In which Hermann goes the scenic route to Pamplona so Sid and Doris can see the bullring. Olé.
Sid and Doris wake in Huesca to a most romantic pink dawn, and then spoil it all by doing a Joe Wicks gym session before breakfast. There’s nothing like paying for a personal trainer to keep you motivated, and Doris had accidentally left the Joe Wicks subscription on auto-renew. But anyway, in 2022 Sid and Doris will be 125 years old and do not want to become any more feeble than they are.
Hermann has been pinking even when his fuel has been augmented with octane booster and ethanol stabiliser so we make an effort to find 98 with only 5% ethanol. He is an awful filler and loves to burp petrol onto Sid’s shoes, so Sid fills him slowly and patiently. It is quite yoga like, but of course you don’t want too much deep breathing.
At first the road is straight but soon we are into the hills, with almost no other traffic. We find Los Mallos Riglos, which are lumps of rock held together with a naturally formed limestone cement.
Up here the map seems to offer a tunnel. When we get there it is an artistically rusty girder bridge, with trusses across the top, just the other side of a short tunnel. The trusses are lower than the bridge so effectively set the loading gauge for the road. This road then joins another that is gradually being brought up to motorway standard.
In Portugal there are tolls on most motorways. In Spain they are putting in the systems to charge from 2024. There is already fuel tax though petrol is less expensive in Spain than France, UK and Portugal. This is a big country (twice the size of Oregon) and to Brits the roads outside cities feel empty. Statista shows that about €80 billion has been spent on motorways since 2004.
Spain also has a 3,400 kilometre AVE express train network. This has cost about €47 billion since 1992, more than €1,000 for each Spaniard. We see very few trains. According to figures from El Pais (national newspaper) fewer than 100 people per day use the station at Huesca. Others are similarly untroubled with passengers. Apart from three lines connecting Madrid to other major centres the Foundation for the Study of Applied Economics finds all the rest uneconomic, just politically motivated bridges to nowhere. In Greece they stopped running those lines, cheaper than keeping up the pretence of social usefulness or tax payer value.
Anyway, the new motorway delivers us into Pamplona. Where Huesca was all about Catalan independence here the truculence is about the Basque identity of Navarre. Pamplona is known to tourists for the Running of the Bulls. In early July there is a festival of bull fighting, much cried up by Ernest Hemingway in 1923 (look out for the centenary opportunity). The bulls that have been selected to fight are set to run from the outskirts of the old town to the bullring, and people can run ahead of them for the fun of it. Few people are killed and the city benefits from a doubling of the population over that period. So probably quite a good trade, if you don’t die. And running is voluntary. We haven’t stopped the Manx TT, you just have to know what you have let yourself in for. Unlike smoking there seem to be few externalities.
So Sid and Doris go to look at the bull ring, where usually it is possible to go around with an audio guide. Not right now because the arena is filled with a Christmas Fair (tent full of knick knack vendors). Wandering through the fire exit at the back of the tent it is possible to get a look at the stands and happily the camels for Pamplona’s three kings are being kept here, so there are beasts to see. Camel fighting? Popular in Eastern Turkey where male camels fight each other in the presence of an in-season female, possibly believing they will get a turn. Man fighting is very popular under similar circumstances in Portsmouth most weekends.
Anyway, Sid digresses. In Pamplona children ride camels led by persons dressed as authentic middle eastern camel-handlers. And the children can step up onto a converted coach chassis to talk to one of the three kings who will be bringing presents on twelfth night. Father Christmas gets no look-in here.
The weather changes and rain comes. Where we might have gone to see a classical-music-on-odd-instruments show put on by dudes admiring Hermann in Huesca last night, S and D find the journey to a suburban arts centre has lost its appeal and are now lamenting that the hotel restaurant is closed. Still, the definitely iconic Cafe Iruna with full 19th century decor (with links to Ernest Hemingway and an OK sounding menu) will probably winkle them out of the warm hotel.
The Cafe Iruna turns out to be a strange experience. The waiter takes an order for drinks and two main courses. He goes to the kitchen squawk box, then comes back with the drinks. As time passes and the restaurant empties, it takes Sid and Doris a surprisingly long time to work out that the kitchen had told him no, and the waiter had not bothered to mention it. Doris paid and the duo went to a place that wanted to sell food and drink to foreigners. Subsequent thinking means we will aim to have real main courses in non-cafe restaurants because eating tapas dinners can and has palled.
Sid and Doris will not be going to Pamplona again. Wild bulls wouldn’t drag us back.
PS Because we know you really want to see it, here is a link to a video from the classical-music-on-odd-instruments people: