Spain is a haven. Of good tapas, cheap beer, smiles and of absolute chaos. San Fermin was no doubt the ultimate introduction to the Spanish party. No sooner had we arrived at our campsite in Pamplona were we indulging on Sangria and cervasa. After a 12 hour flight it was soon to bed, but not for too long; ‘Next bus to Pamps leaves in 20 minutes’ was my 6am wakeup call, shouted from somewhere outside our tent where I slept in a sleeping bag atop lumpy dirt partnered by a pillow of folded denim and a t-shirt. Ushered into the bus dressed in the San Fermin uniform of white and red I thought about what might lay ahead. All I had been warned was to bring little as there was a high chance I would be returning home drenched head to toe in Sangria. How right the bringer of this warning was. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a wine-fight could be so fulfilling. As soon as the first rocket sounded, and the chant of ‘Olé, Olé, Olé!’ echoed through the streets was my once-white San Fermin attire stained a deep burgundy. Getting Sangria in your eyes bloody hurts, but amidst the joyful chaos of San Fermin you let the pain go without little thought, dry your eyes and push on through the bedlam. The fun I experienced over the next few hours cannot be summed up with words, and only by visiting Pamplona yourself could you truly understand the complete uniqueness of this ridiculous festival. Let’s just say my day consisted primarily of Sangria, fountain-swimming, nude park-runs, tasty baguettes, tree-climbing and a little clubbing on the side. My first impressions of Spain are very high. To sum things up I will say, ‘Me encanta Espaňa’, literally meaning ‘I like Spain very much’ – a phrase that no doubt goes down beautifully with the devout locals. Bring on the rest of this wonderful country.