Pamplona
The train took us across the Pyrenees, and we disembarked at the first town. We took this opportunity to visit it and found that neither French nor English got us very far. We were only a few kilometres from the border and already language was becoming a challenge. Wow, what would it be like when we went further into Spain - or Portugal, for that matter! However, we met a couple of girls who couldn't converse with us but showed interest in our company and didn't seem shy about it. Nothing happened, but that encounter remained in my consciousness.
Taking another train going westward toward Pamplona, there was another 'interesting' happening. Terry and I were in one of the train cabins. There were six seats, and two of them were occupied by very attractive Swedish girls. We were having a pleasant conversation with them when 2 Americans came in. Almost immediately, they struck up a conversation with the girls, leaving Terry and me entirely out of the picture. They were very forward with the girls, and one even started patting one of them on the leg near her privates. I noticed the girls weren't shying away; they seemed to welcome their advances. Terry and I looked at each other and decided to take a walk away from the cabin. We looked at each other and smiled, saying we were too 'square' for the girls.
At that point, I began thinking about what I was discovering. Europeans, in general, and women, in particular, reacted differently to their male/female relationships than what I was accustomed to. I had seen young and middle-aged French women being very comfortable with a variety of goings-on, Swedish girls seemingly very interested in developing an intimate relationship with men they had never met, and Spanish girls openly interested in a couple of guys who had just arrived on a train. What would I discover further south in Spain, Italy, Scandinavia, or elsewhere?
Eventually, we finally arrived around midnight at our destination, Pamplona! We found the town buzzing with excitement. The festival of San Fermín is a week-long traditional celebration held annually in the city. Of course, the main attraction is the running of the bulls each morning - at 7:00 am when I was there, but now at 8:00 am. Of course, during the festival, it is impossible to find a room in any hotel, B&B or other accommodation. I decided to find a patch of lawn in the park where I could lie down and fall asleep for a couple of hours. Terry had the same idea. However, within a few minutes, a police officer came around and tapped each of us with his baton and told us that we could not sleep there. I couldn't believe it! Why not? There seemed to be no logical reason for not being able to sleep for a couple of hours on the lawn in the park.
But, of course, there was, in fact, a very good reason. The restaurants and bistros are open all night during the festival. They don't want us sleeping in the park; they want us imbibing in their establishments. Therefore, they have the police ensure that no one is sleeping in the park. So, having been bumped in the head, both Terry and I went into one of the pubs near the park and, as luck would have it, we found a small group of Aussies at a rather large table with a couple of empty seats. We asked to join them, and we were quickly welcomed.
I was sitting next to a huge man on my right. He seemed very friendly. He had positioned his beer class on his left side, while mine was directly in front of me. In the middle of a conversation about something, feeling a little tipsy by then, I inadvertently reached out for his glass instead of mine. Immediately, I felt a very large hand on my shoulder with a very serious face looking straight at me. He then uttered, "Gerry, you can take my money, you can take my woman, but never, never, never take my beer!" That may sound humorous to the reader, but this individual was genuinely serious. He obviously liked his beer a lot more than his money or his woman.
After spending the entire night celebrating, Terry fell asleep in the café around 5:30 AM. I met a Swedish guy, and he wanted to go to his car to get his camera. I tried to wake Terry up, but couldn't. I left him and took all his belongings, so they would not get stolen while he slept. When I returned, Terry was standing on the sidewalk, looking very frustrated and confused. To say the least, he was relieved to see me with his belongings!
At 7 AM, I headed toward the street where the bulls would be running. Like many other foolish males, I jumped over the barricade separating spectators from where the bulls would be running and waited for the gates of the corral to be opened. I had noticed a doorway with an indented entrance. I immediately calculated I could easily fling myself into that 1/2-meter quasi-vestibule. So when the bulls were roaring towards me, that's exactly where I headed!. The Bulls ran by, and I followed them, as well as a multitude of other people into the arena and sat down to watch a number of young guys wrestling with the bulls. Some were hurt, but it did not seem too serious. It was a fun morning, but I wouldn't advise anyone to run with the bulls. There have been deaths on occasion and some serious injuries. Nevertheless, I ran the bulls in Pamplona!
Around noon, I took a train to San Sebastian. It's a resort town in the country's northwest. There, we met two fellows from Toronto whom I had come across in Paris. The four of us got along very well for the rest of the afternoon and evening. San Sebastian proved to be a very interesting small town, situated on a beautiful natural bay, once defended by a fortress at the top of a hill. We explored San Sebastian and watched a gorgeous sunset with a couple of guys strumming a guitar, singing a traditional song about the area. It was an idyllic setting!
