I got head-butted by a bull in Spain

Running with the bulls is definitely one of my favourite cultural festivals, especially the part when I was launched in the air by a big, angry cow with horns…

the tour

Running with the bulls (Corrida de toros) takes place in Pamplona, Spain each July. It’s part of the San Fermin festival & is one of the most dangerous tourist attractions in Europe. Each year 50 – 100 people are injured & since 1910, fifteen people have been killed (mostly from being gored in critical organs or getting charged by a bull whilst trying to hide in a doorway).

We were living in London & booked a “First Festival” tour bus to get to Pamplona. It was a crazy party tour which started on a bus from London, transferred to a boat across to France, then bus into Spain. As soon as we boarded the 6am bus in London, the party started.

The tour was mostly filled with Aussies, Brits & a mix of other backpackers/expats. Our tour guides were even crazier than the rest of us. Richie, a mad Irishman & Blacky, a bogan Aussie bloke with a mullet to be proud of. One of the loosest units I know, who would later become a good mate of mine. He had been living in London for a while and done quite a few bull runs over the past years (Side note – A week later on the bus ride home from Spain, we were stopped on the border for passport checks. Blacky was deported back to Australia for overstaying his visa by a couple of years).

The back seat of the bus was packed to the roof with eskies full of beer, ice + a heap of bottles of hard liquor. Beer was flowing for breakfast & Blacky was passing around a beer bong, while Richie was making everyone swig shots of Jameson from the bottle.

Drinks were getting spilt all over the joint and beer froth spirted out of the beer bong, covering the carpeted roof. At one stage 2 x eskies had tipped over & the icy water ran down to the front of the bus. The driver announced over the PA system that his feet were in a puddle, but to his credit took the whole ordeal in his stride.

THE festival

We camped at the festival about 20mins from the main town. All the tents were supplied by the tour company & setup by their crew. The facilities had a pool, a bar & dj playing throughout the day & night. It was one big party.

Also staying at the campground were the “Fanatics” tour + “Van tour”. The van tour is a community of random travellers who meet in vans at Pamplona & travel from July to September around Europe. They finish the tour in Munich Germany at the end of September for Oktoberfest. The final event for them is at the infamous “100 club” – where all participants sit in a circle to drink 100 shots of beer + consume other ridiculous bodily fluids (vomit, piss etc).

The first day of the San Fermin festival (chupinazo), we all dress in white with red scarfs & a bota (a sheepskin wine holder/bottle) hanging round our neck. Once we are in town, it doesn’t take long before our white outfits are red. Random trucks are driving around town & filling up peoples botas + buckets with sangria. Nothing quite like a wine fight. Skulling the delicious Spanish fruity Lexia & pouring it all over your best friends & newfound travel mates.

The party goes into the night, followed by an all-nighter back at the campsite. Then as the sun comes up, and you are still written off from the night before, you realise you are about to head out on the most craziest run of your life..

THE Bull run

Crack of dawn we are standing shoulder to shoulder in a packed street of Pamplona & nearly every grown man is absolutely shitting himself. Several women are getting picked out of the crowd by police, as females are not meant to run. We meet some legendary, brave women who have disguised themselves in order to take part. They have used hats/scarves + panuelos (red handkerchiefs that everyone wore around their necks during San Fermin).

Some of the local men are reciting stories of years gone by where people have been severely injured or killed. They tell of the goring’s & trampling’s & brag about how many years they have competed & crazy things they have witnessed. All of this chat of horrid memories is the last thing we needed to hear at the time.

This fear that they put into us, paired with the freezing cold morning, was a quick cure for the hangover. Or, maybe we were still drunk??

One Aussie traveller in the crowd tells us a separate story. Just the day before, a guy on his tour had been severely injured. During San Fermin, there is a large statue & people had been climbing it, to jump off from the top. The only thing breaking their fall from the concrete below, was a bunch of people standing arm in arm at the bottom to catch them. One Aussie guy did a backflip from the top & missed all the people, landing on his head. He was rushed immediately to hospital with head injuries. We were standing in shock, listening to this story & asked the obvious question “did he survive, is he alright??”. “Yeh” responds the bloke. “He’s just over there. He is doing the bull run”. What a fucking loose unit!!

Everyone is starting to push around & waiting for the first firework to go off, which signals that the first bull has been released. Once the second firework goes off, they have released all 6-10 of the bulls. These bulls are no joke. They weigh in at 500-600 kgs (1,320lbs) & are taunted by men (banderilleros) poking sharp prods (banderillas) at them to get them fired up.

Blacky advises that he wants to start the race from “Deadmans Corner”. It is the most dangerous part of the course on a tight bend. As the bulls run down the straight & turn the first bend, there you are, stuck against a wall. The bulls can go crazy & start headbutting punters as they try to get back on course. Blacky explained that this is a spectacle not to be missed.

