At the 7th hour of the 7th day of the 7th month in the northern Spanish town of Pamplona, the first red rocket explodes into the Festival of San Fermin. BANG! This chupinazo signals the first encierro, better known as the Running of the Bulls. For the next 7 days my heart and feet go there but in a time long ago before internet, smartphones, and world media.
Befriended by Australian fellow travellers I arrived to a sea of red kerchiefs, red wine, and red blood in the afternoon. And The Sun also Rises the next morning to do it all over again. The rocket startles, the heart pounds, the feet dance in a straight-line dervish. You feel the fear in the crowd and the black heat of the Muiera bulls because you are running in the middle of it, crazed with joy. There is no event like it in all my travels, no place like it I want to return.
Somewhere in my boxes are crude photos taken with a Kodak 110 pocket camera. But on all July 7's my original red kerchief comes out --- to run with me for the bulls, for the crowd, for the pure passion of life. BANG!
No comments:
Post a Comment