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So Hemingway was the supposed something of the rebel. Hemingway was Hollywood. Everybody knew Hemingway. Hemingway was rich and famous. Hemingway was a notorious writer, heavy drinker, party jungle-man, the paragon of male virility. I was more of a Beatnik guy. I liked Kerouac. The Beats were of the bleak, and black and white murdering times, of the early century. Hemingway was a capitalist and slaughtered for the fun of it. It was so pioneering - westward-ho !
Pamplona - the campsite or its events, I can not remember much of. It was crowded, wall to wall tents a few feet apart. We were way in the back in a corner, one row away from the rear fence, and thus a slight bit removed from the fray. Everyone was nice there. Of course Nicole and I didn't have a tent, but only the plastic and no privacy except underneath. This was a campsite of Hemingways. I remember the Australians were the most noisy and obnoxious. Thank god no one had heard of the boom-box in those days. It was just loud talk and screaming and maybe a guitar and singing to all hours.
Nicole and I went into Pamplona everyday for the running of the bulls. I usually found some spot high enough, where I could watch the men running down the street in front of the bulls, just briefly as everything flashed past. I myself had no interest in this sort of marathon. From what I saw, it did not look all that dangerous, and it seemed one would have to be really reckless and take chances to get hurt. Wait for a bull and run right in front of it, if you wanted a story to tell.
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