El Escorial: A Monastery, the Valley of the Fallen, and Another Castle

Laura and me outside El Escorial

Although our excursion this week was only a brief day trip, it was in no way less fulfilling or less educational.  We started off to the city of Escorial with three particular destinations in mind: El Escorial, El Valle de los Caídos, and El Castillo de Manzanares el Real.  As this study abroad program has progressed we have become increasingly skillful at touring all of the sights to see on our itinerary without feeling as if we are rushed or being bamboozled out of a visit because of something being closed for siesta.  I credit most of this improvement to our new director Professor Meredith, who has traveled through Spain various times before directing this program, but I also am proud to say that my 17 girlfriends and I are now very accustomed to the ups and downs of our Spanish travels.

We arrived first at the famous monastery El Escorial, which was built in commemoration to the famous Battle of St. Quentin, a Spanish victory against Henry II of France.  The floor plan was made to mimic that of Solomon’s temple and the overall layout of the building is a form of symbolic recognition of the death of San Lorenzo, or Saint Lawrence.  This saint was martyred by being tied down and burned to death on a grill, and when looking at El Escorial from an aerial perspective, the building as a whole appears similar to a grill.  The Battle of St. Quentin occurred on the day of San Lorenzo, so King Philip II of Spain commissioned the Spanish architect Juan Bautista de Toledo to build this monastery as an all-encompassing symbol of the religious and historical significance surrounding this battle. 

El Panteon Real
(props to Chloé for this illegal photo)

However, El Escorial not only serves as a monastery, but also as a royal palace and is home to the famous Panteon Real.  During our guided tour, we first viewed the Panteon Real, which is where the majority of the Spanish Kings and the mothers of Spanish Kings are entombed.  You would think that saying that all the Spanish queens have tombs in el Panteon Real would suffice, but the fact is that Spanish Kings often had two or three wives during the span of their reign, so only the most important queens are buried there; in other words, the queens who bore sons that eventually inherited the throne.  Although it was perfectly clear to us as we viewed the tombs in el Panteon Real as well as various tombs for princes, princesses, and infants of royal decent that there were rotting remains within all of these stone encasements, it was not nearly as eerie and spine chilling as a cemetery environment.  Rather, we felt privileged to be able to stand so closely to these men, women, and children who had passed on, an attitude that I want to try to apply to future grave visits I make in cemeteries. 

Yup, that's Evelyn on the right ;)

We also viewed some incredible paintings and plateresque architecture throughout the rest of El Escorial.  The furnished royal chambers, the palace library, and the church all located within El Escorial were simply breathtaking.  I was paying so much attention to the historical information that I neglected to notice the game that my friends had decided to play; more specifically, the let’s-see-how-many-stickers-we-can-put-in-Alex’s-hair-before-she-notices game.  Eventually, Evelyn’s guilt was triggered and she chose to enlighten me regarding the lovely green decorations that had adorned my hair for the about half an hour of the tour.  I couldn’t help but laugh at my cluelessness. 

Slightly ironic to take a smiling picture here,
but these girls just make me so happy!

Next we went on to El Valle de los Caídos, or The Valley of the Fallen.  This historical site is most well known for it’s huge stone cross, which can be seen clearly from the freeway since it is located high in the mountains and the contrast of the white stone against the green, lush trees is impossible to ignore.  However, there is much more to this seemingly glorious and religious cross and the basilica located beneath it.  This basilica was built by none other than Franco, a Spanish dictator who did a lot more harm than good during his reign.  He wanted to built the largest an most grand basilica the Catholic church had ever seen, but was forced to stop construction at a certain point due to the Papal decree that no basilica can be larger than the Vatican in Rome.  Franco stated that this basilica would serve as a sort of reconciliation for all of the horrible things he had done during his reign, especially his past treatment of prisoners.  However, during the construction of this basilica and the cross above it, countless slaves were used, abused, and killed to make this “reconciliation” of Franco’s become a reality.  Many slaves died of fatigue during the construction or fell off of one of the many precarious cliff edges and died upon impact, from which the name of this location originates.  Today, el Valle de los Caídos is an extremely controversial topic, and many professors refuse to take their students to this site in protest of Franco and his many horrible actions.  I am grateful that we had the opportunity to visit this historical site, and I hope to formulate my own well-informed opinion regarding the reign of Franco as we finish up our studies here in Spain.

