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After five unforgettable nights in Barcelona, it was time to head off through the Pyrenees and into Pamplona. The journey should take about eight hours or so by mainland but we decided to make things a little hard on ourselves by taking the more scenic and mountainous route which cost us a couple of nights on the road. First we checked out some of the delicious beaches that lie north of Barcelona, along the Costa Brava. The water was freezing but there was loads to see.... my family marveled at the pretty seaside forts and villages while I drooled at the gorgeous bikini-clad sunbathing senoritas occupying the white sands and blue seas. Right; if you thought Gaudi was a nutcase, wait till you see Salvador Dali!

After one night in Mountblanc, it was off to Figueras to check out the famous Dali museum. The city of Figueras is known most renown for being the birthplace of Salvador Dali in 1904. Dali also died and is buried in the cathedral in Figueras. If anyone knows Dali's drug of choice, please let me know! The museum of Spain's most famous surreal artist, created by Dali himself, is a maze-like archive of paintings, watercolors, gouaches, charcoals, pastels, graphics and sculptures. To be honest, I probably could have spent more time gazing at just one of his flamboyantly erotic paintings for more time than we spent in the museum. Each painting contains hidden images buried beneath the exterior theme. Wondering where magic eye comes from? Look no further than Salvador Dali. The museum itself is made to confuse and just to prove that Dali was a real nutter, one of his most famous paintings is titled, The Great Masturbator...... Ok then. I'm thinking of taking legal action because I've got a self portrait by the same name....ooops!

We spent the next couple of days in the car, driving through the Pyrenees. Now I know how Sheryl Crow must have felt when she wrote "Everyday is a Winding Road". This drive through the mountains combined with a couple of nights of Spanish pissups did things to my stomach that swallowing a two hundred pound cannonball wouldn't even do. I won't deny the beautiful scenery which bore an eerie resemblance to driving through the mountains of central California. (No need to come to Spain then mates......... yeah right!!!!). One cool thing was passing through three countries within the space of a couple of hours. We went from Spain, to France, through Andorra and back into Spain without even taking a pee break between the four of us. For my mates back in Cali, Andorra is a tiny country sandwiched between France and Spain (it's a bit like Lake Tahoe being it's own country, only there's no lake) but Charlemagne gave this microscopic nation it's independence in 784 and now it's ruled between two leaders; the president of France and the Spanish archbishop, La Seu d'Urgell. There isn't really much to see in Andorra but the capital Andorra-la-Vieja has some interesting streets and shops. Right; one golden rule about bulls; never eat Burger King right in front of them as this man so painfully found out.

Above; ".........and today on MTV's Celebrity Deathmatch; it's Slipknot v Velvet Goldmine......."

So after several stomach turning days on the road, it was time to head off to Pamplona. We passed through the providence of Aragon before arriving in Navarre, one of the most ancient kingdoms in Europe. Navarre is rich in culture and tradition and is home to a very large Basque community. There are many festivals held here, the most famous being the Fiesta de San Fermin, aka the running of the bulls festival, in Pamplona. While the week and a half-long festival attract tourism galore, it is also home of much controversy. The synopsis is this; every morning, crowds begin to gather the streets of Pamplona as the main street in barricaded at around 6 am. Then at 8 am, six angry killer bulls are released into the barricaded street macheting anyone who stands in their way. Participants are to run away from the bulls as long as they can before hitting the ground, playing dead. Late in the afternoon the bulls are executed at the bullring at mercy of el Matador (left). Throughout the night, locals and tourists (who virtually quadruple the population of Pamplona) party and party at with nightclubs everywhere and a superb firework display before beginning the same routine the next morning. When does one sleep? Simple - in the middle of the day: after the run and before the fight.

Above; the route the bulls take to get to the Bullfighting Arena, Plaza De Toros. Maybe they wouldn't be in such a hurry if they knew what was to happen to them there. Left; No you don't need glasses, it's the photo! The black dot on the left is the bull and the white blob the Matador. Not exactly the best photo in the world but it will do. Right; Ah come on Animal Rights Activists, it's only sleeping! El Matador decides he's had enough Bulls*#@..

When we finally did stroll into Pamplona, boy was I shocked by the atmosphere! To be honest, virtually nothing could have prepared me for it. We had heeded the numerous warnings about limited hotel space and booked a place out in the country side. Too bad cause in the city, the atmosphere ROCKED! The streets were jam-packed with people and virtually everyone was dressed in an all-white costume with a red scarf and belt (see four pictures up). It was as if Pamplona was hosting the World Cup and the hosts were about to play in the final. The streets of Pamplona, apparently pretty dormant any other time of the year, was boiling with excitement as musicians, entertainers, actors and thousands of drunken bull runners made the streets their home.

