Run Erik Run
This blog entry about the events of Tuesday, July 06, 2004 was originally posted on July 13, 2004.
DAY 262: The Running of the Bulls. The title has been heard over and over every year between July 6-14, usually on the news in a world report about someone getting gored by a powerful male bovine. Evolved from the old tradition of people moving bulls across town to get them into the arena for a bullfight, the encierro, as it is called locally, is now the most famous (and most deadly) of all of the San Fermin Festival’s agenda of week-long events, occurring every morning at 8 a.m. sharp.
By 6:30 there are already red and white-clad people in the streets waiting — many of them still awake and drunk from partying the night before — for their chance to risk their lives from charging bulls. Their safety is also threatened by themselves; a majority of injuries in the running year after year comes from being trampled by the rush of people, not bulls.
MY ALARM CLOCK WOKE ME UP at 6:30 and I woke up still indecisive. If I ran, I might die alone; Jack never had any real intention of running since the beginning. I went to the living room balcony to assess the situation below. The cobblestone street was wet from a drizzle the night before, which was in one way a bad thing (it was slippery) and a good thing (at least all the piss and puke was washed away). Street sweepers drove by to make the route spotless anyway as per the mayor’s order, shoving the bigger pieces of debris onto the side streets.
Volunteer runners were already on the street waiting, while the spectators above in the balconies of the juxtaposed apartments got their vantage points, some people at a high cost — tourists paid up to 60 euros a person for the three-minute viewing of the run in someone’s apartment (which was ten more than what Jack and I paid for a night of accommodation in the same place).
“Are you going to run?” a woman called to me in an American accent from the balcony next door. Her name was Ennas and she reminded me of actress Rebecca Gayheart dressed down in white and red.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“Are you Filipino by any chance?”
“Yeah.”
“So is my fiancé,” Ennas said. “He’s down there.”
Across the street below us was a tall Filipino guy in white attire accented by red, stretching his arms and legs for the extreme session to come in an hour. He was alone too, and I figured I might have a running partner. “I think I’m gonna run,” I told Ennas. She picked up her TalkAbout walkie talkie.
“There’s a guy here who’s going to run with you,” she said, which was followed by the “CHHT” squelch-sound that comes out of a walkie talkie. Her fiancé looked up at us.
“Okay.” CHHT.
I geared up, woke Jack up and set him up on the balcony with my camcorder. “Just film it, we can make video stills after.” I ran down to the street and joined the growing chaos.
“So what do you know about what we’re supposed to do?” I asked Delon, the 37-year-old but 28-year-old-looking Filipino-American radiologist from Scottsdale, Arizona.
“Just that we run,” he said. Good plan, simple enough. Delon and I shot the breeze as more and more people entered the street, arriving before they closed off the side street gates, preventing anyone (or any bull) from passing through. Ennas kept contact of her husband-to-be via radio. Delon kept her informed with sentences ending in CHHT.
“I love you,” said Ennas’ slightly-distorted voice through his TalkAbout. CHHT.
“Love you too,” Delon answered. CHHT.
Now if that wasn’t a romantic goodbye, I don’t know what is. At the time, no one knew who would survive and who would be killed. We could only think of one thing: When the bulls come, run like hell.
AT ABOUT 7:30 the police started closing the gates that sealed off the side streets. Each block there was a gate and at each gate there was a crowd soon-to-be runners lining up, and the police had to move them back to let the gate swing closed. It got two crowded there at the last gate before the exit and the police just started clearing the area of people, escorting people on the run route onto the side street.
The clock was ticking. Our only opportunity to run with the bulls that morning was at the entry point one block back, so Delon and I (along with dozens of other adrenaline junkies) dashed down the side street and around the block, wary of broken beer bottles and the occasional pile of vomit. We ran to make it in time before the gate closed so fast that you would have thought the bulls were chasing us already. It was hard to keep track of Delon and his longer leg stride, especially since everyone was wearing the same outfit.
We both managed to make it though before they sealed the perimeter. There were twice as many people in the new crowd with hardly any room to breathe, let alone run from a bull. In the mass of red and white I managed to lose sight of Delon and lost my running partner. No matter, there were dozens of American, Australian, British and Spanish around me with the same built-up anxiety as me. The time was approaching and the crowd was getting hyped.
“SAN FERMIN! SAN FERMIN!! SAN FERMIN!!!” The chants and the cheers echoed through the man-made canyon of buildings. “WOOOOOO!!!!”
The excited was only short-lived because then we all sort of revert back to our anxious selves. It was really too late for second thoughts (Is it second? Who’s counting?) but I had them anyway.
