Unpacking the Chaos and Tradition of San Fermín

Every July, the city of Pamplona in northern Spain becomes the centre of one of the world’s most dramatic and debated festivals—the San Fermín Festival. Famed for the encierro, or running of the bulls, this nine-day celebration fuses religious tradition, civic pride, and unfiltered exhilaration. Though often defined by its daily spectacle of danger, San Fermín is much more than that—it is a vibrant expression of Navarrese identity, a ritual of remembrance, and a rare window into Spain’s enduring cultural rituals.

The origins of this vibrant event date back centuries, rooted in a blend of spiritual reverence and seasonal celebration. Saint Fermín, the festival’s namesake, is believed to have been the first bishop of Pamplona, martyred in the 3rd century for spreading Christianity in the region. His feast day was historically observed on 25 September, but in 1591, the religious commemoration was moved to July to coincide with existing summer fairs and bull-related festivities, which ensured more favourable weather and greater public attendance.

Though its religious underpinnings remain vital—manifested in processions, masses, and traditional chants—modern iterations of the festival reflect both the evolution of Spanish identity and the shifting boundaries between devotion, tradition, and tourism. At dawn on 7 July, a statue of Saint Fermín is carried through the streets during the procesión, accompanied by dancers, musicians, clergy, and costumed giants known as gigantes. This ritual procession underscores the festival’s historical core: veneration of a local martyr whose memory galvanises a community into collective celebration.

What most outsiders associate with San Fermín, however, is the encierro. Each morning from 7 to 14 July, hundreds of runners dressed in white with red scarves sprint ahead of six charging bulls over an 875-metre route from the corral in Calle Santo Domingo to the bullring. This run, lasting just under three minutes on average, has its roots in practical necessity. Historically, herders had to transport bulls through the town to the plaza for evening bullfights, a task that over time became a ritualised dare attracting ever-larger crowds.

The first official documentation of the encierro dates back to the 14th century, although it gained broader notoriety in the 20th century thanks in part to American writer Ernest Hemingway. His 1926 novel The Sun Also Rises immortalised the Pamplona festival, introducing it to a global audience fascinated by the raw vitality of its traditions. Since then, Hemingway has become a posthumous mascot of sorts, with bars and plazas bearing his name and portraits, and visitors tracing his footsteps through the old town.

Despite its glamour and legend, the encierro carries genuine risk. Over the past century, more than a dozen participants have lost their lives, and hundreds are injured each year, often by trampling or goring. Medical teams line the route, prepared for emergencies, while local authorities impose rules to reduce recklessness. Only those over 18, sober, and properly attired are permitted to run, although enforcement is not always effective against the tide of thrill-seekers drawn from around the world.

For those planning a visit, timing and positioning are key. The festival begins officially at noon on 6 July with the chupinazo—a rocket launched from City Hall that ignites the celebrations. It draws tens of thousands into the Plaza Consistorial, where excitement reaches a fever pitch. While the atmosphere is electric, the density of the crowd may be overwhelming for some. The encierro starts at 08:00 daily, and the best vantage points include Calle Santo Domingo, the treacherous curve on Estafeta Street, and La Curva, where falls are frequent. Arriving by 06:30 is essential to secure a good spot, and for a safer perspective, private balconies—often rented through local agencies—offer an excellent elevated view. These should be booked months in advance.

Travellers who prefer to avoid the chaos can opt to watch from inside the Plaza de Toros, where the bulls conclude their sprint. Tickets to the arena, especially those with shade, sell out quickly and should be purchased well ahead of time. Beyond the bull runs, the festival offers daily processions, Basque music, traditional dance performances, fireworks, and local fairs that provide a more relaxed and equally meaningful glimpse into the region’s heritage.

Accommodation within the Old Town places visitors in the centre of the action but comes with noise and crowds. Neighbourhoods such as Iturrama or Ensanche offer quieter options while still within walking distance. White clothing paired with a red scarf—the festival’s traditional attire—is both symbolic and practical, helping travellers blend in while honouring local custom. It is wise to carry minimal valuables, wear comfortable walking shoes, and familiarise oneself with the schedule and routes. Families with young children may prefer to attend the early processions and daytime concerts rather than brave the dense gatherings that characterise the more extreme events.

Beyond the adrenaline and ceremony, San Fermín offers a mirror to Spanish cultural identity. The morning gatherings at peñas (social clubs), the closing song Pobre de mí sung on 14 July, and the visible joy of locals reconnecting with tradition reveal the festival’s deeper essence. It is a communal rite, passed from generation to generation, infused with memory, pride, and shared purpose.

Although the spectacle of the running bulls often dominates the narrative, San Fermín is not about chaos or bravado alone. It is about the interplay of devotion and defiance, ritual and revelry, history and transformation. Like many enduring festivals, it navigates the tension between preservation and progress, echoing the rhythms of a city that, for one week each summer, becomes the stage for one of Europe’s most arresting cultural performances.