Bullfighting. Meh. Look, I get it. Bulls are big, have pointy things on their heads, and can be dangerous if provoked. If you want to show your skill at dancing with death, I suppose annoying a bull makes as much sense as free climbing or Formula 1 racing or whatever.
Bullfighting. Meh.
Look, I get it. Bulls are big, have pointy things on their heads, and can be dangerous if provoked. If you want to show your skill at dancing with death, I suppose annoying a bull makes as much sense as free climbing or Formula 1 racing or whatever. But why kill the bull? He didn’t ask to be involved and, I’m sure, would much rather be in a field somewhere screwing cows.
So sure, count me in when someone introduces the Paintball version of the bull fight.
That said, Pamplona is not a bad place. The statue of The Running of the Bulls is very well done.
The central square and cathedral are nice enough.
Pamplona was a dusty backwater with an unusual tradition of letting loose the bulls until Hemingway caught wind of it. Seduced, as he always was, by the prospect of gore, he used his prodigious literary talent to put the place on the map. The locals thank him every time a cash register rings.
