A historic chupinazo under the flood, against ALS and the pandemic: and Pamplona wept with joy

• ALBUM San Fermín begins!

  The best images of Chupinazo 2022

When goalkeeper

turned on the chupinazo and lit his "

, sitting in his wheelchair, he raised a clamor, the bristling mass in the Plaza Consistorial, under the balcony.

A runaway human tide, feverish passion released, confined almost three years,

.

The knotted voices, the

,

, once again, like the Tower of Babel.

Goras and cheers uncorked, the red running, the calimocho poured, liters of alcohol flowing through the veins of the city where the bull is the totem.

The 12 noon earthquake, with an epicenter in the

that concentrated 10,000 people, replicated earthquakes throughout the city.

In the

, in the

,

and

, giant plasma screens expanded the explosion in white and red, the passion according to

.

Only a Civil War and a pandemic managed to stop his strength.

The 22nd of the 21st century brings an echo of the 39th of the 20th, a bit of victory, understood without ideological vision, when the running of the bulls was reactivated.

That July 7 like this one, the stampeding bulls, the atavistic return of the running of the bulls, the frantic noise of the race.

The rocket flew like the flare of all these castaways who found with it the mainland, the promised land, on their drifting raft.

The pristine soft in five minutes, what am I saying, and one, already looks like a faralaes suit, dotted with a swarm of lunar garnets.

Album

Bulls.

San Fermin begins!

The best images of Chupinazo 2022

San Fermin begins!

The best images of Chupinazo 2022

In the face of international sprawl, in the capital of Foral and Spanish Navarra, the clock of traditions works with Navarran precision.

The countdown to 12 noon on July 6 starts at 10 a.m., and in this case three years earlier.

The lunch tables spread fried eggs on the tablecloths, the egg that is not lacking,

that act as a mattress in the stomach for what comes, for what falls.

I see in

, in

, near the

, parades of wine bottles that already water the party.

The red scarves, still tied to the wrists, seem to

At 10:20 am, hordes of kids come down San Ignacio street, and girls, of course, for the inclusive ones, who are going to come of age at the party.

On every corner there are posters against sexual assault, harassment, sexist intimidation, in Spanish and Basque:

.

At 10:33 a voice comes out of the

cafeteria like a fire alarm: "The tortillas are over!"

Drizzle as if the sky wanted to put out the fire, but what is needed are eggs, more eggs, and potatoes.

At dawn, a storm unleashed a torrent that pamplona has paved

water for early risers.

The day dawned full of dark clouds, with hardly any sun.

An 18-degree wind combs

.

One hour left for the chupinazo.

An army of immaculate youngsters in shorts carry a red bucket, as well as a garbage can, with a predictable content:

.

It could be calimocho or sangria.

That one is carried by the commando next door, prefabricated in bottles from Don Simón.

A further group, the young men are baptized by throwing glasses of dye as if it were water from the Jordan.

In front of

, a classic among classics, facing the main door of the Monumental, formal people drink from crystal glasses.

Contrasting riojas and rosés from the land, of course, claret, it is.

In the

an infinite terrace wriggles colorful under the trees.

At 11.20 the

boils in front of the big screen, projecting the mob of the

, which bounces and bounces, screams and screams, in the endless wait.

The sirimiri is now calimocho.

The controls of the Foral Police check bags and handbags.

Along the Espoz y Mina crossing, at the

bar , the pinchos run.

In

, on the corner of

, there is more peace.

The hustle and bustle of the Old Town takes the form of a montonera.

it vibrates like an electric snake.

A helicopter flies over the Telefónica curve.

The rain tightens and the most far-sighted put on raincoats.

The running of the bulls already has anti-slip liquid for the bulls and the clumsiest.

In front of the

nursing home , in a corner of

, a huge Navarran flag waves as if warning where we are, to avoid confusion, to stop the expansionist ambitions of the nationalists who say "Euskal Herria".

Nationalism is expansionist by definition.

I was here 25 years ago, when Miguel Ángel Blanco was executed, and I saw the reaction of the Navarrese people against terror, against what they detest.

The banner vindicating bildutarras yearnings crosses the mass of

at 11.40 .

An ikurriña too.

I see it on the screen of the crowded arena of the

.

Nor does a pin fit on the balconies.

"San Fermín, San Fermín!" They chant frantically.

In no time the Citadel will be a graveyard of hangovers.

From guys with Six Vicious leader aspirations.

A Venezuelan exclaims on his cell phone asking a boutade: "Don't tell me it's full?"

He wanted to go to City Hall, the very naive.

They then bathe him in calimocho, by julay de Abelardo.

The blacks who sell bracelets, hats and ribbons that shine filter through impossible places.

There is one minute left and Unzué comes out in his wheelchair, next to Enrique Maya: "Pamploneses, Pamplonesas,

. And it is also dedicated to all the patients with ALS, especially Mocho.

.

And he lit the rocket, the shot for life.

A lady with snowy hair, her hair trimmed over the red of the scarf, the age when life turns the last corner,

, on a terrace in the Plaza del Castillo.

She was crying alone, she was probably crying with joy, it is not certain, because she was crying in front of an empty chair.

She represented Pamplona, ​​the now happy city, which was lost.

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