BlackNotBlack.com

Pamplona Calling

When I began reading about the world outside my little house in a little ghetto in Cincinnati, I learned of places like New York, London, Paris, and Rio, and they all seemed quite interesting, so I began traveling and I eventually saw them all. But thanks to Ernest Hemingway, another place I heard about at an early age was Pamplona, Spain. And I just went there last week.

Of course, this is not a big deal. I live in Spain. It takes an hour to drive to Pamplona from where I am. But, it was still a thrill. I had not seen photos of anything other than the bull run, so I had no clear idea what the place would look like. I knew the town was Basque, so I figured it would look like my town. Yes and no. It was similar, but the architecture was better preserved in the city center. That isn’t because Pamplonistas are more civic-minded than Donostiarras. It’s because the center of Donostia burned down two-hundred years ago and had to be rebuilt. They did it in a hurry, and sacrificed charm.

I walked the route of the bull run, which happens during the Festival of San Fermín. The bulls run through the oldest part of town and into the impressive old plaza de toros. I knew Spike Lee had made a Nike commercial of himself running with the bulls, and I learned from a Basque friend that Dennis Rodman had done it too. I watched both videos, and I think, at this moment—which is months before the festival begins—that if Spike and the Worm can run the bulls, I can do it too.

So that’s the goal for spring. I’ve done lots of things more dangerous than run with some bulls. If you’ve read this blog you know that. And though I’m not in top shape, nor in the prime of youth anymore, if I don’t have enough physical ability to manage this, I pretty much deserve to die. In the Rodman video, he laments not starting farther back in the pack. The bulls never got near him. So I know that to make the event worthwhile I’ll need to start back in the pack.

If I survive this, it’ll be like a constant gift to my fiancée. Anytime she gets mad at me, I can say, “At least I’m alive. That certainly doesn’t have to be the case.”

Honestly, the hardest part will be the fact that I’m making a spectacle of myself. Around friends, I will do anything. I mean anything. But around strangers, I am pathologically low key. The idea of being (almost certainly) the only black American making the run worries me more than the bulls. But fuck it—you only live once. If I do this, not only will I have another deathbed memory (possibly the same day)—it might actually help me with my fear of being observed.

Yeah, just keep talking yourself into it, dumbass.

posted by Egan Ehlers @ 11:37 AM