JENNI: We found our way to the waterfront and the beaches the first morning we arrived, and the weather was pretty cool. In fact, the weather here is not predictable at all, and I find it to be a pleasant surprise - very different to what I know summer to be like in Texas - HOT!!!! And when it gets hot here, the beaches are at full capacity. There are three beaches here, due to the unusual structure of the coastline, and they are all considered, "topless" beaches. It's fascinating to realize that this is normal - that no one thinks twice about taking a group of preschoolers down to this "scandalous" beach for a few hours, and that senior citizens are not bothered by the display of flesh on their morning walks. It's liberating.

JOE: They don't call it "toplessness" here. They don't even consider it nudity. It's just how they've been going to the beach for hundreds if not thousands of years. It's natural and we should all respect that. And … oh my gosh … it's just so … BEAUTIFUL! Okay, sorry … I try to keep my composure but there are gazillions of half-naked women here! Woooo-hoooo! Okay, I can't say that out loud here in Spain because I'll blow my cover and everyone will know I'm American. As if my Nikes didn't already give me away.

JENNI: Geez…I'm traveling with such a GUY!!! To give you a bit of the history of San Sebastian: It started as a humble fishing community that became the port city for the Kingdom of Navarre in the 12th century - complete with a little castle on the Hill (the hill on the left in the photo) overlooking the ocean and a village below. Soon it became apparent that the castle would have to also function as a fort to protect the city from the French army, who attempted to invade the town several times, and sometimes succeeded. And so a wall was built around San Sebastian. It was meant to protect the people and the town, but instead served as a wonderful way to enclose fires that engulfed and destroyed the entire town twelve times. In 1813, Napoleon and the French army again succeeded in overtaking the town, and on August 31 the English and Portuguese armies broke a hole through the wall to save the Basque people from the French…but instead of saving the people, they ended up razing the town. A street is named after this day: El Calle de 31 de Agosto, which is near where we are staying. The only buildings left standing after this battle were two churches and a house made of brick. All of the buildings presently in San Sebastian, with the exception of those three, were built after 1813.

Some time later, the wall was torn down to allow the city to grow beyond its original boundaries, but parts of it still remain in the Old Town, or El Parte Viejo. In the late 19th century, Queen Elizabeth was told by her doctor that in order to cure her skin disease, she had to move to where there is sun and sand. So she came to San Sebastian, and her royal presence started the fascination with this pearl of a city. She built a huge bathhouse on the beach, called "La Perla", as a place for her to bathe in the salty seawater away from the peasants' prying eyes. (Joe and I splurged on a ticket to partake in this royal activity, and it was heavenly! Thee giant pools of warm salty water with massaging jets will work wonders for walking-weary legs.)

Present-day San Sebastian is very artistic, with public support and recognition offered in great supply to local and famous artists. Our tour guide, a photography artist and native of Holland who speaks Dutch, English, Spanish and German, told us that she originally came to Spain to live in Seville, a city in the southern end of the country. But she found that the prevalent flamenco style art in Seville did not leave room for other types of artistic expression so she moved to San Sebastian where she is finding more of a venue for her art. One of the most famous buildings here is the Palace of Congress, or the Kursaal Conference Center and Auditorium. Designed by Rafael Moneo, it's covered in 10,000 sheets of glass and is situated on the mouth of the Urumea River that feeds through the town and empties into the ocean. The building is supposed to resemble the huge square boulders that the city places along the seawall to help break the crashes of waves…while I can understand the intent, I find it quite unattractive. Joe calls it the "Ugly Parallel-o-Gram."

JOE: Hmmm. Yeah, there is some interesting history and architecture here. And it makes a perfect backdrop for the oh-my-gosh HALF-NAKED WOMEN!!!!! Yippeeeee! But I digress. How about the weather? It's been schizophrenic here. The first two days were kind of chilly, in the low 60's. It was too cold to swim and the beaches were bare. We were even considering moving on to another area like the Spanish or French Rivieras, but then changed our minds when it warmed up considerably into the low 80's. We got some sun Thursday and Friday, but then it rained hard Saturday and part of Sunday. Even when it's raining, though, it's still beautiful.

JENNI: And the rainy days give us a great excuse to sleep in and no do much of anything. We've put the seven days here to good use - took a tour of the city, rested up, indulged in some guilty pleasures like La Perla, lain on the beach, visited a couple of museums, saw the Aquarium, toured the castle at the top of the Hill, went to Pamplona, practiced our Spanish…we've done well. And the best part is that the longer we stayed here, the more we learned about the history and the culture of the Basque people. We even met a wonderful Basque family in a park Sunday night and they spent the next 5 hours with us - took us to dinner in a rural town outside of San Sebastian, and discussed the local politics with us. There's so much to tell about that, we'll include it on the next update.

JENNI: We are two of those many Americans, and that was our plan. I has my sandals on when we left San Sebastian last Monday afternoon on a bus to Pamplona - about an hour's ride. Our intent was to catch up with the "Balcony-Broker" we'd contacted months ago to pick up our balcony tickets for the next morning, see the sights, and catch a bus back to San Sebastian. That's where the plan fell apart. Apparently there is no bus service early enough in the morning to get us to Pamplona in time to see the Encierro - the Running of the Bulls. So we stayed, and the last bus left at 10:00PM without us. We had our cameras, some money, and raincoats. And my sandals.

