Getting to Pamplona was an extremely interesting experience, and one I wouldn't just have once. Because my plane was delayed, I missed my train out of Madrid, and had to find a new way to Pamplona.
Of course, because everything seems to happen last minute for me, this proved difficult. Trains were sold out. Buses? Sold out. I found out about something called BlaBlaCar, which was this app that connects you to people who are driving long distances across Europe and gives you a rate to share the cost of the trip. The more people that join, the cheaper it gets.
So my BlaBlaCar was leaving out of Madrid at 7:30am for a 5 hour drive to Pamplona. I sat in the plaza waiting until I finally met up with my driver and passenger. They didn't speak any English except maybe a few broken sentences, so it was essentially going to be a quiet ride for me.
The Spanish are not interested in small talk the way Americans are. I wanted to chat, talk about the festival, etc. But when I said I was American and going to San Fermín...all I got was faces going "why?"
San Fermín Festival has been on my radar since maybe like 2015. I always wanted to do the running of the bulls, despite not really knowing anything about Spanish culture. It just felt like this once in a lifetime, only in one place on the planet experience. And I needed to have that. 2015 was obviously a lifetime ago. And I've bought tickets to Spain twice in my life and never gone. This time, I was doing it.
The ride went as expected. No talking from me but the Spaniards chatted it up the whole way. It was a long, long drive and it was just so hot. Everywhere felt like the Spaniards were allergic to air conditioning. My Madrid hotel? Hot. And the AC leaked so I couldn't even use it. The car? Hot! And the AC didn't seem to reach the back seat. And the window was taped up, which honestly to me was quite charming. It felt so random to find myself in a car full of Spanish people in a busted car on a 5 hour drive sitting in silence. The whole ride was 23€.
After the ride, I was asked to leave a review. I left a glowing review, 5/5 stars. We made it there, it was a calm drive, we saw absolutely nothing, and nothing bad happened. I was grateful for the hospitality.
My driver gave me a 4/5 rating. And then I looked at the profiles of the other passengers and he gave them all 4/5 ALSO, except for one guy who got a 5/5 with an entire essay as his review. What the fuck! I don't know why, but that pissed me off. In America anything less than 5/5 is BAD. Like, what could I have done to get 5/5? So stupid.
Once we got to Pamplona, I was dropped essentially on the side of the road. And it was a day before the festival, so the entire city was in haywire construction. Nothing was open and signs on every business said "Cerrado" for the festival. This was probably my first sign I was in over my head. I decided that since it was early and I couldn't check into my hotel yet that I would find some beer and a place to sit. I wasted no time at all before finding a cute little place with 3.20€ beers, and I loaded up.
This is kind of where I started feeling like, "what am I doing?" Back home I drink every day. I wouldn't say I'm an alcoholic because, well, I don't NEED alcohol. It's just one of my only hobbies. I don't have a lot of hobbies besides dev work and that just feels like work all the time. Drinking is a hobby. I guess. So after maybe 20€ in beer I decided I was too hot to keep sitting around, because every time I got up to get a new beer someone would take my spot.
It was 5.1km to the hotel, which I didn't realize was so difficult. 5km is really only like 3.2 miles or something, which is, in theory a 1 hour walk if the average human walks at a pace of 20 minutes per mile. I did not walk that pace. Because I kept reading the map and finding myself hitting corners...the roads were way below the mountain I was on. So stupid.
But before I truly left the city center I found some stands with gear, and I purchased my festival garb, the standard red and white outfit. I was pretty excited, despite hoping on a prayer that the clothes would even fit me. There were no changing stations. I would later find out they were super tight on me, which I hated.
The walk was HOT. Spain is allergic to trees. So is Miami, but it just felt egregious. And every step forward I would see fewer and fewer people until eventually I was randomly nowhere. I would see a few cars here and there but not consistently enough to feel like I was going the right way. Why was my fucking hotel so far?! I ended up flagging down a car, hoping they spoke English, to ask. Luckily on the first flag down, it was a guy who was on his way to France. He asked if I wanted to get lunch. Sure, why not? This is the spirit I needed for the festival.
He drove me just barely to France and we stopped at some place with "French tacos" which felt neither French nor like a taco. It was more like...a bunch of goop in a burrito. And it was tasty. He didn't really talk to me either, which was interesting. And he just dropped me back off at the hotel. So long and thanks, I guess!
From there I just laid in bed and knocked out some of the last of my work tasks. I wanted to be able to party without having to use my brain. And...spoiler alert...I did.