Alright, now really, what the hell am I doing here? Why am I doing this? Risking my life for a Blog story? What the fuck? Bulls are going to start running here and the only exit point is now two blocks away, not one. Holy shit, man. What was I thinking? Ernest Hemingway, the American travel writing superstar (and my predecessor?) made the Running of the Bulls famous by writing about it and telling the tale — by being smart and never doing the run himself. Okay, okay, at least I’m not hung over like that guy over there. Okay, cool. But wouldn’t it be poetic, knowing that explorer Ferdinand Magellan, a Spaniard on The Global Trip 1520 only made it halfway, dying in the Philippines, and here I am, a Filipino halfway in my own Global Trip in Spa—
Before I could complete the thought, there was a mad rush from behind me of people yelling and running for their lives.
Oh fuck, here they come.
I ran as fast as I could, trying to find ground to step on. I pushed, I shoved, I did everything I could to advance. At San Fermin, it’s every man for himself. Running was impossible though with the mass of people ahead of me and I was actually moving forward slower than if I was walking normally.
Oh Jesus. Must… go… faster…! Increase… rate… of… speed! The mob was so packed there really was no sense in looking around for Delon. Holy shit, I might die here and now. Oh my God. I ran, tripping at every step at the mound of a fallen body that had been shoved over, only to be trampled by a hundred guys. Picking myself up from tripping, I thought for a split second to help a guy up, but realized that fuck it, I’d just set myself up to be gored up the ass. Sorry buddy, but fuck you, it’s every man for himself! Get out of my fucking way! Running like a chicken without its head on, I really didn’t know where to go but just followed the flow of the mass of people running for their lives. GO, GO, GO! Faster! Oh Jesus! I tripped, the palms of my hands landing on broken glass. A small cut on each hand started bleeding. Fuck! Get up! If there was any a time to get your ass in gear Erik, NOW’S THE FUCKING TIME!!!” I managed to get up and run with the red and white stampede of people. GO, GO, GO!!! FUCK!!! My left contact lens popped out. Fuck! FUCK! This almost never happens! Why now?! For a split second I thought maybe I should stop and look for it, but then the other side of me thought, No you IDIOT! Keep on RUNNING you BULL RUNNING BASTARD!!! I ran some more, this time with no depth perception. Fuck, I’m going to die right here and I won’t even see it coming. Holy crap. Oh Jesus! Okay, stop thinking in italics, just get a fucking move on!
Moving on a couple of seconds later was impossible. I tripped again over a fallen body in the street, bruising and scraping my knee on the cobblestone, even through my pants. As I tried to get up, a guy toppled over me, falling down, followed by another and another in a big chaotic domino effect. My arm scraped down the street and there was more bloodshed. In a matter of seconds, I was next to the bottom of what felt like a ten-person pile up.
Oh shit! I can’t move! I’ve fallen… and I can’t get up! That’s not even funny! Holy fuck man! I can’t see straight either. This is it. I’m going to die right here. Erik, get your FUCKING ASS UP!!!”
The official advice for if and when you fall over during a bull run is to stay down in a fetal position and hold your head with your hands to prevent head injury — ha, like that’s going to prevent being impaled by a bull’s horn. You are to stay down until you hear the hooves pass by — not that that advice was much help because I had no choice but to stay down and pray for the best. Above me, people were struggling to get up too, with no luck.
The sound of hooves clomping on the cobblestones came from behind. Closer and closer it came like a stampede.
Jesus! So this is it! This is how my life ends! This is how The Blog ends!
I closed my eyes as the sound of hooves passed by to my left. They continued on into the distance ahead of me as the bodies above me started to clear off. I stood up with a slight limp on my right knee and looked around. Behind me a gate was closed. i was on the side street. I looked at my watch and it was only 7:46. The entire “bull run” was a false one, a prank pulled by the police for crowd control, to clear that block of people as soon as possible before the real run time of 8:00. That sound of stampeding hooves I heard was probably the sounds of sneakers with a MASSIVE power of suggestion.
The bull run route was sealed off. “I guess we’re not running,” I overheard an Aussie tell his mate. “I really wanted to run too.”
WITH ONE GOOD EYE, a bruised knee, a scraped arm and a slight limp, I assessed the situation. Should I try and enter the next entry point? No you moron. What if the same ordeal happened with actual bulls around? Do the smart thing. Be like Hemingway; live to tell the tale. You have an ironic twist at the end of your story anyway — you ran with the bulls, only to be trampled and injured by the mob of people even before the bulls ever showed up.
In less than fifteen minutes, I managed to make it back to the balcony for the bull run — the real one with actual bulls. “What are you doing here?” Jack asked. I explained what happened and about the lock out, and went to the balcony.
