Spain the Final Frontier

If you would forgive me for second people and for the pun, but the duChats has hit a “high water” mark on the world tour. These past 10 days we have been riding high on the waves. Bullish to say the least, and tainted with a flavour, being that of Sangria and fear. Even on these lightweight pages I can’t recall a spell of time being so much fun, emotional and just down right off the wall. So once again people sit back as I’ll spill the proverbial beans on the Spanish odyssey, taking in the original mad festival, one massive sports event, and a special cast of ElderStatesmen classics.

Put the Kettle on, the kids to bed and sit back....its a long one!

Valencia and Pamplona

Valencia and the Cup

You’d have to have been a few leagues below the waves to not notice the Americas Cup being played out on Valencia’s windy waters in the last 3 weeks. This has been right at the top of my agenda for the tour, and after watching the Lads sweep the Louis Vuitton cup to make the finals, I promptly booked my ticket to Spain. Arriving on the Friday after race 5 was always a risky call, but rather than blame poor organisational skills, I like to say I backed the lads to win there fair share, even after being massive under dogs. As I’ll prove in the next few mins, I like a risk! !!

So I was meeting up with Dan and Lisa, Jimmy and Kate and one Jeremy Cameron. For those of you who brush past the last name, in a previous debauched life he was the artist formally known as Bullshit, but prefers his full length name now. But for the purpose of story telling, my appreciation of the ‘devils’ tongue and timely theme of the tour….Bullshit it will be! Also Paul Booth and Leyton Perris were over for some mayhem! And not disappointing I add.

The Americas Cup base in Valencia is simply brilliant, and without crapping on ad-nauseoum, it was a perfect set-up. You have probably all seen some kind of footage on TV and it was a good as it looked.

Myself and JC Bullshit arrived on the Friday, sails full of wind! With Dan, Lisa, Jimmy and Kate all on extended holidays in Spain and Europe, they had settled in nicely, and I’m sure they were looking forward as hell to the two of us getting there! In fact they had someone smiling on them as they bunked in with one Steve Tindall. Also they managed to blag a few days on the waves, earning me a slightly green tinge….and not sea sickness! Donut that the lads would be proud of, international donut to boot!

Friday was a good night out, ending in a roof top night club, which was to become our final stop on a few occasions, massive place and all open aired! The next day we rolled out of bed and headed straight down to the Americas cup base to meet the others down there. After a few ‘Hangover’ cures, it was to the woolshed. This place had Kiwi written all over it , and was fantastic to boot. Very similar to the old Chinese markets in downtown Auckland. Can you picture all the Italian supports flocking there in 2000 to watch the race? No, neither can I…..but out of sight! Haha

Regardless this place had atmosphere by the shed-load. Wall to Wall, all sorts and all ages. We met up with Boothy and Perris, who were also midway thru an acute hangover, incubated by the 30+ heat! The Crowd gathered, and the self appointed MC kicked off a rather despondent national anthem (minus the Maori version I add). Fingered him as being the Lieutenant 2^nd in charge of team Cromwell! But fairness to the old coot, he got the crowd going. Pity about the race, loosing by a unhealthy margin.

We then moved the show down to the waters edge, more specifically the Estral Damm Bar. A shining beacon of light if you will, perched on the Harbours edge, emerging like a nice froth atop the Saturday afternoon larger of life! This place had found 10 new friends, and we intended to stay and Dupree it. In all my travel’s, and more specifically time spent at bars, never have I seen such an array of …how do I say…Stunners! The bar manager must have had a Harbott hiring policy, generally being they either have the job as they walk in the door…or not, CV be dammed! Love it!

I really think this is where it gets, and the night …a little Dark. Basically held up there drinking 2 Euro beers for the night. Half way thru the night, a rather confused Perris returns, mumbling something about a blown jandel, super yacht, duck tape and a tap on the side of head. Not really sure what transpired the 2 hrs he went MIA, and am none the wiser as I sit here. But I know for sure a beach was involved, because a rucksack full of it was deposited on the dance floor by him? Irony is, its really as close as most of us got to the beach the whole trip! Anyway, night ended at Roof top bar…..late!

