What started as a way to move the bulls from one part of town to another, can now become romanticized in film and books.  Make no mistake about it, however, this is a dangerous undertaking.  Every year you can count on more than a few gorings.  No wonder it takes a fair amount of alcohol for runners to build up a little liquid courage for the event.

The bull running happens every day of the Fiesta at 8 am.  It’s a half mile run, with six bulls and hundred or so people.

If you’re craving the daring-do of the run, but not the dangerous, try something a little more risqué with another annual event, the Running of the Nudes.  Sponsored by PETA, this run takes place the day prior to the beginning of the Fiesta of San Fermin.  You’ll get to run through the very same streets, and get your thrill from being scantily clad rather than getting gored.

The Festival of San Fermin runs July 6 – 14th.

Photo credit: will_hybrid @flickr

Post from: Blisstree

Adventure Travel to Run With the Bulls in Pamplona

I’m going to try to illustrate that there are times in every relationship, during which small gaps occur: gaps in expectations, gaps in promises, responsibilities, trust and perhaps a gap in adoration. It is also intended to demonstrate that sometimes we have to put our ambitions aside for the sake of our partners.

“Mind The Gap”, is also used on the London underground transit system, to remind riders to be cautious of the gap between the train and the platform. How prosaic, right?

Several years ago, my husband’s firm, a large New York based financial services corporation, offered him a temporary position in London. I was invited to join him. I recognized this to be an extremely important opportunitiy and insisted that he had to take the position. We convinced each other that it could only be helpful for his career moving forward and that it would be great for me as well.

At that time, I was an up-and-comer at an ad agency in New York and loving every minute of it. The job, the fancy restaurants, the attention, I was like Carrie Bradshaw of the ’80’s…only not as cool. Because I was so impressed with myself and my career and the big city…I wasn’t the most attentive wife on the planet. Stayed out late, worked late, got home late: not fun for him.

I knew in my core that I’d owed it to my husband to shift the focus from my career priorities to his. My own guilt forced me to make a decision.

And so, after all the farewell parties and mementos of New York from well-wishers, we packed everything up, rented our home to a stranger, and moved and cross the pond.

We were both petrified, we had to find a place to live (with cable hopefully) and he had to get up that Monday and go to work. I had to go to my…go to the…go nowhere! I was alone in a strange city, no friends or colleagues, surrounded by people who don’t really like Americans all that much (or at least that’s the feeling I’d gotten).

Don’t get me wrong, we travelled all over the place, Scotland, Ireland, Italy, Spain…attended the best British shows ate at some of the finest restaurants …it was the opportunity of a lifetime, with lots of fun times. But every Monday morning I faced an entire week of solitude. And my intense obsession with British History wasn’t helping all that much.

I walked every street in London, went to every museum, shopped at the most famous department stores in the world. But I was deeply and profoundly unhappy. I had been working for so many years, I didn’t know what to do with myself–I felt useless…so I, did what every young woman would do who is fortunate enough to live in an exciting city, in the best part of town, with the potential to do anything she wanted — I found a job!

I thought that would make us feel normal, back to the two job household: goodbyes in the morning, cocktails in the evening. It didn’t. Nearly the end of our trip and I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to come home, I missed New York — I arranged to rent a small studio apartment in NYC, got back to my agency job, and corresponded with my husband long distance. What a horrible, selfish wife I was, I’d left the sweetest, most generous guy all alone. I felt so guilty.

I do recognize the irony….it was guilt that sent me to England and guilt that traveled with me on that plane ride back to NYC.

This long, long story reminds us that the “…for better or worse…”, can sometimes mean sacrifice and minding the gaps…what is your story?

Post from: Blisstree

Mind The Gap