Running of the Bulls and the Fifa World Cup Finals

I wasn´t going to go to Pamplona last Sunday. The night before I had gone out dancing until the wee hours of the morning and had only gotten about one or two hours of sleep. To say the least, I was a wreck. I had a friend who was coming down from France with her brother and his friends and who had invited me to go to Pamplona with them. That Sunday morning she had come round to my work and asked if I was still up to going, at which I had at first responded, `no.´ After a morning of cleaning bathrooms and changing beds I lay down in my own bed for a short siesta. As I lay there I came to the realization that it would be completely idiotic to give up such an opportunity. There would always be other times to sleep.

Quickly, I rounded up as much white clothing as I could find, a few cans of red bull and was out the door to find my friend and go to Pamplona. I found them slowly moving around their camper van, looking just as rough as I did. From that moment on I knew it was going to be an interesting day.

We arrived in Pamplona at around 3pm and everywhere I looked there were people wearing white shirts and pants with red bandanas around their necks and sashes around their waists. People driving in cars, people at work, tourists; everybody was wearing the traditional clothing and everybody was in the festive mood. I felt quite out of place with my jeans and white tank top and so was determined to go and buy some white pants and a red sash, knowing full well that in a couple of hours they would be stained red with sangria.

As we walked towards the center of town and the main streets of the fiesta we saw people sleeping everywhere: on the grass in the parks, on benches, in the bus stops and stations, absolutely everywhere. As we got closer we could hear music coming from every direction, and as we entered the center 2, 3, 4 bands came out of nowhere, walking through the streets with banners held high, playing music. Alongside them people were dancing, drinking, and overall loving life.

So as not to look out of place we quickly got ourselves some cheap champagne and beers and joined in the festivities. We followed the bands up and down the streets until we found ourselves in the main plaza where we settled down, with some local cider, to wait for the World Cup Finals to begin.

A huge screen was set up at the front of the plaza and in a short while it was packed with hundreds, perhaps a thousand, people, all in white and red and all having drunk a bit too much. The guys that I was with started to get rowdier and rowdier and sangria, beer, and cider started spray to everywhere; so much for my white clothes.

The game dragged on and on with no score. When Spain finally scored the crowd went bezerk; shouting, singing, and dancing! It was an amazing sight to see. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't sitting back watching the whole thing take place, I was right in there with the rest, singing and dancing with whomever was nearby.

The night didn't end there, it was filled with dancing salsa, merangue, and who knows what else, with my new found friend and dance partner, all over the streets. There were still bands playing in the small side streets at 3-4am which provided the perfect atmosphere. I finally crashed at around 5am and was able to sleep for 2 hours in the park, at which point I went off to watch a friend participate in the Running of the Bulls.

This in itself was intense to watch. 6 large bulls and 6 smaller ones raced through the streets after a large number of people; mainly men as it is culturally inappropriate for women to run. People struggled to get past each other and out of the way of the bulls as they tore through the narrow streets and into the arena.

Once in the arena all but one bull was guided out and into a holding pen. The one that remained was taunted and provoked by the men waving red bandanas, until they got it running around the arena chasing whatever red it could see. Everybody wanted to touch the bull and everybody wanted it to chase them. Men went flying in the air everywhere as the bull picked them up and threw them aside. It sounds dangerous and as though it would hurt, but after being hit the men just picked themselves up again and bowed to the crowd, proud to have been the one hurtled into the air.

What was amazing was the respect that the locals had for the bull. No one could hold onto its horns, head, tail, etc. or else they would recieve a full-on thwack to the head and a earful of profanities from the other runners and the crowd.

In the evening a number of the bulls are put in the arena once again, but this time with a matador whose sole job is to spear the bull and do his best not to get gored himself. It is said that the bulls that get killed by the matador (which I believe they always do) are slaughtered and the meat given to a local charity for the homeless.

I didn't stay to see the bull fight but headed back to San Sebastian to relax and sleep. As I walked through the streets back to my apartment I felt myself fill with an amazing sense of satisfaction and excitment, one that arose from having been able to have experienced not only the Running of the Bulls but the win for Spain in the World Cup Finals. I was glad that I had made the decision not to pass up this opportunity for a few lousy hours of sleep, and now I know that if such an event occurs again I am more than able to run on 4 hours of sleep in 48 hours.