 

Inside Franco's Basilica

Just another Friday afternoon in Spain

Luckily, our visit to El Escorial did not end on such a heavy and tragic note, and we ended with a wonderful visit to our second European castle, Manzanares El Real.  Since we did not have any sort of arrangements with a guide for this castle, we were free to frolic in this ancient structure of defense, taking pictures, laughing, and living our own fairy tale reality here in Spain to the fullest.  It breaks my heart to think that I only have two more of these highly educational and fun-filled weekends left in the country of Spain before I return home to the Unites States, and I am more determined than ever to make these last twenty days in Europe count.  ¡Hasta la fin de semana que viene! 

The Basque Country: Northern Spain with a French Bonus

The beach in San Sebastian

This weekend trip was, in reality, much more than a weekend.  We left on a Wednesday for this particular excursion, which was a very welcome blessing after the strenuous week of studying while simultaneously partying at El Rey León and the Medieval Festival (I know, I have such a hard life).  So after only two days of classes, we were off to Northern Spain and the world renowned Basque Country.  As we passed through the beloved city of Burgos and continued our way to the Northern coast of Spain, I found myself absolutely unable to slip into my typical iPod-induced sleepiness because the environment was becoming progressively greener and more lush the further north that we traveled.  It would have been simply ungrateful for me to have slept on the ride up and forced my eyes to live in darkness rather than beholding the wondrous greenery of Northern Spain. 

Our first stop was just outside of Santander at a beautiful outlook point with a tragic historical significance.  Hundreds of years ago at the very point that we stood, 30,000 of Franco’s prisoners were all forced to jump off of the cliff side and into the Cantabrian Sea, one after the other.  A statue now stands there as a commemoration to this tragic event in the history of Spain.  Shortly following this visit, we drove a little further down and visited our first beach of Northern Spain.  The best comparison I can make between the beaches of Northern Spain and any other beaches I have visited previously in my life is as follows: take the greenery and lush surroundings of the East coast of the United States, double it, and throw in some beautiful Basque red and off-white architecture with a dash of European class.  Then you might come somewhat close to picturing exactly how beautiful and how surreal it was for me as I wiggled my toes into the sand of this beach in Santander, the first of many beaches we frolicked on this excursion. 

When we could no longer stand the amount of fierce and relentless wind, we boarded the bus and headed out for a bit of leisurely shopping as we waited for the Cathedral to open for our viewing.  I finally encountered the perfect pair of European, charcoal grey boots I had been in search of for so long without having to pay an arm and a leg for them, which is one of the largest conundrums I have experienced with European shopping.  There are always plenty of cute shoes, clothes, jackets, hats, and just about anything in any store you walk into, but as a broke college student it is much harder to find anything that would fall under the category of “bargain shopping.”  That being said, these shoes were quite the find, and I left the city of Santander with my head held high and the triumphant burden of a new shopping bag in my right hand. 

Once we arrived at our hotel in Bilbao for the night, we discovered that this hotel had a fitness center located on the top floor with an outdoor turf area that spread out onto the roof.  We did some squats, push-ups, lunges, and other exercises as a group and I topped it off with some much needed cardio on the stationary bike.  After freshening up, we left in pursuit of a late night dinner, and Hope and I decided to splurge on a four course Asian meal.  At first I felt a little guilty eating Asian food in Spain, but this was no Panda Express.  My four courses of choice were as follows: shrimp tempura, fried rice with fresh vegetables and beef, squid smothered in some sort of buttery heaven sauce, and some tropical fruit for dessert.  That meal was absolutely worth every Euro we paid for it. 

