I started my day in Pamplona by walking to the corral de toros, where the bulls are gathered prior to their famous run.

The Festival of San Fermin is in July, so there were no bulls today. As a young man, I considered coming for the festival while living in Paris for a short time. But we learned that our first child was on the way, and a change of plans was in order.

An idea that was foolish at 27 seems ludicrous at 60.

I traced the path of the Encierro from the corral through the streets of the old town to the bull ring. The path is marked by 12″ x 12″ holes in the ground, where the guard rails are constructed during the festival.

There is yet another bust of Hemingway outside the bull ring. He attended from 1922 until 1959. He worries that he’d spoiled the event by writing about it in The Sun Also Rises (he was right).

The guided tour was fascinating and well organized. I took some photos of the different areas and a few of the stands from the perspective of the bull.

A number of years ago, I made the mistake of taking Victoria to a bull fight in Madrid. I had read about the sport in Hemingway’s Death In The Afternoon, so understood a little bit about it’s history and traditions.

She was horrified that all 6 of the bulls were killed over the course of the afternoon. She was under the impression that if they did a good job, they would be set free.

I managed dinner at Cafe Iruña, the famous 1888 Art Nouveau restaurant on the plaza. The food was only mediocre, but the architecture is unforgettable. And of course, it was also a Hemingway haunt. Instead of a bronze bust, they have a full bronze statue of him.

Service was leisurely, even for Spain. Most Americans don’t expect a 2 hour dinner.

I have another big climb and tricky descent tomorrow.