First things first, we bought the required uniform: white shirt, red sash, and red bandanna. Now we looked like everyone else - and I mean EVERYONE else. The only distinguishing difference in the crowd was the amount of sangria spilled on your clothes. We then spent about an hour figuring out how to use the telephones, and arranged to meet the Balcony Broker on the 4th floor of some street, somewhere. And we weren't even sure about that much - the directions were in Spanish and we were hoping.

We found the street, found the apartment, and picked up the tickets…and now that business was taken care of, we picked up a bottle of sangria. Joe used a phrase that I will borrow here - "aimless partying". That is a wonderful way to describe what we saw - people, all dressed alike, partying aimlessly, drunkenly, sleepily, crazily…it was quite a show that you could watch for hours. Families with strollers and toddlers, old ladies walking arm-in-arm, wide-eyed tourists…it's all here, together, at the same time. And by the way, there's no such thing as time tonight. It's an all-night party that won't end until the sun comes up and the bulls run and you find a private patch of grass to nap on.

As the night wears on, the families and older partyers go home. That's when it gets a bit more rowdy. Bottles and trash EVERYWHERE, people EVERYWHERE, music, bars, singing, shouting…. It's complete and utter drunken chaos. We had a hell of a time trying to identify people on the street who we thought we be drunk enough to decide he (or she) could outrun the bulls after a night like this. We didn't last the night. About 4:00AM, we had wound down like little toys and the cold was getting to us. Now I wish I'd worn my sturdy walking shoes…my feet were FREEZING!!! I wrapped them up in the red sashes, cleared a spot of grass in a noisy and crowded (safety in numbers, right?) public square for Joe and me, and we tied the daypacks around our arms and used them as pillows. We woke up a few moments (or hours…) later when some partygoer was tugging our daypacks out from under our heads.

Time to move on, to the other side of the square where someone got a little too close for comfort. The third time we followed a brass band to another section of the party, found a more private park, and were left undisturbed until 6:00AM, when we got up and found our way to the balcony where the surly owner had coffee and cookies ready.

We watched from the balcony as the street cleaners passed time and time again removing the trash and bottles to prepare the street for both runners and bulls. We have no pictures of this night…thieves frequent the party as would be expected, and we did not want to draw attention to ourselves by pulling out expensive cameras and then falling asleep. I hope this description will suffice.

JOE: A buzz of activity breaks the early morning hangover and the crowd begins to cheer with anticipation. It's 7:45 a.m. in Pamplona, Spain on the fourth day of the Running of the Bulls, July 10, 2001. At first, it seems they've started the run early. Hundreds of men (and a few women) dressed in white with red sashes and red bandanas begin sprinting down a narrow alley as if the starter gun has gone off for the Boston Marathon. But it's a false alarm. Actually, this is just the beginning of the ritual. They let the runners out just a few minutes before the bulls. Some runners stretch. Most look nervous. The adrenaline is rushing. Suddenly, at 8:00 a.m. sharp … POW! Fireworks go off in the town square. The pens are opened and the bulls begin lumbering down the street at about 10 or 15 miles per hour … The runners lining the half-mile route are jumping up and down with anticipation. Many of them have been up all night drinking and dancing in a party that rivals Mardi Gras in terms of its wild energy. But, unlike Mardi Gras, these partiers could now die or perhaps get severely injured. The thundering herd approaches the runners. The lighthearted atmosphere evaporates into hushed anxiety. The "Running of the Bulls" is on!

Although I'm tempted to run, I do not feel the need to risk my life today - especially at the beginning of our six-month journey. Watching it from the balcony is just fine with me! It's still a huge thrill to be here and feel the electricity in the crowd. After the opening fireworks, the runners begin sprinting every which way. From our balcony vantagepoint, we can see about a dozen women gearing up for the run. We're told that is a relatively new phenomenon, as it used to be a boys-only event.

The crowd of onlookers is quiet at first, then begins yelling and screaming. Many of the runners taunt the bulls with rolled up newspapers and some even try to grab the bulls by their horns. The most daring (or the craziest) run right in front of the bulls and just barely dodge their horns by diving off to the side or climbing up the crash barriers. The look on the runners' faces is a mixture of abject fear -- because a half-ton animal is trying to kill them -- and exhilaration. (I feel like I know that sensation having played rugby for 13 years.)

And it is definitely dangerous. In the last 100 years, 13 people have been killed in this festival. The latest was a young American man who was gored to death back in 1995. And there are hundreds of injuries. Jennifer Smith, a 27-year old woman from New Jersey was seriously hurt last Saturday and, according to the local newspaper, is still in the hospital here with internal injuries. According to AP reports, she wasn't even running. She was on the sidelines when a bull lashed out at the barrier she was sitting on and gored her. Despite the danger, hundreds of thousands come to Pamplona each year to test their bravery by running with six bulls and 11 steer in about a half mile route from the corral to the bullring. (The bulls will later meet their deaths at the hands of a matador in the afternoon bullfights.)

For most, the run is about a 15-yard dash. But the big picture looks like a mad scramble and it appears the biggest danger is getting knocked over by the runner next to you as he's dodging the bull. Most of the injuries, in fact, are from people being trampled by each other. We watch as several people trip over each other and hit the ground hard. Seconds later, in the slippery corner of la Calle de Estefeta, two of the bulls slip and fall right on top of some runners! The whole event lasts less than 3 minutes. On this day, only a few people will suffer bumps and bruises. No one is killed or severely injured today. But we all know it could have been much worse.

JENNI: And so it's over…now people will go home to sleep. We board an early (and very crowded) bus back to San Sebastian, and take a loooong nap with the sound of the Atlantic Ocean crashing ashore outside the window.

More to come later - we're leaving tonight for Normandy, France!