Above; It's not easy to see the bulls run if you don't come at least two hours in advance.

Our hotel was a good half hour or so away from the city and in the middle of nowhere. Still, this was probably a good thing because it allowed us to avoid the drunken nights and still to our goal; see the running of the bulls. We awoke at 5 am the next day and made our way to the heart of the city. They were just putting the barricades up when we arrived so we found ourselves a great spot. From there it was just wait, wait, wait. I felt a bit sorry for those who had come "only" an hour early or so because they were certainly out of luck. Spots like those are priceless and there was no way we were going to budge. After a couple of hours of pushing and squishing, it was time for the bulls to be released. Anyone can run, so there was a huge commotion of people trying to get into the street and others trying to get out. The bell went off and the tension could be cut with a knife. Then suddenly, the runners on the street turned their heads and fled like bullets and six bulls came charging passed us and around the corner. It all happened so fast, you could have missed it if you blinked. As the runners picked themselves up (it's advisable to play dead when a bull sees you, they charge at movement), people spilled into the streets. The Spaniards do have a sense of humor, after the bulls are set free, about three cows are sent after that. Tourists of course, don't realize this and when they see the cows running at them, there's complete pandemonium. The real danger in this sport is getting trampled by human runners, but as we walked up the street, it was obvious that the bulls can do some harm. We later read in the papers that three people had been stabbed and one fatally injured. We actually had the honor of seeing this man get carried out on a stretcher with blood gushing out of his neck. Running with the bulls isn't exactly a spectators sport; the essence of this game is the thrill of putting your life in danger by throwing yourself in front of a killer bull. People come from all over the world to experience this thrill.

After the bulls ran, we met up with a friend of ours, Lucia, who lives in Abu Dhabi. I had also met her niece Diana in Abu Dhabi. We went over to her family's house for a huge meal and some classic Spanish "tapas". It really was one big happy family get together. Our family reunited and their family reunited. Then it was time for the bullfight. The bullfights, like the hotels in Pamplona are sold out months in advance so its scalpers paradise. We finally found five tickets (Lucia went with us) but they were spread out across the stadium. I found myself sitting next to a quit friendly but hard-headed Basque man. We conversed throughout the fights and one of the first things he said to me was this; "....There are people in your country think this fighting wit bull, no good...... they should shut their mouth! We don't go to your country and tell you how to live! This is our culture." Fair enough, but I did find the bullfights very hard to digest. In fact, I'm considering reverting to vegetarianism after what I saw. The bulls are thrown into the rink and before the Matador even enters, several Picadors on horses come by and stab the distracted bull with lances, thus causing a huge blood loss and a severely weakened bull. When the Matador finally does come, the bull is outraged but staggeringly weak. There is a strange philosophy that the bulls attack the red cape...... not true! Bulls are color-blind. What they do charge at is the movement of the cape and it is the Matadors job to wrestle the bull until it's tired and then stick his sword behind its neck, thus piercing the poor things heart. While I'm about to puke at the horrendousness, the drunken crowd love this and they chant and sing like their at a football match. To them, this is more than just a sport, this is their way of life, and if you're a bull, way of death.

Above; Moi, Dusty, Bobbi, Vance, Lucia, Sonya and Diana strike a pose in Pamplona.

After two agonizing hours of watching bulls get tortured to death, it was off to dinner. Now the partying starts, people dance their way out of the arena and this ignites the whole city. We had a wonderful Paella dinner (a sort of sea food over rice curry-ish sort of thing, tastes brilliant though!) before watching the extraordinary firework display. Come midnight and me, Lucia, Diana and a couple of other Spaniards danced the night away. How did I get back to the hotel?....... dunno.

The next morning it was time to head back to Barcelona to catch our flights. Dad and I were off to Abu Dhabi while Dusty and mum were off to Houston to see grandparents. We stopped through Zaragoza on the way. There's an absolutely magnificent cathedral there along the canal but we didn't really have enough time to explore the city.

So did I enjoy Spain? Definitely. Will I ever go back? Definitely. I've been to many great places where I've said, "I could live here" but Spain's got to be one of the best. And vibrant Barcelona's got to be one of the finest cities imaginable. Barcelona is nowhere near as congested and crowded as London or Paris but still rich in culture and tradition. Next it's Scotland, England and Wales and next year....... well maybe Ireland and Portugal. Anyone want to come? Email me!

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