I think I may stay awhile

The Tapas (pintxos) in San Sebastian. Supposably the best in Spain!

So as I have stated in previous postings, I have fallen quite badly for San Sebastian and because of this I have decided to stay here for just a bit longer. Actually, at the moment I will be staying here for the month of July as I have gotten myself and job and a place to live!

It all started when another traveler wanted to stay a bit longer at the hostel as well and so ask if she could work for her living expenses there. At this point I was looking madly for a nice, small hostel to stay at in Bilbao (my next destination), with no avail. One day I jokingly said that I too wanted a job, and they gave me one.

The only problem that they had was that they had no free spaces for me to stay at the hostel, for the month. July is their craziest month due to the San Fermin festival in Pamplona, otherwise known as the Running of the Bulls. Many people come to stay in San Sebastian and than travel each day to Pamplona, which is just an hour away.

So I started scanning newspapers and their equivalent of craigslist for a shared apartment. I send out tons of messages and only heard back from one person who turned out not to be too keen on having somebody just for one month. I started to think that this was not going to work out and that I would have to move on. At that point I decided just to let whatever happens happen. I decided that if nothing came about in regards to somewhere to live than I would move on, and that that would be just as good as staying in San Sebastian.

After making this decision, whilst lying on the beach sun tanning myself, I returned to the hostel to let the owner, Paul, know that this may not be possible. When we started talking he said that if nothing turns up that I could always sleeping in his camper van which was parked about 25minutes away from the hostel. This idea actually excited me; only the idea of having to walk such a far way home after the bar at 4:00am (usually time here) made me not jump at the idea. We decided that if nothing showed up before the 1st of July I would go live in the van until a bed came available at one of the two hostels.

That evening Paul contacted me and told me that he knew somebody who was looking for somebody to rent a room in his apartment with him in the old part of the city, where the hostels are both located. At 11:30 that night I went to have a look. The apartment was beautiful and newly renovated, and above all it was quiet and not filled with a bunch of drunk and rowdy people. I was home.

So now I have been in San Sebastian for the past 2 weeks and working for the last 4. I have become a bit lazy and have not done as much surfing as I once did and do tend to end up on the beach every single afternoon after work, and in a bar every single night, but I’m having fun. I have made some friends, especially Pame, who is the sister of the owner of the hostel and my coworker. She is a very sweet and kind-hearted Argentinean who can become quite feisty whilst watching Argentina play in the World Cup as well as when she feels that a guy is acting inappropriately at a bar. I have had to hold her back a few times from getting up to much in the face of somebody who has stepped over the line, in her opinion. But besides that she is honestly probably one of the sweetest persons I have ever met and would, and has, bend over backwards to help a friend out.

And so life continues here: working, sun tanning, partying, and trying to get a grasp of the Castilian Spanish they speak here. Life in all is good.

My Apartment

And I still haven't left

I have definitely fallen in love with this city.

My days have been spent walking around the city, up the hill to hang out with Jesus, sunbathing on the beach and playing in the waves, surfing, and going out with others from the hostel. I'm actually slightly worried that my travelling has come to a bit of a stand still for a while. I was initially supposed to be spending only 2 days here but since then I have extended my stay twice and am currently staying here until Monday.

Two days ago was the Fiesta de San Juan (which I believe coincides with Summer Soltice - the longest day of the year.) The celebration of this day begins by the burning of a tree in the town hall and then afterwards the peeling and distribution of the bark to everybody huddled around. What they do with the bark I'm not sure. At first I thought that the ate it, but now I'm not quite sure. This is then followed by everybody making bonfires on the beach and throwing in pieces of paper with their wishes and dreams written on them. The ages of the people who get involved in this ranges from young children to older men and women.

What was even better was that night I went surfing from 9pm to 11pm and so I saw the sunset out on the horizon and the bonfires on the beaches, from the water, and it was absolutely gorgeous. I found a new respect for life out there on the water, it's hard to explain.

I have been hanging out with many of the sole travellers at the hostel but mainly two girls, Jemma from Australia, who has also seemingly taken up residence here, and Pam, who runs the hostel and is from Argentina. They are both very much free-spirited women and we get along very well. During the day we go to the beach and in the nights we go out on the town.

Here the night life begins at around 11pm - midnight and goes until 4am (at the earliest). I have had two 4:30- 5am nights and really don't see how the locals here can keep this up (but perhaps the siesta in the middle of the day is a key part of it. The nightly ritual/custom here in Spain is to begin your night with some tapas which you choose from a wide selection displayed on the bar, and then continue to bar hop from anywhere between 3 and 5 bars. Luckily there is no cover here and you don't feel like you have to have many drinks at each bar.

Tonight is another night of celebration, so I have heard, with a large outdoor concert on the beach. What tonight will bring, only time will tell.

My first stop in Spain and I don't think I want to leave

At first sight of San Sebastian, on the Atlantic coast of Spain, I was in love. There are old, gothic buildings lining the river that spills into the ocean and hills spiking up around the outskirts of the city. When we arrived it was a dark and rainy day but out on the water surfers were scattered everywhere. There were people running and biking aroung the city and people strolling, chatting, and enjoying themselves everywhere.

Under each sign in Spanish was written a funny looking word which could be none other than Basque, a language which its origins are supposably unknown (though one person here stated that it was from the Celts who at one time had inhabited this area.) It feels good to be back in a language that I understand, more-or-less, but I must say that these Spaniards do speak Spanish in a weird way; they all sound like they have a speech impediment.

I had arrived by car, with my mum and Pedro, from Agen. On our way we stopped in a city called Biarritz, in France, which was once a very popular and expensive vacation destination for the rich English. The architecture and large buildings showed just that, as well as the cost of a very small amount of goat cheese and tomatoes. But it was beautiful and I became excited was again about the idea of discovering new places and having my own little adventure.

After leaving Biarritz we discovered that our GPS no longer recieved any satellite reception and we had no maps to tell us how to get to and around San Sebastian, and Pamplona, where she and Pedro were headed that night. Using a saved map I found on the GPS we made our way into San Sebastian and to a place where we thought that my hostel may be located. Not wanting to drive around one way streets any more I got out of the car and started walking. I located my hostel in a side street that was filled with bars and postings all of the walls. It had no sign. I started to get worried that this place was going to be a complete shit-hole and actually asked some people nearby if this was a decent part of time. After ensuring me that it was I proceed to ring the bell and be led up the stairs.

The hostel is great. It is small, yet has everything, and cosy, yet has many activities and events that they organize for the visitors. Within 30mins of arriving at the hostel I was back out the door, but this time with two other guests and we were on our way to a surfing class. Within 1 hour of arriving in San Sebastian I was out on the water surfing! What more could I possible ask for.

Tomorrow, the world is my oyster and I have plans to do it all. I will go back for some more surfing, hike up the hill to stand next to the local Jesus statue, and maybe even go shopping for a pair of jeans to replace the old ones I riped a hole in the crotch in whilst biking, just before I left. Tomorrow will be a great day!!

A LOT of time spent with family

After having been by myself in Nice for a number of days I was very much looking forward to having people I know around to do activities with. I quickly found out that I very much like my independence and being able to decide what I am going to do and when. Not to say that I haven't enjoyed visiting with my family, I definitely have, but it was good feeling to know that I also really enjoy being by myself, which is something I will be doing more and more of throughout this trip.

Here I have spent my days travelling around the countryside visiting medieval villages, churches, and casteles, as well as eating, drinking, and debating an exorbitant amount. The food has been delicious beyond belief, the wine has been flowing more than ever, the discussion have been more intense and ongoing, and the medieval villages have been far older than I have ever seen, and becoming more similar to one another each time I see a new one.

The lack of physical activity has been quite difficult for me, as most of you know, I'm quite obsessively active and enjoy my daily bike rides, yoga practices, etc, etc. Riding in cars has not been the most enjoyable part for me and I have had to get myself up and going on runs a couple of times since I've been here.

Two major reasons why we have done so much car rides and less walking and hiking is, one, because the weather has had a turn for the worst and has been rainy and miserable, and two, my Grandpa can no longer go for the long hikes and walks like he used to.

For 84 he is actually doing quite well, but the knees are starting to hurt after a bit of walking around and his gout tends to act up due to all the drinking and eating that we do throughout the day. As well, a year ago or so he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's which I notice that it has taken quite a strong grip on his independence and short-term memory.

