the bullfights were the culminating event each day. The performances have been as varied as the toreros themselves, with some reigning triumphant while others walked away with bad luck. Sebastian Castella, the French matador, put on good performances with the captote and muleta, but he couldn't land the estocada, costing him his trophies and earning the whistles of protest from the crowd. Roman, too, the Valenciano, encountered the same problem, followed by Roca Rey, the number one (ranked) matador in the world. Tomas Rufo, one of Jo's favourites, opened the Puerta grande alongside Morante de la Puebla after four good faenas, Morante's first time to do so in Pamplona. That's how Pamplona goes, though. It is an arena like no other, more akin to a football match than a bullfight, requiring a completely different set of skills to be successful. To Castella's credit, though, he had the most synchronized, tightened-up team performance that I think I have seen in my two years as an aficionado. While he cost himself the Puerta Grande, his cuadrilla's performance was something to be proud of.

My favourite matador, Borja Jiménez, performed on the 10th. I was glad Andy could see him again and Katie could see him for the first time. Last year, Borja opened the Puerta Grande, but was unable to pass through it because of a serious goring he received in his final estocada (which is described in my upcoming book, "Aficionado: Discovering Spain Through the Art of Bullfighting"). There were high hopes for this year, and the local newspaper ran a full-page article about him in anticipation of his arrival. His lot of bulls were good, but not great as you would hope for in Pamplona, and while his work with the capes were enjoyable, they weren't quite the emotional faenas I knew he could provide. He and his manager talked a lot during the night, and I couldn't help but wonder if his manager had told him not to go all out this year so he could keep his upcoming commitments. While don't like that attitude, it makes sense. If a matador gets hurt, he can't perform; if he can't perform, he can't get paid, nor can he pay the team that relies on him for their livelihood.

Unfortunately, Borja struggled with the estocadas, leaving media estocadas in the bulls. They were enough to fatally wound the bulls, but not enough to put them down quickly. While I would like to blame the San Fermín atmosphere for his estocadas as I could do with others', the estocada has always been Borja's weakest skill. He worked on them a lot between the 2023 and 2024 seasons, but in 2025, he still struggled. Nonetheless, he remains my favourite torero for reasons beyond the kill. He is an artist with the cape, a master of directing his cuadrilla, and he never blames the bulls for his poor performance (something others will do despite their clear missteps and miscalculations). Hopefully, I will see him in Colmenar Viejo once I am finished with the Camino de Santiago and Albacete just before I jet off to Turkey for the second pilgrimage of the expedition.

Life got quiet after Katie and Andy left on the 11th. We had a great week together, but it was time for them to go home. That's the nature of long-term travel life; you make great friends only to leave them behind. It occurred to me as they walked away from the fiesta that it was going to be a long, quiet, and, likely, lonely expedition of putting one foot in front of the other.

Check out these videos from the week:

The Chupinazo (just so you can understand the intensity of the scene!)

First Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a red, long-sleeved sweatshirt)

Second Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a red, long-sleeved sweatshirt)

Third Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a red, long-sleeved sweatshirt)

Fourth Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a red, long-sleeved sweatshirt)

Fifth Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a blue, short-sleeved shirt)

Sixth Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a red, long-sleeved sweatshirt)

Seventh Encierro (I'm at the beginning of the route in a blue, short-sleeved shirt)

Summary of Borja Jiménez’s Performance (age-restricted 18+)