Due to the generosity of our new directors and their profound understanding of the need that college students have to sleep in as long as possible, we left at about 10:00 to tour the Guggenheim Museum.  I must say that I prefer the Guggenheim to the Reina Sofia.  I have always been more of a realist when it comes to art, so the Prado is still my favorite, but the Guggenheim was filled with much more interactive and creative art without becoming too bizarre and bordering on nonsense like some of the pieces in the Reina Sofia.  The most celebrated aspects of the Guggenheim are not the works within the walls of the museum, but rather the walls of the building itself.  It has been said that the architect of the Guggenheim simply crumbled up a piece of aluminum foil for his inspiration, then proceeded to make a building imitating this wad of shiny material on a much grander scale.  There are also many three dimensional masterpieces surrounding the building, including a giant dog made of flowers and a huge metallic spider.  Although I am terrified of spiders, I have a huge amount of respect for whoever created this statue made of intertwining pieces of metal.  After our fulfilling museum visit we were on the road again and stopped in Zarautz for lunch, where Sarah and I shared a Doner kebab filled with lamb and then proceeded to take a romantic stroll on our second Spanish beach of the trip with the rest of our group. 

Me and my friend Evelyn running into the ocean

Next up was what I now consider one of my favorite cities of all time: San Sebastian.  Although it was drizzling and rainy during our entire stay in this beach town, nothing could put a damper on the charm and cheery atmosphere of this European city.  A lot of girls in the group set strait out to go swimming in the ocean, and I went out with Mary, Evelyn, and Maddie with the intention of going out to tapas bars and later swimming in the ocean.  However, our plans changed.  The call of the ocean was just too strong, so Evelyn and I decided to swim before we went out on the town and then just slip our clothes on over our wet clothes after our little swim.  Unfortunately, a few mishaps occurred.  First, after our lovely Kodak moment of running into the ocean, we were immediately taken down by the wave and thrown around a bit, almost losing some articles of clothing in the process.  As we emerged from the ocean shivering and sandy, we witnessed the rising tide as it approached the spot where all of our extra clothing and belongings were situated, unable to save our jeans and jackets from getting a little damp.  With the small, and now rather damp, hand towels we had snatched from the hotel, we dried off as best as we could, fluffed out hair, and we were off to conquer the famous tapas bars of the North. 

From the bottom left going clockwise: mushroom, shark,
and kangaroo

As I have stated in past blog posts, I have already been to my fair share of tapas bars.  However, before this last Thursday night in San Sebastian, I had not yet gone tapas bar hopping.  Tapas bar hopping is basically exactly what it sounds like; starting at one tapas bar, ordering a few small things, and moving on to the next one.  At the first tapas bar, I ate brucheta de gambas (shrimp bruchetta), coquetas de jamón (small mozzarella stick looking things filled with ground up ham, cream, and other mysterious ingredients), and una bola de carne (something filled with yummy meat).  We stood the entire time, because nobody stays at these tapas bars long enough to sit and be served, and when we wanted something we would simply approach the bar and ask nicely.  Whenever our tapas were ready, the cook would scream out the food item we had ordered and finish the phrase off with “…para la guapa!” in reference to any of the four of us.  We have grown quite accustomed to the cat calls that we hear directed at us on a daily basis by the nasty hobos and old men on the streets, but when the men at this tapas bar called us “guapas” it was far more endearing.  At the next tapas bar, we got a little more adventurous with our food choices.  I ate some sort of mushroom dish encased within a cylindrical croissant and a canguro con dos salsas, or rather kangaroo with two sauces, one of which was a very rich and elegant raspberry glaze.  I am not ashamed to say that kangaroo meat was one of the best meats I have tried since coming to Spain.  This rare meat had the appearance and thickness of a medium-rare New York steak, but upon cutting into it was surprisingly tender.  The rich flavor of the kangaroo meat paired with the raspberry glaze consumed simultaneously with the boiled and butter soaked potatoes that came with the dish was absolutely mind blowing.  On top of that, I also got to try a little bit of the shark that Mary ordered, making for a very interesting day full of new meats and new foods. 