“Did you hear from your fiancé?” I asked Ennas.
“No, what are you doing back?” she asked. I told her about the cops’ big joke.
“Is he still out there? Did you call him on your TalkAbout?” I asked. My running partner was nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t want to bother him if he’s running.”
Down below the red and white mob started running from three blocks away to the first fence to jump over right before the entrance of the bullfighting arena. A group of three bulls was followed by a group of four. The whole thing was sort of anti-climactic; unlike images in the media, the bulls didn’t stop and maul people into walls, they just ran the course like they were out for a morning jog to the arena (picture above). Not even the taunts and slaps on the back with rolled up paper from bull runners bothered them.
There were no bull-related injuries that morning. On the news on Marlon’s TV inside, there was a man being carried away by the paramedics after being trampled over by people. I suppose I had it lucky after all.
“Where’d you go, man?” I asked Delon over on the other balcony when he finally popped his head out. He had returned after running along side the bulls; the bulls simply ran aside him and passed him before he knew it.
“I was looking for you, but then I ran around the block to the other gate and got in there,” he said. “Me and a couple of guys had to sneak behind a cop.”
Damn, perhaps I wasn’t locked out after all. Oh well, there was still a chance I might not have made it passed the cop, and besides, I only had one contact and a busted knee.
“Don’t worry,” Delon said. “I still say you ran.”
“Yeah, I did run,” I said.
Run I did. And that’s no bull.
A MARCHING BAND WAILED its horns and drums through the streets while drunken revelers followed behind dancing and singing and cheering them on. Most had some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands, and all of them had some sort of sangria stain on their shirt. The music and the cheers echoed through the streets for all to hear — unless that person was partying in a bar or club to other music.
Welcome to the San Fermin Festival, 3 a.m.
Not only at three in the morning, but anytime in the day or night. At any given hour, it was not surprising to see a band go through town. The San Fermin Festival blurred the rules of day and night; like a Vegas casino, time is irrelevant when you’re having fun. Unless you were passed out on the street, in the park, in a parking lot, in an ATM vestibule, or in the stairwell of Marlon’s apartment building, you were out at a bar or club or munching on tapas or bocatas.
Marlon’s place was in an ideal location for the strategy Jack and I had: take a power nap for a couple of hours, go out, party until we dropped, take another nap and start all over. Timing sleep with the hours of bars wasn’t necessary because they were always open and busy. During our awake periods, we tuned into some official events: the parade of the giant heads, the procession of the sacred San Fermin statue through town, the Beatles cover band that got the entire Plaza Castillo singing and dancing to “Twist and Shout” (a real life Ferris Bueller moment). Unofficially, we bar hopped from place to place, dancing and drinking to the different kinds of music with others, this time with no inhibitions since I was done with running with bulls. A crazy affair it was, to the point that drunken guys on the dance floors of outdoor clubs had no inhibitions of just whipping out their penises and pissing on the dance floor.
I’m actually surprised how good our nap/party/nap/party strategy worked — it kept us in a good mood and yet still conscious enough to notice the pickpockets working the crowd. At one point, Jack just flat out heard two of them talk in Spanish, talking about robbing the two of us. “Let’s get outta here,” Jack said as soon as he heard it.
A MARCHING BAND WAILED its horns and drums through the streets while drunken revelers followed behind dancing and singing and cheering them on. Most had some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands, and all of them had some sort of sangria stain on their shirt. The music and the cheers echoed through the streets for all to hear — unless that person was partying in a bar or club to other music.
Welcome to the San Fermin Festival, 6 a.m.
We left for the train station by 6:30 — it was there we saw a girl with the more tired look on her face that just said, “Oh my God, when does it end?”
Next entry: King For A Day
Previous entry: To Run Or Not To Run
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Comments for “Run Erik Run”
Well done on the run. Great writing too. I’ve been reading the Blog to get suggestions for South America. I’m going in 48 days. Enjoy Europe and try to make it to Ireland.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 04:17 PM
Damn good thing you wern’t killed.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 04:23 PM
So, who was right on the guessing how you were hurt? Glad you weren’t hurt too badly.
Do you have disposables, or are you just up a creek till someone sends you another contact?
Congrats on making it through!! Oh, one more question - is your Spanish coming back to you?
I’m full of questions this morning for some reason!Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 05:45 PM
you soooo didn’t run with the bulls…haha… just kidding….
damn cops….
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 05:54 PM
so exciting you are in spain… i was there with sparkle so many years ago! or at least it seems like that
glad you weren’t killed, that’ll put a damper on the traveling the world thing… i mean you’re only 1/2 way there! N Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 05:56 PM
so you didn’t run with the bulls but u spent a week alone with jackie (the worst key in all of florida), i think that’s scarier….
