|
After years of being absent from writing articles on my adventures in Eastern Europe, Silk Road, Khyber Pass, many friends, especially Patricia Jones, encouraged me to return to writing on more of my experiences. My last article was focused on Nicholai Klimov, the hotel owner of the Astoria Hote in Moscow. For years I have been following the path of my favorite novelist Ernest Hemingway. I read most of his novels such as "Moveable Feast", "Farewell to Arms" and one of my favorite books which I first read when I was in High School, "The Sun Also Rises" In his opening chapter of the novel "The Sun also rises", Hemingway took the quote from Ecclesiastics: One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose. The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth according to his circuits. All the rivers into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the river come, thither they return again"
Hemingway first came to Pamplona in 1923 and with these experiences, he used the events as a backdrop to his successful novel" The Sun Also Rises". The novel was published in October 1926. The novel provided the readers with a perfect outlook of how work influences life and much more how the life influences the work. Like Lord Byron and Childe Harold, Hemingway woke up to find himself famous; the charismatic representative of the Lost Generation, forever to be identified with Paris and adrid in the 1920's. I have thought of going to Pamplona, Spain for years despite my nagging knees that required many treatments, arthroscopy surgeries, physiotherapy, and several medications. Some of my colleagues, friends and doctor rolled their eyes when I mentioned I was planning to go to Pamplona, Spain. Pamplona, the capital of the ancient province of Navarre, the name is known all over the world for its famous traditional "running of the bulls." With the bulls unleashed onto its cobblestone streets at the Festival of San Fermin. It traditionally begins on July 7th and it ends on July 14th.
My family doctor scolded me: " Roy, Roy..... settle down and stop "chasing the sun" I lied to him as some patients do and convinced him that I would not go. I have always wanted to run with bulls so I could feel the "tons of bovine fury of excitement in Pamplona". After years being involved as a general manager of the Canada Deaflympic Hockey team winning back-to-back gold medals during the Winter Deaflympic Games in Davos, (1999) and Sundsvall this year, the thrill and adrenaline is far more exciting to run with the bulls then stopping the frozen rubber pucks as a goaltender in my heyday. Or even scuba diving, sky diving and traveling the most dangerous part of the world from Vladostriek, Soviet Union to Tbilisi, Georgia. The bull run only takes two and half to three minutes, but the thrill lasts a lifetime! I invited my friend Donovan Cooper to accompany me to Pamplona: "No thanks brother, I don't want the bull to mess my ass." I sent an e-mail to my good friend Uli Maier in Germany, he too declined. Uli and I once took a sky diving from the Russian Army Helicopter in yumen, we were celebrating together once we landed on the hardened field then hopped back into the helicopter to the hotel once used for the member of the communist party leaders. As well, Maria Hermanson, from Oebrero, Sweden; she herself is a well traveled person planning a trip to Tibet and South Africa. She too declined thinking I was somewhat a "reckless and living on the edge".
In spite of all the pain I went through from March to May, I have decided to go to Spain, after my return from a diving adventure in Holguin, Cuba. I was very disappointed have to cancel some of the diving adventures due to high sea waves and strong undersea currents. Several friends persuaded me to cancel the trip to Spain and attend the Deaf Way "2" the ame week San Fermin Festival. I was at the first Deaf Way, which was a wonderful experience. The Pamplona trip was too much for me to change my plans as I already booked a hostel and it seems like the time to do this because I may not be able to travel much later in life.
Upon on my arrival in Madrid via Frankfurt, Germany, I immediately took the train to Pamplona. There were thousand of fun-seekers on all of the Pamplona streets. People of all ages and sexes gathered in the old town center on the shinning cobblestone. The streets are the heart of the city but are also in turmoil to all essential traffic such as ambulances, street-sweepers and sort. I was amazed to see numerous bearded Americans who looked like Hemingway and pretended to be Hemingway. I confronted a "Hemingway" from Utah and he
bragged that he won the "look-alike Hemingway contest" in Keys West, Florida. While strolling near the Plaza Del Castillo, I entered the Hotel La Perla at the front desk. The lobby was full of foreigners speaking different languages. A mass of cultures in one room. I noticed a signpost stating "NO ROOMS." I approached the desk clerk asking of any possibility if there will be room available in the next few days. "Not until the Festival is over." Hotel La Perla is where Ernest Hemingway stayed when he first came to Pamplona. I was told that a Swedish person booked room 217 where Hemingway stayed until the year of 2040.
As the crowd stayed inside the lobby of the hotel, a frantic and agitated woman wearing a red flaming dress attempted to tell the desk clerk that her leather hand-made bag was stolen from her room, seemingly dangerous, only to find it was later found in her own room. The atmosphere during the San Fermin Festival was irrational but there seems to be petty crimes with no hostility from the tourists. I awoke at 5:45 a.m. the next day and barreled through the throngs into old Pamplona. I found my way to Santo Domingo Street, the first portion of the "The Run" and camped out. Traditionally at 8 a.m. the opening gunshot announces that the bulls have been released from the corrals. As one gentleman from Milan, Italy quoted to me, "There are more wine stains than blood stains at the end of the festival" revealing that it's more fun than it is dangerous. Sunday is the most crowded time and this is when people warned that that course shouldn't be run if you've drank the night before.
After all night and early morning parties on the street, young and old revelers dressed raditionally in white canvas pants and t-shirts with red kerchiefs tied around the neck and sashes knotted at their hips. The entire 900-metre route between the corrals on the edge of the old city and the opening entrance to the bullring. It is surprising to me to see the young women willing to run along the men of all ages. I was not the oldest on the cobblestone as there were pensioners around the age of 67 to 70 in excellent physical shapes. Some of them in front of me were praying they would not get through it.
As the moment finally arrived from the sound of the gunshot, I ran in step with the people in front of me, while I felt someone running up my back. I vaguely heard the roar of the crowd and a looming thunder. I looked over my shoulder and there were huge black wild and foul-smelling bulls. I realized then that a person cannot outrun a charging menacing bull's weight, an average of 600 kilos.
Above the street stood thousands of men and women cheering and screaming. Some of them hung over every edifice photographing the action. Others stood pointing with wide eyes. I then heard with the aid of my hearing aid as I looked over my shoulder and saw two bulls charging fast and passed on my left. I made it all the way to the corridor gate. Wheezing and puffing, I looked around then gave a high-five to the nearest people. My elbow had
a little scratch where I had brushed across the stonewall, but other than that I was save, sound and thrilled. I walked back, marveling at the spectacular morning, understanding that the world is indeed a crazy yet invigorating place. I met an investor from New York City whom was staying at the same hotel. He offered me a drink of scotch. He mentioned to me: "I have been coming back for the last 17 years" Wouldn't miss it, he stood tall with his red and white uniform and lifted his shirt and showed me a seven inches scar on his right side from three years ago when the bull lifted him up like a "flipping pan-cake." He laughed and took another swig from his scotch. I laughed, too and I wondered about his and my own sanity.
I managed to get up with the sun's rays shining on my face. As I opened the balcony door looking down upon the cobblestone streets, the street cleaner swept and picked up the debris and empty bottles. I looked at the sunrises just like in "Ecclesiastics: the sun also iseth, sun goeth down" I decided to leave the province of Navarre when the sun cometh down.
"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow"
Helen Keller
Roy Hysen
Currently, past-president of Canadian Deaf Ice Hockey Federation, General Manager of the Canada Deaflympic Hockey Team and free-lanced journalist. |