The next day, we left the now familiar surroundings of San Sebastian to embark on our day trip to FRANCE.  Yes, France.  I still find it hard to believe that crossing the border from Spain into France was as simple as driving up on our bus, waiting in a line of cars for a couple minutes, and then passing through.  We didn’t even need to whip out our passports!  No wonder Europeans travel around so much if things are really that simple.  Only a few minutes after crossing the border, I could already observe a clear change in the architecture.  We would not be going through some slow transition from Spanish style buildings into French; we were really in France, and the proper architecture with the red accents screamed it at us.  We first got off of the bus in the small beach town of Berraritz, famous for the royal palace where Napoleon and his lovely Spanish wife spent countless summers so long ago.  This palace is now a five star hotel, and we walked inside we could smell the luxury and the wealth of the building and all of the guests within.  I was wearing a sopping wet BYU sweatshirt, feeling extremely American and extremely out of place, so we didn’t stay for long.  As everyone in the group wandered around in smaller groups doing their own thing, and Hope and I happened upon a small locally owned crepe place.  If you have ever pictured yourself drinking out of an elaborately decorated teacup chatting nonchalantly in French with a few a your friends, this would have been the place that your dream played out.  We experienced a lot of confusion of trying to communicate what crepes we wanted to the French husband that co-owned the place with his darling wife, not knowing whether the probability was higher that he knew Spanish or that he knew English.  In the end, we just pointed to the menu items that we wanted and made enough gestures with our eyes and hands for him to figure out how he could help us out.  After about twenty minutes, our crepes were simultaneously brought out to our small two-person table, and as we took our first bites, our expressions went through various phases of awe and bewilderment as the sweet flavors of the crepes danced on our tongues.   My crepe was filled with a buttery caramel with clusters of almonds to complement the richness of the rest of the crepe, and I am not exaggerating when I label that particular crepe as the best crepe I have consumed in my entire life. 

Le Port de San Jean de Luz

An hour or so later, we were back on the bus, driving along the French coast and taking the more scenic and leisurely route back to San Sebastian.  We stopped in one more town before crossing the border back into Spain, a French town by the name of San Jean de Luz, where we snapped countless pictures of the ships and fishing boats in the port and poked around a few shops, inserting a friendly bounjeur, arvioe, and merci as often as we could, especially since we had no idea how to say anything else.  Soaking wet from the constant rain but nonetheless very satisfied with the day’s events, we returned to our hotel in San Sebastian, cozied up in our pajamas, and ordered some Telepizza to eat in our hotel room. 

A taste of French architecture

This morning we stopped at one last lookout point before saying adios to our beloved San Sebastian, and as I looked over the city, my heart was filled with nothing but triumph and pleasure as I reviewed the memories that I had made over the past few days with some of the most incredible girls I have ever had the opportunity to call my friends.  Although we only left the Basque country earlier today, my heart already aches for the sight of the ocean and the greenery of Northern Spain.  Whatever it takes, I will return to San Sebastian, of that I am sure.  

Off to Ávila and Salamanca

After an already busy and culturally rich week, I had the privilege to travel and fill my endless hunger for new sights and new knowledge yet again! Study abroad puts opportunities like that in the palm of your hand, it never ceases to amaze me.  However, this week we also applied the "study" portion of study abroad, which may come as a shock to anybody who has been looking at my pictures documenting my time here in Spain, because it appears that I have been doing anything but studying.  Most of my documentation consists of the fruits of our learning and traveling, which is the particularly magical combination that occurs during just about all study abroad programs.  We took our midterm for our civilization class on Thursday, so whenever we weren't frolicking around the Medieval Festival or watching life changing Broadway productions, we were studying our butts off for this upcoming exam.  So as we listened to our tour guide explain the historical significance of the Wall of Ávila and she asked us if we knew anything about Romanization, it was all I could do not to blurt out some sort of sarcastic retort along the lines of "Oh, do we ever!"  This guide was also particularly stubborn and liked to ask a lot of questions throughout the tour, and due to our accumulated knowledge in our civilization class we were actually able to answer most of her extensive questions regarding architecture and significant historical figures when we weren't shivering from the sudden wintery winds and overcast skies that hung over Ávila that morning.  Although her attempts were rather forced, I did appreciate her intentions.

The Wall of Ávila, which was constructed centuries ago by the Romans and is over one and a half miles long in length, making Ávila the most well fortressed city in existence in the country of Spain.  We walked along the border of this wall with our guide en route to the church of Saint Teresa, one of the most well known and admired saints of the Catholic church.  Not only was she a saint, but she was a woman of sound mind and intellect.  Although it was prohibited in her day and age, she insisted upon obtaining an education for herself although it was not seen as practical or necessary for women in the church, or women in general for that matter.  She was a determined woman who set her sights on what she wanted and didn't let anything deter her until she obtained her goals, ideals that to be admired and celebrated in any time period.   I thoroughly enjoyed learning more extensively about this particular saint as we walked through the church dedicated to her and her successful life and deeds.

