Stomach Sitting Woman

Pamplona: Poor me, was completed San Fermin ...

This is already the last thing I go to Spain, because then comes the Belle Paris. In Pamplona, \u200b\u200bthe reel lives two ways: one is the pubs where they "The posh" (which according to Carlos, our friend Pamplona, \u200b\u200bcome to be "cuicos") and rocks, which are the spool of the people. Pall was us as, obviously, and finally stayed almost every night in "El Juncal, a Flemish rock with live music. As many times we actually ended up making friends with the singers. Here is a fotillo ours with the "team" of Juncal, Angel (voice) and Rafa (guitar) that these are all authentic gypsy, like all people who worked there, starting with the owner, who was teacher of flamenco. I was in my sauce, of course.

So much so that in the end I, as usual, singing on stage. It seems that the artistic side I've developed more in Europe than in Chile ... the thing is, the rate of Gipsy Kings, I unleashed all my talent (encouraged by the English wine) and my friend Nicole ... I recorded my performance here audiovisual evidence of time.

Among the many shows that were in Pamplona, \u200b\u200bwas a carnival with game booths, gambling, shooting, etc. There was also entretencio type Fantasilandia tions. From the beginning, we decided to make efforts to Teddy Simpsons, each in their own ways. I played basketball, he had made three balls, but to be honest, sucked. The teacher would be ashamed of m Falcon í, missed school all my training over the years ... The Nicole, meanwhile, I played the balloons had to pop three throwing three darts. My friend was much more successful, the family was almost complete, but took pity on me and gave me a Bart Simpsons, how beautiful you Nicole ... A couple of pics of the touching moment ...

This caster we got Nicole and me. Personally, I would have went up do several games, but my friend did not survive, the wheel was actually pretty big and super fast, and as Nicole did not want to throw up the fries, we leave it at that.

And where do we sleep? Well, technically not sleep, but were at least four hours daily tucked inside the bag. The tone was sleeping after noon in the pastures of the citadel, but there was one night when we hit the side of the river, at about 4 am. This picture is at 7:30 in the morning when we woke up to go see the bulls and not let us pass because they had cut the road.

And last, I pledged to take a picture with the typical attire of San Fermin, and here I am: white pants and shirt (with little flowers, pa 'make it more feminine) belt to belt and red scarf around his neck. Do I look good? Other poh THAT V VAT SAN FERMIN!