Pamplona (Iruña in Basque)

Zagan the motorhome spent last night in a gravel car park with Bessie (Kathryn and Alec’s Bessacarr), within sight of the stone walls of the great bull-running city of Pamplona (N42.82102, W1.65645). Ooooeee it’s been a cracking and fun time the past couple of days, so even though we’ve moved to Sos del Rey Católico, we’ll create another blog post for our time here – this one’s all bull).

Zagan and Bessie in the freebie car park in Pamplona

“Hi. That looks a lot like our old van you know. The upholstery looks very similar.” Trev nodded towards Zagan as a few Brits ambled about the aire in San Sebastian shooting the warm breeze. Later on he followed up with “Actually, you know, that was our van I think? Did you buy it from a chap with a double-barrelled surname?” Yep, Trev and Sheila were Zagan’s second owners, although back then he went about the place known as Hymie, he’s a dark horse our van. The co-incidence was quite incredible, and we took full advantage to ask a few questions: how big is the solar panel? 120Wp. What about the leisure batteries? Two 85Ah. Sweet, we have a solid electrical system in here, woo hoo!

To top off the great news on the 12V system, John (from Hetty the Hymer) had a couple of spare G4 LED bulbs which he generously gave us. It took about 30 seconds to whip out the old ones and pop in the LEDs. They work beautifully. Bright, instant light, generate no heat and use maybe 1/10th of the power, if that. The rest of the bulbs in here will get swapped out once we’re back in Blighty, ready for next year’s frivolities.

As Trev and Sheila sat in Zagan, their eyes no doubt alighting on old memories, they must have felt the same as Ju and I did sitting in John and Susan’s classic Hymer (Hetty), the old style Hymer habitation door hinges invoke particularly powerful memories in me from Germany and from Sicily! Topped up with water, Zagan rolled out of the San Sebastian aire after a round of goodbyes, hugs and handshakes. There are stacks of cracking people wandering the sun-kissed roads out here.

Trev and Sheila, previous owners of Zagan!

John and Susan. Travellers extraordinaire. And givers of LEDs!

A tangle with part of San Sebastian’s whacky concrete-pasta road system failed to faze Zagan as we exited the city, although a few of the locals were left bemused… And we managed to cause this mini-mayhem in the few km between where we were parked and waypoint number 1: the Spanish supermarket. Oh yeah!

There’s something magical about getting into a new country and perusing the isles of grub. Even in North Africa the supermarkets were fascinating: costs, what new foods there are, what’s the cheapest wine available, even new ways to buy grub (you can buy frozen seafood here by the gram – I picked up three large ice-encrusted prawns (€1.03) to try). A good selection of frozen tapas had us wondering how many of the pintxos bar owners in town popped up here to save on cooking!

Cheapest wine available: 65c a litre – 46p. Lager came in at €3.17 for twelve 33cl bottles.

Stacked to the gunnels, we rolled off on the free motorway south, awash with sunshine and with a rendez-vous lined up with Alec and Kathryn in Pamplona. The Basque area of Spain must be famous for its lack of flatness. Although we’re way south of the peaks of the Pyrenees, the land refuses to lie down. No switchbacks in sight, but the road instead opted to simply grind away directly uphill and down dale. Lorries painfully dragged themselves upwards, flashing hazards as if asking for sympathy.

A teeny wee bit more junction jiggery-pokery was required (aka flustered U turns) before Zagan could ease himself to a halt, parked up in front of Bessie in Pamplona. Becalmed again, the three of us strode off with extreme vigour (ahem) into the city, peering about here and there for signs of the famous bull-run. The run (the Fiesta de Sanfermin) takes place in July, so we’re a few months early/late. It’s a tough life, I know. We made do with the town’s fabulous oooh-sheet-the-bulls-the-bulls!!! statue and a drink or two with Alec and Kathryn, when we caught up with them, on the tight street the chase takes place down.

Trouble! The rolled up bit of paper is supposed to somehow distract the ton-up bull as it bears down on you?

Charlie, for the 67,897th time is his life, is frozen with fear.

Hemingway was ‘ere. And Pamplona ain’t going to let you forget it. His name’s everywhere.

Basque flag in one of the city’s tall jumble of flats on narrow streets. We were both much reminded of the Italian southern cities.

As the vino tinto del casa flowed, the cobbled street we sat in bubbled into life. Students with a large oblong cardboard picture frame came along asking for photos of emotion. “We’ve already had lots of happiness”, we gave them mock-fighting amid angered wine-soaked Brits. A couple of unlucky lookie-lookie folks tried their, ah, luck. No luck, the ‘African made’ small welded motorbike didn’t float anyone’s boat.

With enough of the red stuff in us to propel our legs back to the vans, we all pootled back and engaged in a spirited ’empty the box’ contest. Several litres of red consumed (all for price of a single glass in some bars back home), yarns spun, plans discussed, we finally hit the sack. Alec and Kathryn are the same age as us (give or take), and have engineered their lives into a position where perpetual travel is theirs, should they want it. As we sat and chatted about future plans, it struck me once again just how incredible an opportunity we all have before us.

At a small demonstration in Pamplona I asked why they were there. The chap rummaged in his backpack and gave me this explanation.

This morning/early afternoon (who’s counting), we parted company as they’re heading south and we’re staying on our course east, lining ourselves up for a run over the high mountains. A single glimpse of the grey peaks today sped up my ticker. Mountains. Big buggers. Proper jobs! Get in!

Cheers, Jay