From there, we went to the Cathedral of Ávila, one of the most ancient cathedrals in all of Spain.  This cathedral is not particularly gaudy or ornately decorated as some of the other cathedrals we have visited, but the unique combination of sandstone and granite used to construct the majority of the interior gave the cathedral a rather unique and distinguishing touch.  Immediately following this visit, we went to the nearest Churrería we could find to take shelter from the cold and share a few cups of Spanish hot cocoa, which is extremely thick and very rich in comparison to the typical Swiss Miss mixtures we Americans so often use.  With our remaining forty five minutes in the city of Ávila, we went and walked on the Wall of Ávila itself and took a few dozen entertaining and eye popping pictures.

We arrived in Salamanca in the later hours of the afternoon, which gave us all a bit of time to get settled, work out or lounge about depending on personal preference, and then freshen up for a late dinner.  My particular dining choice last night was a Doner Kebab, which I can best describe as a lot of meat stuffed into a thicker version of pita bread.  On the way home we also ran into a pastelería, and I followed the example of my wise father when faced with an array of delicious and unknown menu items; I asked the employee what her favorite pastry was, and simply bought that.  I have used this technique several times in various restaurants and markets in Spain and I have never been disappointed.

Following our continental breakfast, we proceeded to walk through the city of Salamanca, passing through the Plaza Mayor, admiring the famous Casa de Conchas, and finally arriving to the main attraction: the University of Salamanca! This university was established in the 1200's, making it the third oldest university in Europe and one of the most prestigious and well respected universities in existence to this day.  We learned a multitude of interesting facts and ancient customs of the university, including the hidden frog on the outside of the oldest university building and the different treatments of the varying social classes that studied within the university walls.  The most horrifying historical fact was the explanation of how the various students would keep warm during the frigidly cold winter months.  The seating arrangements in ancient classrooms were as follows; children of nobility in the front, poorest of the poor in the back.  The poorest students were always the first people to arrive in class during the winter because they were charged with the duty of sitting in the first few rows to warm the seats for the higher class students.  Once everyone was present in class, the poor students were given five minutes to stomp their feet as they sat in their seats in order to generate some internal heat before the lecture began.  How absolutely horrific is that!?  It may have been the normality for the time period, but I will be eternally grateful for the abolition of these extreme social differences and the invention of heating systems.

My favorite part of our tour of the University of Salamanca by far was the library.  The library is no longer used for its intended purpose and is now a tourist attraction only visible through high security glass windows, but over 40,000 books are still held and preserved within.  I long ago refused to be ashamed of my inner nerd, and the moment we viewed this library was definitely one of those in which this particular part of me was visible in my constantly widening eyes.

As our tour of the University came to an end, we made a quick pass through the Cathedral of Salamanca, the "newer" cathedral to be specific.  Once we were unleashed to do as we pleased, we decided to do what American college girls in Europe do best: shop at European clothing stores.  There was a slight technological malfunction with our previous bus, so we returned home to Alcalá a few hours later than anticipated, but with no harm damage or harm done to any of our group other than the pure exhaustion that always follows our weekend excursions.  I can't believe it's almost halfway through October, I definitely want to make these last few weeks count.  Until next week, my devoted readers!

El Rey León-The Experience of a Lifetime

I have always had a deep appreciation for Broadway plays and the manner in which they culturally enrich the lives of all audience members.  The Lion King had been on my list of top broadway plays to see for quite some time, but never in my wildest dreams did I think that my very first time viewing this play would be in Madrid, Spain with a group of 17 college girlfriends, dressed up in only our classiest apparel for a night on the town.  Yes, last night we all had the opportunity to see El Rey León, and I am not exaggerating when I say that it was the experience of a lifetime.