That being said we have gone to see cave paintings in Lascoux from the time of cavemen, which was very interesting, though a bit disappointing seeing that we found out that they were actually (very well done) replicas and that the floor of the cave was covered in a plastic flooring. The cave was found in the late 1800s by two boys who fell into it whilst looking for their dog. It was then closed to the public in 1963 due to the decompensation of the wall paintings because of the increased carbon dioxide and moisture in the air from the number of people entering the caves.

Another very interesting site that we visited was Lourdes. This is a city where catholics from all over France and Europe do pilgrimages to. In the mid 1800s a young girl had a number of appirations of Mary in a nearby cave which directed her to a a water source that she said had healing qualities. She then brought this news to the fellow towns people who came and drank from the spring. It was said that the miracles occured from the sick and injured people drinking and bathing in these waters. To this day people still come from miles and miles away to do the same and still believe that the waters have healing powers. It is amazing the strength of belief and the powers of religion. I'm not saying that these miracles have not happened, because there are old letters all over the place that thank St. Bernadette for curing their ailments showing the evidence that soemthing did happen, it is just amazing to see the number of people who flock here every day.

All-in-all I have had an amazing time here, but I think that it is time to move on. I fear that if I keep up all this eating, drinking, and car riding I am going to need to buy the cojoining seat for my plane ride back in December.

From beaches to country-side

About a week or so ago I left Nice, and its beautiful beaches, to travel to Agen, and its beautiful countrysides, via a short stay in Carcassone. I took the train from Nice to Montpellier where I missed my next train, due to the delay of my first train, but managed to rearrange my ticket and got on the next train to Carcassone where my Mum and Pedro were waiting for me.

When I arrived we drove through Carcassone, which we would visit more in-depth the next day and continued on to Malvies, a small village in the country where we were going to reside for the, following two nights. Upon arrival in the village we had a very difficult time trying to find the hotel, as it turns out that it was actually somebody's second house that they were renting out. Thankfully, a nosey old woman stuck her head out the door and asked what we were doing, and with my broken French we found our way to the 'hotel.'

It was a very old house with a patio outside, swimming pool, and enough space for us to spread our things all around. The owner's were a bit peculiar though. The woman, who was originally from Canada and had moved to England when she was young, was a very friendly yet aggressive woman who pointed out very quickly that if we broke anything or did anything wrong than we would be paying for it. She even went as far as to mention that she had my VISA number on file! All-in-all it was a pleasant stay though.

The first (and only) full day that we were there we went in to Carcassone to see one of the most well-kept and well-preserved castles in the region. There are bits and pieces of ancient walls all around the south of France which they proudly call castles, and any village with a bit of old wall around it is called a Bastide. The castle, and surrounding walled village where people still live, in Carcassone was very impressive indeed and we spent the majority of the day walking around. Unfortunately my camera was either stolen or lost in Nice, and so I was unable to take any photos of the structure, but luckily my mum had her camera so we weren't completely at loss.

It is fascinating to see so much history spewed about everywhere. You can't help but envy the richness and antiquity of all the small, and large, buildings, of the bridges, and of the cobble-stone pavements. Of course you have the McDonalds and H&Ms mixed in with it all, but even they have been designed in a very respectful way. Well perhaps not the McDonalds, but the street stores have been.

The day after we were back in the car and on the Dunes, a small village near Agen where my Grandpa and his wife have a beautiful house (with pool!)

History - what Vancouver seems to lack

Today I took the train and visited a nearby city called Antibes. It is an old walled city, south of Nice, on the seaside where Picasso spent a bit of time working in an old castle there, which has now been turned into a museum of his works.

I have found that the way I like to discover a new place is just to walk, with no set plans or directions, and so that is what I did. I found the 'old city' which is located inside the walls and peaked into all the narrow streets and open windows. As always the buildings and streets reeked of history and times past. The window shutters had been chipped away and repainted so many times that they have an ancient textured look to them.

Unfortunately there not too many of Picasso famous paintings, but I found that this one in particular spoke to me. To me it looks like a person huddled up in a ball and resembles fear and a feeling of inadequacy. Even though there weren't many of his finest pieces it was amazing to thing of being in that building and working away in front of his canvases.

Do you recognize this guy? Unfortunately, it seems his brother in the West End of Vancouver is not a one-of-its-kind. But the one in France is bigger. The both actually originated from a Spanish artist from Barcelona.