From Bordeaux, it is time to head south in our rented Opel.
We take the autoroute for this, and
it’s a comfortable ride down the coast, although I still need to get used to
the fact that we’re paying a toll for these roads.
We pass Biarritz, and although I’ve been there before, even its
blue-blooded history and gorgeous beaches didn’t impress me enough to warrant
another visit. Maybe on another trip, this time around we have a different
destination in mind. After Biarritz, we get off the autoroute, and it’s hills, dips and curves from there, all the way to the Spanish border and the Pyrenees.
Luckily, the kids are asleep. Like me, they tend to get
carsick, as our history suggests. There’s a curve, another curve, uphill,
sideward, all throughout the mountains. Liebi and I agree the countryside is simply
gorgeous, not unlike the Blue Ridge Mountains, only with much bigger mountains
and the occasional tavern popping up by the side of the road, in the usual old
classic European wooden style. We pass through Burguete, which was so wonderfully
described in Hemingway’s The Sun Also
Rises. This was (and still might be) fishing heaven. We don’t stop. As long
as we are driving along the curvy roads, it’s best to let the kids sleep.
Eventually, the road evens out somewhat, but the countryside
remains simply magical. Mountains, waterfalls, thick woods, here and there a
farm. We eventually arrive at our destination in Villanueva de Arce, a vacation
rental literally in the middle of nowhere. The village has all of 22 people, as
the landlord confirms. We have a wonderful view from the balcony, although we
realize that there is not one store, restaurant or any business in the village. Looks like we’re not done driving for
the day.
Our destination: a supermarket, but first Pamplona, where the San
Fermin Festival just started on this day, July 6th. We decide that
it is best to scope out Pamplona before we return on Sunday, when the real
action starts. We find a parking spot near the Avenida de la Baja Navarra.
The city of Pamplona, needless to say, is fully aware what day, what week this
is, and adjust the parking accordingly. 12 Euros for the parking, good for 24
hours. We lock the car and follow people toward the center of town. How do we
know how to get there? Easy, simply follow all of those people wearing white with
the red scarves and sashes wrapped around their waists.
First things first. We buy the kids their outfits so they,
too, can blend in. The city center is absolutely packed, people are already
getting hammered by the thousands, even this early in the afternoon. Liebi and
I are probably the only people who are not touching any drink, not today.
We find the Plaza de Toros, the Bulls’ Square with the famous monument, in this case at
least a dozen bronze bulls that are about to trample at least a dozen bronze men.
Nearby, there are vendors trying to sell tickets for the evening bullfights, which I’m
really not interested in. The bulls, yes. Watching them bleed to deaath is not high on my
list.
I locate the arena, then follow the running route, tracing it back from the
arena as far as I can. It’s virtually impossible, it’s too hard to move
anywhere in the crowd, and the last thing I need now is to lose my family. That
said, I already feel the adrenalin. The old city with its high balconies lining the cobblestoned route makes its presence felt.
We take a different route back to the car, this one through
the park and along the ramparts. What we don’t know is that this same park will
turn into the biggest makeshift hotel in the world only hours later, long after we will have left. The
average hotel room during the San Fermin Festival goes for 300-400 dollars, our
country house only 30 miles away in tiny Villanueva de Arce only 60 bucks. A
good bargain, I feel, minus the noise.
The noise will arrive the next day, early in the morning
when we return to Pamplona. We turn in after a bottle of fine Spanish red, and
all we need now is some much needed sleep.