As I sat down in my row 13 balcony seat surrounded by a group of amazing friends, I already knew that it was going to be a night to remember.  The entire atmosphere of broadway theater never ceases to excite me, especially when the play that is about to be performed is one that I already know and love.  As with many children born in the 90's, The Lion King was a huge part of my childhood.  I watched the movie on a weekly basis, I had Mufasa and Simba posters framed on my walls, a bedspread plastered with African savanna cartoon animals, and a soundtrack cassette that I would listen to every night as my brother and I went to sleep.  Needless to say, I consider myself a pretty die hard Lion King fan.

As the lights dimmed and the African music sounds began to resonate through the theater in a wonderful blend of live music performed by only two men situated on both sides of the stage, the familiar tune of "The Circle of Life" began to come forth, only this time with a Spanish flair.  Most of the African chanting was kept relatively the same, but anything that was normally in English was changed to Spanish.

The costumes of all the animals were absolutely mind boggling, there was no animal omitted, no fine detail left undisplayed in this spectacular theater performance.  The giraffes were men on all fours but on stilts, the lions typically walked and danced around but all had headpieces that would descend over their faces when the situation called for it, and hyenas were so believable that I often forgot that there were men and women underneath the skeletal structure operating each and every movement, and even the movements of the grass were captured in an inspiring series of dance numbers.  The stampede scene was absolutely flawless, Mufasa's fall was even executed in slow motion with strobe lights adding dramatic effect.  My favorite musical addition to the broadway play was "Él vive en ti," which is a song that is included in the soundtrack but is not particularly prominent in the movie itself.  Mufasa sang a version of this song to Simba when they were having their night of bonding under the stars, and Rafiki performed it once more as she tried to remind Simba of who he really was after seeking him out in the jungle.  I cried during both of these scenes, as well as the end of the play when Simba rose to claim his throne.

It is difficult to explain how much my love for Spanish has grown since living here in Spain.  I went through the motions in high school and for most of my first year of college, taking the required classes and studying when necessary so that I could get a passing grade and work more toward becoming fluent in the language.  Now, I study Spanish because I want to, because it brings me joy, because I love the sounds and the food and the feelings of passion that seep from every syllable of this rich romantic language.  So as I saw my favorite childhood disney movie come to life in a theatrically advanced way I had never seen before entirely in the language in Spanish, the emotion I felt took my breath away.  I continually had to keep pinching myself to make sure that it was real; that I was in Spain seeing El Rey León, and that I was actually understanding it!

I get chills thinking about this play as I sit in my room typing out this blog post.  If you have not seen a broadway portrayal of The Lion King and you have an opportunity, GO.  It was worth every cent that I spent on it, I will never forget the night I saw El Rey León for the rest of my life.  I wish I had more pictures to share, but I was a law abiding citizen and chose not to sneak any photos or videos on my phone during the performance.  However, I will include this photo I snapped of the extremely handsome Mexican man who played the adult version of Simba.  It isn't very good quality since it is in fact a picture of a picture, but you can still get an idea of the kind of eye candy I had the privilege to bask in during the show.  ¡Disfrútalo! ;)

My First (and last) Bullfight…with a Splash of Toledo

As you may have derived from the title of this post, I had the opportunity to attend my first bullfight in Madrid this last week in the Plaza de Toros located in Madrid, one of the most famous bull fighting arenas in all of Spain.  Only about half of the girls in my program had decided to attend, so it was never seen as an obligatory activity.  However, I had planned on purchasing a ticket for a bullfight as soon as I knew I would be studying abroad in Spain.  I am absolutely terrified of blood, but how could I pass up an opportunity to view one of the most famous cultural traditions of Spain right before my very eyes?  I sincerely hope that I will return to Spain again in my lifetime, but while I am here I want to do as much as I can so that if I never have the chance to return to Spain I can live with absolutely no regrets. 

As I arrived at the Plaza de Toros, my mind registered two thoughts; the first thing I noticed was that the construction of the Plaza itself was absolutely magnificent, made primarily of brick with many Muslim style artistic influences, including los arcos de herradura (I know nobody else cares about the arc structure and style implemented in the building of the Plaza, but I am attempting to study for my upcoming Iberian Civilization test while also writing this blog, so cut me a little bit of slack).  The second thing I noticed was how nicely everyone was dressed and how many attractive strapping young lads there were! The Plaza de Toros is the equivalent to Huntington Beach in California; it’s hands down where majority of the ridiculously attractive men congregate.  Unfortunately, after entering the Plaza and finding our seats we discovered that all those attractive specimens were of the more elite and successful European men and therefore we were not seated anywhere near them.  We arrived only ten minutes before the bullfight was to begin, so our section was already packed full of Spaniards of all ages, shapes, and sizes, eager for the bullfight to begin. 

