After our night in the mountains we continued along the Camino route to Pamplona our first Spanish city. The drive was spent cramming Spanish into our brains as we only speak a bit of French. We'd obviously heard of Pamplona's bull run and its tourist deluge of lads lads lads bravado, except this time of year it's relaxed.
We drove to the central Plaza del Castillo and explored the tall narrow alleys stopping to eat local cuisine. Hurray! Pamplona, land of pinxos at last the irresistible delicious savoury bites. What a brilliant compliment to drinking mini booze and passing an afternoon. Caution is required, most bites are generally mystery meats. They like tentacles in ink and pork bellies in tiny dishes.
Despite the bull run festivities being short lived, there is literally a bull related gift shop along every corner. It's easy to see how the alleys make an ideal race track for humans and bulls alike.
We were caught out by the Spanish siesta and found ourselves with naught to do. After our brief stop off we resolved that Pamplona held limited appeal for us, so we looked to bed down in the Nazarre valley.