One morning in July 2011 I walked into Pamplona with my husband. ‘Hobbled’ would be more like it as five days on the Camino de Santiago had given me a blister-to-be-proud-of on my left heel. Deafening brass bands on every street corner banished our mountain tranquillity immediately. The Fiesta de San Fermin was in full swing. White clothing with red neckerchiefs were worn by everyone from newborns to smiling ninety year olds. Local Rioja was everywhere… along with drinking it, dousing each other is part of the ritual. Pamplona had not been on our agenda, but, unbeknownst to us, it was on our Way. We could have walked around the city walls and carried on, but I invoked the blister. It was time to party!
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