san fermín: pamplona, navarra

It's the legendary fiesta, what people know about Spain if they know anything beyond Madrid and Barcelona. It's San Fermín, known in its 9ish day entirety as sanfermines, and it's a huge, crazy party. Commemorated and made famous by Hemingway in his awesome book The Sun Also Rises, it's known of and attended by people across the world. It's Spanish town festival meets Mardi Gras meets a bull fight meets Panama City Beach. With everyone in red and white (stained, of course with vino tinto/kalimotxo/sangria).

We attended the party this weekend, and spent 24 hours soaking up the legend. We saw the bullring, saw the wooden fences that guide the bulls in every morning at 8am for the encierro (the famed Running of the Bulls),  saw drunk people falling off of said fences....

It was touristy, and it was just what we expected, but it was also different. There were a few oases of peace  across the city, like one of my favorite tea shops from when I lived here several years ago. There was much more elbow room than we expected, and there was a general air of jollyness and a surprising feeling of safety and comradery.  All in all, it was surprisingly pleasant, much more small-town fiesta than I expected.

the gigantes, old-school parade characters representing the old royalty of the kingdom of Navarre.

descanso, with sangria and shoes off.

tables being set in the street. loitering/making party. in the grocery store.

pollo.

a sea of red and white.

the morning after. French tourist takes it upon himself to help with the street cleaning.

leaving the city. agur, san fermín, hasta el año que viene!

pasteles beatriz: pamplona, navarra

There's a magical place that disappears during certain parts of the day, and can only be found by the uninitiated if they spot the line snaking down the street or are lucky enough to smell the warm scent of chocolate and flour wafting down Calle Estafeta in Pamplona, Spain. It's too small, and it's not aesthetically pleasing. The women that work there are the same ones as six years ago, and probably ten before that, and they occasionally pop a palmerita in their mouth while they're serving up kilos of the stuff.

This place is Pasteles Beatriz, the best bakery I've ever been to in this country.

My pamplonesa amiga nodded in approval when I showed up to coffee with some chocolate filled hojaldres from Beatriz, whose buttery puff pastry crust had stained the bag in the couple minutes it took me to walk to the cafe. The dark chocolate inside is of the highest quality and is so generous that it drips down your chin.

Locals show up for boxes full of palmeritas, assorted cookies, magdalenas, and cakes. The black walnut cake I had was simple and moist. No frosting, no filling, just the intoxicating flavor of black walnut. This is a special place...still searching for it's donostian equivalent.

Any leads would be appreciated and rewarded handsomely in refined sugar.