Sunday was really the big one, not so much for racing, but just one of the great days. The race was delayed due to no wind, so we headed down the viaduct to a quiet place and have a wee pint. 2 Hrs later the boats return after racing was abandoned, and with it every Kiwi waiting for them on the waters edge, you have to give it to us, you would have thought we one the whole dam thing! Waving flags, hats, t-shirts and even one bemused baby! The DJ had rummaged around his ‘Spanish’ collection and expecting a classic Gypsy Kings song to emerge, instead he brought out some NZ classics from a 2 week period in the 80’s! About 10 Kiwiana songs blasted the Harbour, 4 being Dave Dobbyn repeats! Classic stuff. We also meet up with Sandy and a few of her mates from London, as the party hit full swing. It was about this time in the afternoon that Boothy was trying to change his 9pm flight back to London. More and more desperate calls were dialled, until finally he hit pay dirt and got on one the following day. Boothy will be taking sweet and sour memories away from Valencia that’s for sure. Having already packed his bag, and carrying it ,we headed out for the night!

We all headed off for dinner, before returning to Estral Damm for a night cap, and what also turned out to be JC’s 30^th Birthday as the clocked clicked over 12. As much as the big fella tried to play it down, we all took as fuel to the nights fire. On a side note, not since Sex in the City (Was walking past TV at time) have I seen someone fret so much about turning the big Three Zero! He had a point, as the big hand met the little one on the clock I noticed a few more crows feet, grey hair and he even forgot to get the next round, but this might be more to do with genetics than being 1 day older! But I digress, this is once again where it gets a little pear shaped, well that’s if the thieving Spaniard is a portly we fella. See Myself and Boothy fell victim to this incredulous scourge in Spain. My bag had a camera (photos of PJ Montgomery and Bar Girls!! Sad) and …well booth lost all his clothes! Mmmm…..was not a happy camper when he arose from his slumber and trudged off to the airport with only a Wallet, passport and 3 day old clothes on his back! Just tell me when it’s safe to joke about this Paul, although was one of the best days around. Totally worth it! Pandol was downed for the biggest hangover yet, but as Bullshit puts it….taking painkillers on that hangover is akin to popping a few sealegs in the perfect storm!

One thing that made me prouder than a All Blacks father, was the amount of Kiwis that had made the trip from Home or UK. This has been touched on in all the reports and convo’s I’ve had. But, being an ElderStateman, I need to be the harbinger of what could only be described as perhaps the most painful New Zealander I’ve yet to meet (Not JC, Harbott and Thingy, although a photo finish)

No, Team Cromwell! Yes folks that craggy lot from down south had saved up there pennies, presumably but not spending money on fashion for 30 years, faking age to get pensions and no doubt numerous raffles consisting of Lamingtons and Styrofoam packed meat! Plus I suspect the odd under ground Bingo all nighter in the local town hall in Crommers, which It’s sad to report survived the latest winter blast back home. Anyway, one particular cringe inducing chap was this rabbles ring leader, we’ll call him Bazza. Bearing a large Kiwi flag and a 2^nd hand wardrobe browed from an Hawaiian bartender, he set about turning kiwis beat-red in the face!

His war cries could be heard up and down the waters edge, as he rallied the troops and instilled national pride. Am quite sure flying halfway around the world goes some way to showing my support, but not for old Bazza, he wanted more. Like a possessed drama teacher, barracking us poor unsupportive kiwis into action. A Kiwi-Evangelist if you will!

After chants of the insipid Kiwi, Kiwi, Kiwi it was onto a true classic! Down on hunches in front of at least 100 people……fist clenched!

IF ANYONE CAN, A KIWI CAN!!!!!!!

For an hour! Like some slow motion flash back to the days of Telethons and national inferiority complexes! We all watched in some kind of twisted cringe, but found it strangely amusing! Timeless moment….

