Pamplona

The Town Hall in Pamplona
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On the way into this famous town we pass an impressive Roman aqueduct. It’s in very good condition and seems to be almost complete. We finally arrive at our hotel by 5pm. This gives me just enough time to climb the 5 flights of stairs to my room. On the way I pass several members of my party who are having problems with their room keys. Thankfully mine work – I think I would have cried if it hadn’t. I decide to wait for my bags, so that I can change before going to dinner at 6pm. They arrive at 5:45pm! Quickly I get changed and dig out my very fashionable Poncho. It’s definitely feeling cooler now.

The local chemist shop, Pamplona
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Downstairs we meet our guide for this evening – Miguel. He’s very entertaining and provides us with an excellent potted history of the town. As we walk through the streets we pass a number of people dressed for serious hiking, with scallop shells hung around their necks and attached to their rucksacks. These I recognise as pilgrims, following the road to Santiago. The shell is the symbol of St James. We even follow part of the route ourselves, it’s marked by painted version of the same symbol.

I spot a string of red bell peppers hanging between two windows like Christmas decorations.

Streets of Pamplona
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We also find ourselves walking along the slightly less auspicious streets that attract so many visitors for one very special eight day festival in July. This is where the running of the bulls takes place, made famous by Ernest Hemmingway. Thankfully there is nothing so dramatic happening today. Personally I’ve had quite enough of bulls this trip. It’s hard to imagine millions of people and a large number of bulls cramming themselves into these narrow streets. The only escape from a particularly angry animal would be to climb up the bars on the windows.

Peppers hanging out to dry
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At the bottom of the street we find the bullring. If you thought the animals got away lightly on this occasion, sadly the bull run is just the warm up. In fact it lasts just three minutes. The fiesta at the end of the festival lasts twenty four hours. One thing I hadn’t appreciated is that once the bulls have been killed in the ring, they are actually eaten. However because they have been bred for muscle, the meat is tough, so has to be cooked very slowly.

“Why are British cows mad? Because they have no fighting bulls”! This is clearly one of Miguel’s favourite jokes. Whilst we look over the dilapidated bullring, that is clearly undergoing renovation, two Scandinavians wander up and voice their disapproval. Who am I to judge – at present fox hunting is still legal in Britain. Personally I can’t understand how killing any creature can be sport, but I do happily eat meat. Interestingly the fighting bulls in Spain are reared for four years before entering the ring. I’m sure that’s a longer life than most of the beef herds in Britain.

Cafe Iruna, Pamplona
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We arrive at the city walls just as the sun is setting. It’s a beautiful sight and we make the most of each fading ray. As I look around the surrounding buildings I spot a string of red bell peppers hanging between two windows like Christmas decorations. They are being dried in the traditional way to make paprika for chorizo.

We head back to the centre of town to the famous Café Iruna. This was Hemmingway’s haunt when in town and it is very beautiful. I doubt it has changed at all since his day. The clientele is a strange mix. Oblivious to the throngs of eager tourists, black clad local matrons sit drinking coffee and playing cards. Apparently they will often spend all day there. We are kindly provided with a free glass of wine to help us get into the mood. I suddenly remember I haven’t really eaten today, which might be why the room is currently spinning all around me.

The walls of Pamplona
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Finally we make our way to a small tapas restaurant. We find ourselves in a dark medieval basement, sitting on benches and sampling some really wonderful food. We have tomato and fish slices, a crab mousse and cod on thin pieces of toast. Then fish mousse, venison on toast, a strange fried prawn thing and a volcano of duck and orange in a bread cone (no I’m not making the last one up). We finish off with a baked cheesecake with dried Muscat grape ice cream and coffee. It’s fair to say it probably wasn’t a traditional tapas meal, but it was very enjoyable. At the very end we were asked to vote for our favourite item – it turned out to be the fried prawn thing!