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 06:17 PM
WHEAT - let’s go next year and make our own “Slow Motion” video with the bulls…
hahaha
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 06:22 PM
ohmygod. false bull run??? bull shit!
anyway…i was laughing my ass off over here in my cube.
“Sorry buddy, but fuck you, it’s every man for himself!”
Hahahaha….
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 06:27 PM
Great story.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 06:42 PM
coo story E.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 08:00 PM
HEADLINES OF THE DAY!
Corporate America Comes To A Standstill While Everyone Catches Up on Erik’s Blog!
I don’t know about anyone else but if anyone at work tries to interrupt me while I catch up….forget it!
Erik… you have such powers over us….LOLPosted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 08:09 PM
great story! You are my own personal Ernest Hemingway, Erik.
I felt a little hungover, filled with adreneline then stained with sangria just reading the blog today.maybe some day you can grow a beard, act eccentric and start writing your weight on the wall every day like Hemingway did…
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 08:23 PM
Rose: I know EXACTLY what you mean - hehe.
It took me all morning to catch up. Great pics of Spain - brings back memories of when Udz and I were there.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 08:35 PM
Good goin buddy, glad to hear you survived AND got to watch it afterall. Once again you lucked out with accommodations—like Rio. Lets see some pics of all your Run Wounds!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 09:06 PM
Hey from NYC,
Great posts Erik!!
I felt like I was going through it all right there with you…‘fuck you, every man for himself’...lol…we think that trying to get into the subway, can’t imagine my thoughts in that situation…then I laughed my ass off when you found out it wasn’t even the bull run! It’s just like something that would happen to me!
btw; I would consider it a ‘run’...you bled after all…
Keep up the great work and have a blast!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 10:35 PM
Spotted your blog about a week ago after someone recommended it on the Thorntree. Great writing, keep it up. I plan to start my own RTW in South America in a couple of months, so I got a few good tips from you.
Currently doing blog catchup (chilling out in Dahab on day 239 “My Three Dives” at the moment).
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/13 at 11:55 PM
Great writing…...will you be publishing your rtw trip journal? I’d buy it.
Sounds like you’re doing great. Thanks for the great pics., you’re looking cute as ever.
Keep up the good work!
Cheers.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 01:02 AM
Hey Erik, ever hear from LARA?
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 01:19 AM
Great post Erik, glad you made it out of town in one piece and with your liver intact. I mean who needs Hemingway when Erik TGT is busting out with great material such as this…
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 01:48 AM
Hoowah !!! Great writing my friend keep it up ...
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 03:49 AM
Hilarious story man. Keep up the good work! One of my good friends was there as well as I just found out, but she didn’t run….maybe she saw you during your “false alarm” run!
Word Life.
Moman!!
Posted by Moman on 07/14 at 06:11 AM
Jack - thanks for stopping and gawking at the hot reporter!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 07:36 AM
Christy - that’s a darn good question… so, Erik, ever hear from Lara? Is she reading along?
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 11:00 AM
LARA: So, many people are wondering, are you still around? If so, please reply…
(Guess that answers your question CHRISTY and NOELLE?)
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 01:26 PM
F.LEVANTE: You’re right about the Chinese visa… I’m fucked.
Thinking… thinking…
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 01:42 PM
if they don’t give you the visa, you can fly from anywhere to HK, in that case I’ll write you the place where they issue the stuff in HK (you don’t need a visa to HK but you need one to the PRC)
can’t you get a tourist visa on the Russian or Mongolian border?
Or you can skip that boring Trans Siberian, fly to HK straight from Moscow and go all the way from there to Yunnan, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand/ or Lhasa(Tibet)-Nepal-India. Or both. 1000 times more interesting than Siberia I guess, the Russians cleared anything around the rails anyway.
Or Beijing, Great Wall- Inner/Outer Mongolia from here (it’s 24 hour by train from Hong Kong/GZ to Beijing)
take it easy, we love your travelogue!Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 03:50 PM
oops, ask them if they can give you a business (F) visa, if you can get that one outside the US we can send you an official invitation letter
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 03:56 PM
Erik - you can always take the Transib to Vladivostok (sp?) and zip over to Japan (to visit me!), then take a quick trip to HK (flights to HK are usually cheap), get a multiple entry visa for China in HK, which would allow you to hit Mongolia (albeit backtracking) and then continue on.