So a few more days then the last final blast in Valencia, and heart break like never before. I’m dam sure that Alfred Hitchcock had a hand in the script for this cup. What a classic, the Woolshed was like a roller coaster, not the Rainbow ends excuse…but a big one! The crowd was up and down like a one armed window cleaner, lead, behind, lead….penalty….Drama! The last 1min of that race would have been the most agonising in sporting memory, the Woolshed was at fever pitch. It was like the whole place had each won Lotto…..See below

Then….Damm it! I was shaking for about 20min after that race, Gutted. People just looked wrecked. But the Kiwis all rallied around and greeted the Team NZ boys like champions, rather moving actually. Even team Cromwell were in form. The crowd flowed them all the way back into base….sniff sniff….special times!

I have deliberated in telling the next yarn, but after consulting with my psychiatrist and boxing coach, it needs to be mentioned. We had all decided to head to the bar on the roof at end of the night, which was pushing dawn. The bouncer (Yip) had decided that we weren’t up to dress code and demanded we change out shoes or what ever…..funny being that we all were dressed the same. So a quick strip out the front, which would have made Demi Moore happy, while the Spaniard bouncer watches us and then proceeds too let us all in. After spending a few hours drinking and dancing, we decide its time to hit the road! ….not quite the ‘hit the road’ I had in mind. As I walked out to meet JC, I gave the bouncer the thumbs up thanking him for the night (Honestly call), next thing I know I’m eating pavement. He had cold clocked me from behind, right in jaw! I had gone down quicker than Australia One! Lucky for me I’ve taken more hits than Google, so was back to my feet rapidly. The cheeky sod had gapped it, leaving me to take a technical victory over my Greasy opponent! A rocky style hands in the air moment, and we was off. Only I could take victory out of that…..anyway, he hit like a wet pancake, only a slightly saw jaw the result. Still wondering what we did to rile him up so much…haha!

That done we had our own lay day, and then hired a car to head up to Pamplona………

The Bulls

I remember when I was younger and hearing my Uncle Phil talk about the Running of the Bulls in Spain. Although I forget the full details of the convo, which knowing Phil would have been a one way street, and a lengthy one at that! But like the rest of the Family, he tells a bloody good yarn. This one involving him running down cobbled streets being chased by rather hefty bovines. Although it took me some years to not picture him, all 60kg (wet) ,running from the Black and white ‘far side’ variety. Any how, he tells of himself battling these beasts in the ring and a huge crowd cheering him on! Also perhaps leaping off one Statue, which surprises me that anyone would catch you Phil! Haha (Confirm?)

With this in mind the tour stampeded its way towards Pamplona, more than happy with our 6 days in Valencia, and ready for an even bigger few days. The funny thing is I always pictured Pamplona as a sleepy little Spanish town, all dirt roads and donkeys. We’ll as it happened, and has done on far to frequent an occasion, I was wrong. A thriving metropolis, for lack of a better narrative.

We were meeting a few Heavy weights (Reputation, not size, although formidable) in Pamps, one Steven Terrence Harbott and Aaron “Tokaroa” Tapsil. We had all booked in with the Evergreen tour group the Beige Brigade, who are making a good old foothold in Europe. Perfect set-up at the closest camping ground to the city. A giddy excitement brewed as we were greeted with well over 700 Aussies and a tight (knit) 150 Kiwis! Plus many others around the camp ground!

Thursday night consisted of the usual meet and greet, as the lads did the rounds. Had a excellent random run in with a few good mates from our old Stomping ground Westlake Boys’ High. Ben Dalton, Craig Espie and Matt Massey were all on the tour too…the numbers were swelling! Good messy night ensued.

So it was onto the Friday, and opening ceremony of the San Fermin Festival.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Fermin

Traditional white and red garb are donned for this, and every other day to be fair. Which is nice, if not a little unoriginal. Apparently it’s the new black. So we all headed into the streets, buying the local drink Sangria by the 2L. Cheap……

Within 10ft of hitting the main square the madness started. Drink spraying every where, it was like the F1 champagne ceremony for the next 2hrs, but Sangria instead. I tell you what, Nappysan would make a bloody fortune over hear, and this place is a mothers worst nightmare…from a Laundry stand point, if not every other point to. Like putting a red shirt in with the whites! . People were going nuts, worse (Better) than any Metallica mosh pit could throw at you, yes like a mosh pit with no music. Then the Squeeze started and the Mayor kicked off the 8 day party with a feeble 10 second speech….. thus in one fowl swoop betting the Ramati South Primary School fastest speech time by a slowly kid named Alistair (It must have been hard to
elaborate on finer points of his pet, Rusty, the Skink), but not the most up lifting speech from Mayor Pamps, but then again who needs motivation when you have 9 Bulls running at your bits the next day.