We get in our positions and hug to each other against the wall. I’m getting the pre-run briefing from Blacky – “Alright Coops, you have to run fast enough to keep up with the bulls & get into the stadium, but don’t be too quick that you enter the stadium before them. If you are too late to the stadium they block the gates. If you are too early, it means that you are a pussy & get booed by the crowd. You haven’t even witnessed the bull run because you have run off too early.”

The first firework goes off & people start to panic, pushing each other down the street. Most of these people miss half of the race & end up getting laughed at by the crowd. Luckily we have a tour guide with experience, and continue to hug tight as a group against the wall.

The second firework goes off and the intensity steps up a level. Then we see the first bull charging round the corner. Holy Shit!!!!!! It is out of control. The next bulls come soon after & the next few minutes are a bit of a blur. It is absolute mayhem. Bulls running left & right, grown men screaming with terror, some trying to scale over the fences or crying to the police to save them.

I did what my instinct told me to do and ran for my life. We were scraping along the bulls as we did our best to keep up with them, weaving through tight cobblestone streets. Runners were falling down all over the place, and getting trodden on by the 500 kgs bulls, as well the thousands of fellow runners (Most injuries from the bull run are a result of people being trampled on by other runners).

Some of the experienced local men (aficionados) aim to run in front of the bulls horns for a section of the race to prove their bravery or as a sign of a teenager becoming a man. Many of them carrying the morning newspaper as their only piece of self-defence from this massive beast.

The tourists with half a brain, hung out of their hotel balconies. They cheered us on while they drank their red wine & grazed on their cheese platters.

The run goes for 800 metres (0.5 miles) and besides the initial mayhem, the last 500 metres was reasonably tame. A few of the big brown & white bulls are trained steers (cabestros), who help guide the other bulls through the streets. They are less aggressive, but would still flatten you in a heartbeat, if you got in their way.

The very end of the run & entrance to the stadium is normally the second most dangerous part of the track, similar to Deadman’s Corner. It creates a bottleneck where people get trampled & gored.

I make it through just before the doors are starting to get shut. The last of the people are climbing up over fences & gates, fighting each other to get in.

Running through the big old wooden doors to the Bullfight Arena (Plaza de Toros), it feels like you are a gladiator entering the coliseum. You run down a long tunnel (sandy/dirt track beneath your feet) which opens up to a packed stadium of fans cheering you on. Besides the crowds in the stands, the rest of the arena grounds is packed with fellow gladiators (those who have completed the race & made it in before the gates shut). Literally thousands of people scatter across the grounds and you can barely move.

Everyone is in great spirits, hugging mates & strangers. Congratulating each other on surviving & making it into the arena. I slowly start to meet up with other mates & everyone from our group had made it in to the stadium. We catchup with some of our group who are sitting in the stands. They hadn’t run but they were capturing some classic photos of the madness.

Things quieten down & the heartrate starts returning back to normal. All of the large bulls have run through the arena & released through a door on the other side to a separate area. I think that the danger is all over and little did I realise – it had only just begun.

I hear frantic screams on the other side of the stadium & see people in red & white running for their lives again. Some maniac Spaniards have let out a couple of smaller bulls to run around. Unbelievable. They are probably half the size of the main bulls but still have horns & could definitely do some serious damage.

For the next half hour or so, 5 or 6 of these smaller bulls are terrorising the arena & anyone that gets in there way. The craziest part is the way in which they enter the arena. I found out the hard way. I was standing in a bunch of people & some guys said “Quick, crouch down, Quick!!.

We were in the entrance to one of the tunnels & all these maniacs were ready to have a bull jump directly over them. The gates open & it’s too late for me to do anything but crouch & join in. I see this bull flying down the tunnel coming straight at us. I shit myself & jump up at the last second to get out of the way. Just in time or I reckon it would have landed square on my neck (The photo gets snapped by a journo & ends up in the local paper the next day).

We all come out of the stadium in one piece on the first day. But, we decide to go back the next day for round 2. The bull run is held for 7 days straight & on day 2 a couple of blokes from our tour decide to complete the whole run for a second time.

The rest of us, grateful for surviving once, decide to head into the stadium as onlookers to watch the spectacle from a new angle. We have a bottle of vodka with us & beers are flowing for brekky. As the smaller bulls are released again into the stadium, me & a mate jump the fence from our seats to join in the mayhem (people hitting each other with newspapers & bulls running into the odd unlucky punter).

I have a red jumper on this day for some stupid reason & a bull takes a liking to it. Horns are charging at me from nowhere & without warning I’m getting launched through the air after taking a massive front on hit by a decent size bull.

As people are helping me up, I am wounded & staggering off to get back to the stand when a second bull hits me from the side. This time its horn presses into my guts. Luckily these horns are less sharp than the bigger bulls. One whole side of me is bruised from the first hit & walking is a struggle. But all in all I have escaped with no real damage.
I make it back to our seats, check out the photos that our group has snapped & swig on some left over vodka.

I highly recommend adding this festival to the bucket list..