99 years later, “The Sun Also Rises” is still delicious – Salon.com

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99 years later, “The Sun Also Rises” is still delicious

A modern traveler retraces Hemingway’s footsteps through Spain, one glass of vermút and Basque pintxo at a time

By Howie Southworth, Author of “Hemingway’s Spanish Table”

Published November 8, 2025 10:30AM (EST)

Act 1: The Road to Hemingway’s Spain

Ernest Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises” begins in Paris but it doesn’t stay there. It follows a group of post-World War I expatriates, led by the emotionally distant narrator Jake Barnes and the captivating Lady Brett Ashley, with whom he shares a deep, impossible love. Their chaotic summer journey is joined by Brett’s fiancé, the troubled Mike Campbell, the charming but cynical Bill Gorton and the perpetually lost Robert Cohn, who is hopelessly infatuated with Brett.

The novel finds its messy center in Pamplona during the festival of San Fermín and the running of the bulls, a story of camaraderie, longing, and disillusionment. Beneath the clipped prose and bullfight bravado is a meditation on appetite, both emotional and physical. Food and drink mark the rhythm of the novel, from an early evening absinthe to trout beside the Irati River. What the characters eat reveals who they are, or who they wish they weren’t.

We begin our own journey in Bayonne, not Paris.

Related: I drank like Hemingway in Hong Kong

The city is rather overrun now than in the roaring 1920s, but the bones of Hemingway’s Europe remain if you know where to glance over coffee. “It’s the caffeine in it. Caffeine, we are here. Caffeine puts a man on her horse and a woman in his grave,” writes Jake Barnes. Coffee in the novel means moments of grounding, clarity, normalcy and lays a foundation for our day. Within view from where we enjoy a buttered baguette and sip our café au lait, the cathedral’s twin towers rise above the tiled roofs, and just beside us, tucked behind faded red shutters, is the ghost of the Hotel Panier Fleuri, where Jake stayed en route to Pamplona.

We stroll across the Pont Neuf, its international flags snapping in the morning breeze. The Nive and the Adour meet beneath our feet. It’s barely 10 a.m. and already the day promises heat. At the midpoint of the bridge, we hesitate. Ahead is the rest of France. Behind us, a story yet to be told. We turn back toward the car. Time to head to Spain.

It’s mid-morning and the car hums past the border and into Navarra. The road winds through the foothills like a prelude, each turn offering a sharper light and a deeper green. We stop to appreciate the color and a local omelet. Our first glimpse of Pamplona’s sandstone walls is a jolt. This city may be small, but in 1926 it became immortal, the place where a fiesta, thundering hooves, and a novel collided to shape modern legend.

We’ve come for the smaller festival, San Fermín Txikito, held each Fall to commemorate the saint’s original canonization, before the Summer celebrations stole Hemingway’s heart and the international spotlight. No bulls. No fireworks or colored kerchiefs just yet. Castillo Square is hushed, the anticipation almost audible.

Editor’s Note: Read the rest of the story, at the below link.

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