Screenshot from the TV broadcast. You can see Griff and I under the red arrow.
In many ways I didn't need to. There was a beautiful cacophonous symphony all around la Calle de Santo Domingo in Pamplona that Saturday morning. Whispered prayers in a multitude of languages were joined by strangers wishing each other "suerte." People in balconies above were shouting words of encouragement to the half-crazy mozos below. TV crews snaked their way through the crowd, asking the inevitable question of why we were about to do what we were about to do, something we were all asking ourselves at that very moment. All these sounds were soon joined by a group of Brits who asked Griffdawg and I which way the bulls were going to come from, a surreal encounter not even two minutes before the bulls started their frantic run.
After running for a few seconds (which felt like a few hours), the streets of Pamplona were filled with very different sounds-the sounds of celebration. The city is infected by a remarkable energy during the festival, an energy which was very very loud. The rest of the day was full of bands passing through the streets, impromptu parades (my favorite was the one where everyone sang the "Spongbob Squarepants" theme song), laughter, and many bottles a-crashing. It was a feast for the ears and the soul. And being a Spanish fiesta, it was a blast.
Look out for us at the 1:58 mark below:
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