There can be few writers whose image has been as forcefully exploited as that of Ernest Hemingway. Every town where Hem pulled up a barstool seems to have a plaque to his memory. In Paris we find his ghost at the bar of the Ritz (where he is said to have helped invent the bloody mary). In Key West his memory still haunts a joint called Sloppy Joe's; in Havana his shade hangs over La Floridita.
But the Spanish town of Pamplona, which I visited last weekend, wins the prize for the heaviest use of the Hemingway brand. The macho writer visited the town nine times for the San Firmin fiesta and the famous running of the bulls, which he also wrote about. And, boy, they won't let you forget it. I counted at least three bars called Hemingway, including a kebab place that clearly had nothing to do with him. The avenue leading to the bullring is named after him – and there is a statue of him outside.
Hemingway's favourite hotel in Pamplona was La Perla, where today one can breakfast in a sumptuous restaurant. It's situated at street level in front of a window of toughened glass. Why toughened? So you can watch the bulls running past, raising a glass of champagne in perfect safety to the less prudent types being trampled by the careening beasts outside. Now that's what I call stylish. Hem would undoubtedly have approved.