The day ended back by the camp getting pickled by the pool and general banter. A horrible squalid little invention in Spain (Korea I suspect, I never got to close to the fine print) were these childish loud hailers. They play ring tones, and that old Spanish classic - wait for it ------ you all know the words – Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole …..Ole, Ole, Ole….A chant which comes a dam close second to the worlds worst – Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi Oi Oi. Bleeding ears material. Anyhow, these freaking things were every where, including one lurking around the pool the whole day, like a Jehovah’s witness looking for a promotion. This painful twat just keep on preaching the whole day, not religion, but opinions and jokes (Debatable ones at that). So our mate Scott “Hornby” Nixon decides to end our pain and do something about it!

“Mate, can I have a go on that” Says a barley legible Nixon

“Um, well, Ok. But be careful” Yank (Irony abounds)

“Fuck this” Says Nixon – A perfect grenade lob into centre of pool. Queue cheering and clapping from crowd!

Highlight of my day? I think so! You can take the man out of Hornby?

So the 1^st Bull run dawned, unlike our hapless heroes! Sorry but a few of the lads passed on the first bull run of the year for a bit more shut eye, seeing the fact we must have only just got to bed, only to be told to get up for 5am! But one overly keen Harbott lurched out of bed, pen, paper and stop watch in hand to get the good oil on the race, feeding the vital stats back to the lads for the next day.

Basically for those who are not familiar with the Running of the Bulls Tradition, here’s brief run down:

• Bulls x 9 (5 Angry + 4 mellow-ish) each weighing around 650-700kg

• Humans x 1000+ (mostly mad Spanish)

• 848m of Cobbled St (less than a few meters wide at some points)

• No visible exit for most of the length and where there might be hope, is an angry copper to smack you back in!

Being a man of great accuracy go here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_running_of_the_bulls

So after the race we all went into town for a big night on the razz. All the Kiwis and Aussies flew into the night at pace. And the place was on fire, 200,000+ people had descended on Pamplona, with scant regard for rules or hygiene! My kind of place. The night had it all, classic sing along’s, cheap sangria, a mob lunching….hold that thought for a moment, let me elaborate. Pickpockets are rife, as rife as old mans beard was in the 90’s. All the tour had been effected, my Camera in Valencia, although I suspect 50% Thief, 50% drunken du Chateau. Anyhow, the Pamplona pickpocket was about as popular as Brad Butterworth at a Black Hearts convention. But we caught one, this poor twat decided his next target would be a Aussie chap, and was caught red handed. He had off loaded the camera to an accomplice and she had legged it up the road. Next thing Bullshit (JC) has this little Spaniard in a head lock and the crowd descend! This prick took more hits than the dart board at an RSA, the finishing move being head first at ramming speed into a nearby garage door. We got the camera back too! Haha! Tip for team pickpocket…..pick you target pal! An angry mob the Simpson’s would have been proud off.

About 2hrs previous the crowd witnessed a real special moment. Harbott had come into town clutching his prized Mexican Wrestlers Mask!

What started as Him and Toks play fighting ended in titanic 3 way battle Royal with me included! Within 1min the crowd had swelled to well over 100 people watching the boys body slam, choke hold, leg drop, knee drop…all the drops, suplex’s all on concrete (Were Professionals, don’t do this at home kids)!

This ended after the duChats tagged in for Tokaroa and entered the ring, and after a brutal fight back getting quite a lesson in the art of back yard wrestling. Harbott finishing me off with a classic Boston Crab. The Drama, The Tension, The Skill, The Tragedy, The Crowd loved. We Loved it. Harbott smiled for the rest of the tour, a boy hood dream realised in the most unlikely of places!

