Because I want to smell the dust and drink the wine and sleep in the streets he slept in. Because if Jesus watches over Rio, then Papa's got his eternal eye on Pamplona, at least for this week in June, and I want him to catch a glimpse of me. Weighted with backpack and camera, I opt to watch. Hem never ran, but also sat in the stands, remarking on the bravery and stupidity of the kids, waiting for the real bullfight to begin. Hours early, the ring is already full.
Chants echo from sol to sombre .
San Fermin has no real schedule, but I check my watch, wondering at what time the bulls are unleashed, setting off the mad dash into the stadium. Where we wait, the cautious, the skeptical, the cowards. It starts with a silence. Someone has heard the rumbling of a thousand feet. Squeals of fear and delight.