Spain from a Backpack by Mark Pearson

Author:Mark Pearson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pearson Venture Group
Published: 2010-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

I picked a scarf from the assortment on the table, and then knelt as the woman behind the table tied my scarf for me, inducting me with a kiss on the cheek and blessings from God to protect me.

It was official: I was really here, and I was going to run with the bulls. I felt invincible.

My new friends and I proceeded to the heart of the city, passing through increasing levels of noise and celebration, until we were engulfed by throngs of people singing, dancing and drinking in rhythmic motions that felt like ocean tides. The air was so alive and everyone so joyous, I have never felt so insignificant and so important all at once. On these narrow streets, cultures blended, and the thousands of people seemed to be enjoying this day as if it were their last. My nagging thought was that this might just be true. I joined in the merriment, but as day melted into night, I felt that the hours until the encierro could not pass fast enough.

Around midnight, Natalie selected a suitable patch of grass on which to catch a couple hours of sleep: a small island in the middle of a traffic circle in front of Club Cool. We zipped ourselves into our sleeping bags, and, soon after, the drunken man landed on my head, apologized profusely and wandered away.

As I zipped myself back up, feelings of apprehension seeped in. “I can’t run with the bulls; that’s crazy,” I thought to myself. All of my bravado melted away, and I started shivering in my sleeping bag. What had I gotten myself into?

My cell-phone alarm went off at 6 a.m. Natalie and I dragged our weary bodies out of our sleeping bags and shivered in the morning air. To my surprise, there were still hundreds of people dancing and drinking from the night before. As we made our way to the starting line, I could hear sounds of laughter, but all I felt was fear. I started to tell Natalie that I just wanted to watch the run instead, but she looked at me as though I had sprouted an extra appendage.

“You were the one who convinced me to come here and run! We came all this way, and you are not giving up. I don’t care what you want to do, Alicia, you are running with me!” That was the end of that conversation.

We followed the mostly male crowd through the winding streets. The city looked so majestic and beautiful, I could hardly believe I was in the same place as the day before. The first place we picked to stand, we realized, was not only right in front of the gate where the bulls were released, it was also at the base of a steep hill. We moved to the top of the hill, where we met a bunch of American GIs and shared running strategy. Over the loudspeakers came announcements in multiple languages that this was the moment—and the last chance to leave the bull run.

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