Ash Wednesday

July 1990. A pack of college kids on an adventure. We weren’t so much a pack of wolves, fierce and aggressive, as a pack of meerkats, curious and a little vulnerable. We were from different parts of the United States, studying together in Toledo, Spain for the summer. One long weekend, we hopped a train north to Pamplona and took part in The Festival of San Fermin. San Fermin annually draws overwhelmingly large crowds to Pamplona for a week of partying; around-the-clock music and dancing and eating and drinking. And in large part, thanks to Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises, the event is known around the world for its daily running of the bulls. 

We knew we wouldn’t have a place to stay and didn’t even plan to try finding one. Lodging reservations for during San Fermin need to be made a year in advance. We figured we’d either stay up all night or find a place outside to catch a few winks. We arrived early afternoon on a Friday and planned to watch the running of the bulls the following morning.

Wisely, we packed light for the weekend, as we didn’t have a place to store our stuff. We walked around town, ate tapas, drank sangria, listened to music and danced. At some point, we decided to make a statue of Ernest Hemingway our “base camp,” and took turns guarding back packs, while a few of us at a time ventured out into the crowd. Between about 2 a.m. and 5 a.m., we took turns napping, guarded by the stern face of Papa Hemingway, with the hullabaloo of the festival happening in the streets around us. 

At 5 a.m., we grabbed our stuff and sat on the wall that lined the street right at the entrance of the bull ring. The bull run began at 8 a.m. While none of us were going to run with the bulls, we wanted good seats. Tired and grubby and hungry, it did cross my mind that I was sitting on a wall at 5 a.m. to watch a bunch of cows and crazy people run down the street. My friend Kristin and I kept each other awake and amused with silly stories and songs and people watching.

The running of the bulls happened so fast! But what a sight to see.

Overall, it was an uncomfortable experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Sometimes while traveling, being comfortable is the goal. Not that weekend. Not that journey. The goal was to just go and have an experience. If comfort had been any part of the equation, we would’ve avoided Pamplona. Not experienced the crowds and the revelry and the bulls. Kristin and I wouldn’t have bonded on that wall for three hours, waiting for the running to begin (she and I met that summer in Spain and are still best friends). I would’ve missed out on a whole lot.

Which leads me to thoughts about the Lenten journey ahead. The Season of Lent is a good time to forego comfort; to just go and have an experience… 

Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Blessings on your journey!

Becky