Banditoro
It's a sickener. Whatever about the cost of the camera, the pictures are irreplaceable, and I had taken plenty over the previous 24 hours: the scenes of carnage on arrival in Pamplona, the first bull-run of the festival, the bands, celebrations and shenanigans of the day, and the people and new friends I made last night.
It was about 4 a.m when I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Apart from a couple of hours on night buses and an afternoon siesta, I'd been awake since Monday morning, and I just couldn't fight off the tiredness anymore. I probably slept where I fell, as if in a coma, and the banditos must have sensed my weakness and struck then.
They also took my washbag for some reason. Evidently hygienic fuckers.
There are six more bull-runs to go. I'm back in the safety of Madríd now, but I'll be hoping the bulls exact revenge over the next few mornings. Go toro go!
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