Hemingway myth persists

Press, 25 July 1984, Page 35

Hemingway myth persists

NZPA-AP Pamplona, Spain Every so often, some pundit tries to dispel the Hemingway myth with its macho pleasures of drinking, carousing, and manly friendship. Then the San Fermin festival rolls round, and even those who have never read “The Sun Also Rises” feel some mysterious pull towards this medieval city in the hills of Navarre where a series of bulls run through the streets for 10 days and merrymakers drink until they drop. Among those influenced by Ernest Hemingway and his tales of Jake the journalist and Lady Brett Ashley, of brave bulls and braver bullfighters, is Mr Yuri Dubinin, the Soviet Ambassador to Spain, who attended this year’s July festival as the guest of a local winery. As Mayor Julian Balduz ceremoniously welcomed him at the Town Hall, Mr Dubinin confessed that every-thing he knew about Los San Fermines came from reading Hemingway as a youth in the Soviet Union. Following tradition, the Ambbassador wore a red neckerchief or panuelico — symbol of the festivities and the mozos (young men) who run with the bulls.

Politics and protocol saw to it that the United States Ambassador, Mr Thomas Enders, showed up on the same Town Hall balcony but on another day, althouth Mr Dubinin had said he would not have been ad-

verse to clinking a glass of cava, the local champagne, with the American envoy. Mr Enders wore a suit and tie without panuelico for his visit.

Also on hand was Hemingway’s granddaughter, the actress Margaux Hemingway, who is working on a documentary of the late author’s life for ABC-TV. The annual festival was going strong long before a young American reporter named Ernest Hemingway discovered Pamplona and its bullrunning in the 19205. The Pamplonicas have been donning white trousers and shirts, red sashes and neckerchiefs and racing six brave bulls from the corral to the bullring for 10 days every July since 1591. Fermin is their patron saint Why they do so is a subject of psychological and sociological speculation dealing with the profound relationship between men and bulls down through the ages. In spite of the presence of a few young women who run with about 1000 men in the early-morning encierros, as the two-minute dashes from corral to bullring are called, San Fermin is a man’s festival — a curious cross between mardi gras and food fights, similar to those portrayed in the film version of the National Lampoon’s “Animal House.” The bulls that run the encierro find their moment of truth in the rine later in the afternoon when they face professional bull-

fighters. In the stands all-male clubs, called penas, shower each other with champagne, sausage sandwiches, and insults. The sand-covered ring itself looks like a fruit salad at the end of the six-bull corrida as thousands of fans exuberantly toss in the garnishes from their sangria. Every now and then the men of the penas stand as if one, right arms in the air, singing a Basque nationalist song and calling for the departure of the Spanish national police who maintain a discreet presence at the ring. The whole thing is characterised from beginning to end by marching bands, spontaneous street dancing, consistent good humour on the part of residents, and much patience by the hardpressed local police. The festival concludes with a traditional song entitled “Oh, Poor Me” and, for many, a monumental hangover.