If you are interested in this route, I can try to call the Chinese Embassy in Japan for you and see if they will issue you a visa from here. Then you could just fly into Beijing or Shanghai. Let me know.Posted by Liz on 07/14 at 04:31 PM
E - go to germany/luxemborg stay with fam so you have a permanent address and you can handle the visa stuff…
just my idear…let LOVE, MOM know if you need tele numbers..
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 05:17 PM
Great story! It felt like I was there running with you…....bulls or no bulls !
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 05:37 PM
F.LEVANTE / LIZ: My tentative plan is to see as much of Europe as I can (not much time now though)... I have to be in Prague by the 28th to catch my flight to Moscow… August 3 I’m off on the train through Siberia… I can make it to Mongolia with no visa problems (I hope) by the 14th… will be there five days and then head off to Beijing (I have the ticket already)...
Right now I’m in the process of doing the ballsy thing of shipping my passport to the States to have a travel agent handle the China visa. As you see from MARKYT, most likely I’ll stay with family in Germany.
The plan from there is to see as much as I can in China for three weeks and fly to Japan to visit LIZ, assuming she has a place for me to crash (promise me I’ll have at least ONE night in a capsule hotel).
LIZ, e-mail me your phone number… it looks like the time to plan my visit is approaching—most likely I’ll fly to Tokyo from Shanghai, circa September 10th…
As for all the countries you mentioned in SE Asia F.LEVANTE… that comes after Japan and Nepal and India… I want to wait out the monsoon season…
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 05:40 PM
See, Erik, this is why I like your blog - you’re a thinker.
And you also act on your feet. You rock. You’ll get to China, I’m sure of it. Good luck.Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/14 at 06:14 PM
Erik-
I’ve spent some time in Prague and have some friends there. Would be happy to suggest a few high points and possibly a guide for the day? Reply if interested-Posted by Szlachta on 07/15 at 09:27 AM
SZLACHTA: Yes, interested!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/15 at 01:33 PM
woah Erik… All of these travel logistics have made my day! I love planning for travel!! My cubicle can barely contain my exuberance!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/15 at 05:13 PM
wow. that was great. you TOTALLY had me convinced you ran.
very kewl.Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/19 at 01:58 AM
ANIN: Believe me, as it was happening in my mind, they really were coming!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 07/19 at 11:47 AM
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This blog post is one of over 500 travel dispatches from the trip blog, "The Global Trip 2004: Sixteen Months Around The World (Or Until Money Runs Out, Whichever Comes First)," originally hosted by BootsnAll.com. It chronicled a trip around the world from October 2003 to March 2005, which encompassed travel through thirty-seven countries in North America, South America, Africa, Europe, and Asia. It was this blog that "started it all," where Erik evolved and honed his style of travel blogging — it starts to come into focus around the time he arrives in Africa.
Praised and recommended by USA Today, RickSteves.com, and readers of BootsnAll and Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree, The Global Trip blog was selected by the editors of PC Magazine for the "Top 100 Sites You Didn't Know You Couldn't Live Without" (in the travel category) in 2005.
Next entry:
King For A Day
Previous entry:
To Run Or Not To Run
THE GLOBAL TRIP GLOSSARY
Confused at some of the jargon that's developed with this blog and its readers over the years? Here's what they mean:
BFFN: acronym for "Best Friend For Now"; a friend made on the road, who will share travel experiences for the time being, only to part ways and lose touch withThe Big Trip: the original sixteen month around-the-world trip that started it all, spanning 37 countries in 5 continents over 503 days (October 2003–March 2005)
NIZ: acronym for "No Internet Zone"; a place where there is little to no Internet access, thus preventing dispatches from being posted.
SBR: acronym for "Silent Blog Reader"; a person who has regularly followed The Global Trip blog for years without ever commenting or making his/her presence known to the rest of the reading community. (Breaking this silence by commenting is encouraged.)
Stupid o'clock: any time of the early morning that you have to wake up to catch a train, bus, plane, or tour. Usually any time before 6 a.m. is automatically “stupid o’clock.”
The Trinidad Show: a nickname of The Global Trip blog, used particularly by travelers that have been written about, who are self-aware that they have become "characters" in a long-running story — like characters in the Jim Carrey movie, The Truman Show.
WHMMR: acronym for "Western Hemisphere Monday Morning Rush"; an unofficial deadline to get new content up by a Monday morning, in time for readers in the western hemisphere (i.e. the majority North American audience) heading back to their computers.
1981ers: people born after 1981. Originally, this was to designate groups of young backpackers fresh out of school, many of which were loud, boorish and/or annoying. However, time has passed and 1981ers have matured and have been quite pleasant to travel with. The term still refers to young annoying backpackers, regardless of year — I guess you could call them "1991ers" in 2013 — young, entitled millennials on the road these days, essentially.
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