But we had bigger fish to fry, Bulls that is. Not that shady town north of Levin, no my friend much much better! 2^nd Running of the Bulls – 10 Bulls, 1 added to yesterday.

We got up around 5am to get into town and secure a good spot on the track for the 8am Rocket! Street sweepers were still cleaning as we headed to our spot. Then the 1 ½ hour wait, squeezed tighter than a speed skating suit. Remember half the people are still cut, some are puking. The wait was the worst part…….Then the Cops move and we are free to run, walk or wait for the Bulls. The Aim was to leg it around ‘Dead Mans’ corner for obvious reasons and wait there. Which we did…..Rocket 1 goes off…Bang….6 Bulls charge up.. about 300m back from us. Wait….Wait….Hundreds of lads are pouring past us at this stage, all looking over there shoulders. Harbott and myself attempt to wedge ourselves into a crack in the wall! Shitting bricks…waiting….is this a good place…what if? No idea…fuck….Tokaroa and JC have taken off up the track. More people….feels like a life time!

THEN……Bang, a bull comes flying into the hoardings at dead mans and were off, you can hear the sound of them on the cobbles….. a blur of bodies, people on the ground, jumped over them, have to keep moving! Bulls suddenly along side us, shoulder height!!! , but other side of track, nice choice lads…am screaming at top of lungs now! Loving it! At full pace after them, remembered 4 more still to come after these….bulls are fast….then they close a gate about 100m the track??? What, no idea what was going on…stretcher on the course, someone taken off….then gates open…..shit……Run….run….run….then suddenly more bulls…Fuck Fuck Fuck….no where to go…..pushing people out the way, smashing into them….then a opening in the track, gets a bit wider…..dive right…..as the heard trundles past…..big bastards…..then leg it again! Have to beat them into the ring or get shut out….but they to fast….get to top of track and big red doors are closing……not to unhappy….heart rate must have been close to 200! Lads all gather, except toks who made it in! Below is the actual race we were in. Long Vid, but worth it for the carnage at the end! We are around the corner from where the guy gets nailed into the boards at Dead Mans!

As you can see below, Tokaroa decided his best evasion tool was the unsightly strip of the East Coast Bays Rugby team…..if only the Bulls had a tad less taste! Honestly it was like where’s Waldo, people spotting him through out the day. A better marketing ploy is hard to think off, Green and Black in a Red and white world! Either by Accident or design, it paid dividends as the big fella was noticed stumbling around town all day. Only returning to the Camp to regal us in tales of the day and what became compulsorily Bombs off the roof into the pool! Another interesting Tokaroa point is the fact he landed in Pamplona with no accomodation, deciding to back himself and find some when there. Seeing as the place was booked more solid than the Texas State Electric chair he was in for tough ask. But in usual style he arrived at the campsite with a new friend, Edwardo from Brazil! (You can't make this shit up) And had convinced his South American friend to share his small tent with him for 15 Euro per night! Also must be noted that Edwardo does not drink.....making surely the oddest of couples in Pamps. Edwardo even calling Toks his new husband...joking? not 100% sure.

Ed Note: Tokaroa has been entered into the ElderStateman Hall of Fame early, after a death-defying weekend. He Ran the Bulls 3 days straight, returning after one race with Bull Shit (Actual) on his hands, proving his proximity. Also leaped off the mussel bar statue, for those in the know…that’s madness. For those who don’t, it’s about 3-4m high leap onto some rather trusted strangers! LEGEND. When quizzed about his 3^rd run of the bulls, he replied in typical Tokaroa fashion.

“Why would you run it 3 times Toks?” Crowd
“Well lads, it means I’m in credit for the next 3 years and has saved me 2 trips here!” Says Tokora. And you can’t argue with that sound logic.

See Above Slide. You can See Tokaroa in Green and Black Jumper! Classic

We all left Pamps the following day. A truly amazing dam 5 days there. I would imagine it is an experience I will probably not relive in real life. But am sure as that I will be regaling future young du Chateau’s in my Pamplona experience. I'll also be able to sit with my Bother Tom and Uncle Phil and talk war stories.....Recommend anyone to head there. Just the best. One warning would be not to pack your favourite whites!

duChats