BIG EASY: The Running of the Bulls

Have I mentioned lately how much I love this city? I knew for sure I’d moved to the right place when last year, one month after our arrival, my husband and I discovered San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, aka, The Running of the Bulls. Yep. Right here in New Orleans.

Have you heard of this phenomenon? (I accidentally typed “herd,” but thought I'd spare you the unintentional bad pun. You’re welcome.) Every July since 2007, a bunch of wacky party people, dressed in all manner of Spanish-y, bullfighteresque, and/or Elvis-related attire, have been celebrating the historic Spanish festival by meeting at the crack of dawn to have some cocktails, then embark on an 8am run through the streets of New Orleans, while being chased by roller derby girls armed with foam or plastic bats. Yes, the Big Easy Roller Girls don horns and become… da bulls. And, yes, they taunt and smack the runners, who enjoy every second of it.

When we happened upon it last year, we wondered why the heck more people don’t attend this awesome, crazy fest! Well, apparently, the word is out. Last year’s ragtag group of hundreds (my estimate) who gathered in a remote section of the Quarter, exploded into a mob of 10,000 (their estimate) this year in the CBD! Holy smokes!

We arrived in the vicinity of the starting/finish line outside Ernst Café on S. Peters Street a little before 7am on Saturday. As expected, the joint was already hopping. Sangria, wine, and beer were flowing, a stage was set up, music was cranking, and crazily costumed revelers were milling about as far as the eye could see.

There were drummers drumming, buglers bugling, ladies dancing, lords a-leaping. You name it. Finally, a Grand Poobah of sorts, decked out in a papalish, feathered ensemble, called the crowd to order and led some irreverent pre-run prayers in a wonderfully booming, Renaissance Fair delivery. The crowd ate it up! An effigy of Saint Fermin was paraded through the crowd, then it was time for the main event.

When the announcement came for the bulls and the “drunken monkeys,” aka, runners, came over the PA, we found ourselves caught in the crush of the teeming masses, and unable to see any of the actual run! (We’ve already formulated a better plan for next year.) So, we people-watched/shuffled our way toward the last stretch of the course to witness the final gauntlet. Oh, the gauntlet. See, they send the runners and bulls out in chunks, so when each group of bulls returns, they begin forming a gauntlet through which the runners must pass.

Amazingly enough, there were kids there, too. (Can you see the tiny mustache on the baby in this picture?!) Some were actually running, some in strollers… we, however, shipped ours off to Grandma. When they’re too big to ride on shoulders, yet small enough to get trampled, it just ain’t worth it to me to fight this kind of crowd. Plus, y’know, I wanted to suck down some sangria. But to each his own.

Obviously, the bulls took it easy on the munchkins, but it was open season on adults. We were most impressed by one “Mary Choppins,” a lovely bull whose butt-smacking technique was both elegant and brutal (that's her, pictured below). There were many clever roller girl nicknames, and I’ve been kicking around ideas for my own. I can’t decide between “Yosemite Slam” and “Buster Chops.” Get it? “Bust her” – oh, nevermind.

The run is actually only one element in the entire, four-day San Fermin Festival. There were parties and wine dinners and Ernest Hemingway look-alikes. But we really only had the energy (and babysitting) for the run on Saturday. Such is the life of the middle-aged parents.

If I ever were to go to Pamplona for the “official” Running of the Bulls, I image I’d still watch from the sidelines, as I do for the local one. I’d probably still drink plenty of sangria, too. But, while I’d probably get a serious adrenaline rush in anticipation of seeing someone get gored to death before my very eyes, I doubt it would be as silly, fun, and irreverent as the New Orleans edition! But, ain't that always the case?! We are so spoiled living in this fun-lovin' town!

Olé!

PS -- I'm happy to report that no one in my group has experienced any sort of blindness or death as a result of that last cup of sangria we purchased from strangers selling it out of a cooler on the sidewalk. *Shudder*

For more information on the San Fermin in Nueva Orleans/The Running of the Bulls, visit http://www.nolabulls.com/.