As the band began to play, a procession of men on horses, matadors, peones, and picadores entered the ring and walked in a brief circumference around the border, presenting themselves to the audience in a very formal and introductory manner before the real show was to begin.  Unbeknownst to the general public, in each bullfight not one, but six bulls are killed in total over the course of two to three hours.  Although each bull is slightly different and some are feistier than others, the general structure of the bullfight is consistent. 

Phase one: the bull comes running out into the ring into the blinding sunlight, already disoriented from the abrupt change of lighting.  The matador’s assistants, otherwise known as peones, then proceed to distract the bull back and forth amongst themselves with the help of several typically pink-colored muletas (small capes) and their theatrically adorned sparkly and tight fitting uniforms. 

Phase two: the picadores enter the ring, mounted upon horses protected by outward padding to shelter their bodies from the wrath of the bull’s horns as the picadores did their dirty work.  Once the bull is lured closely enough to the side of the horse, the picadores will stab the bull somewhere in the upper shoulder region to weaken the bull’s back muscles.  This is done several times, all the while causing worry for the horse’s well being as the bull attempts to damage the horses with its horns.  Well, I don’t think the Spaniards really cared about the horses, but my friends and I were all very concerned every time we witnessed this particular portion of the bullfight.  The horses were also equipped with extremely thorough blinders, otherwise there is absolutely no way that the horses would stay in that ring for more than a few seconds without getting spooked. 

Phase three: the picadores leave the ring and the matador enters, ready to finish off the bull to the death.  This is by far the most famous portion of the bullfight, the portion where the famous matador waves his red muleta at the bull, engaging him in an encounter that is more like a dance than I had ever imagined previously.  Every time he makes a good pass with the muleta by luring the bull to and fro successfully, the crowd shouts “¡Olé!” and applauds.  The matadors have the most heavily adorned outfits by far because their part in the bullfight is the most important and therefore the most respected. 

For most people, this is about where their general knowledge of the bullfight ends.  I went into the Plaza de Toros knowing I would be watching six bulls be killed, but the reality of it didn’t really sink in until after the killing of the second bull. 

I am not implying that I was sleeping or distracted by handsome Spanish audience members during the death of the first bull; the main difference was that the first bull was killed very cleanly and technically while the second bull died in a large spectacle of blood and gore.  In round one, after the matador had completed a sufficient amount of passes with his muleta, he drew his steel sword and stabbed the bull between the shoulder blades, piercing the heart of the bull instantly.  The peones then rushed out again to bait the bull with their capes until it collapsed and died.  This all occurred on the other side of the ring, so I was aware of what was happening but was unable to see much blood, and before I knew it the horses were brought back out again to drag the bull out of the ring and make room for the next one.  I thought to myself that if all six bulls were executed in this manner, I might not have any issues with blood at all. 

I was very much mistaken.  As the matador stabbed the second bull, it was soon evident that the blow was not completely fatal.  Just a few hundred feet in front of us, the bull began to cough up blood in waves as it struggled and fought for its will to live.  Horrified and beginning to gag, I continued to watch as the bull fell to its knees and was then stabbed by a small dagger a few times until, after what felt like an eternity, it gave up the ghost and fell to the ground in a rather large pool of crimson and very newly spilled blood.  As the horses returned to drag this bull out of the ring, it was all I could do not to pass out.  I didn’t fully return to my normal state of mind until much later on the metro on our way home to Alcalá. 

Although I was almost sick after the sight of so much blood, I do not regret attending the bullfight at all.  It was a once in a lifetime cultural experience of which I now possess a vast knowledge.  It fascinates me that during all of these occurrences, the vast majority of the audience was completely unfazed.  The bullfight is such a cultural part of Spain that it is widely accepted to this day throughout the country, except in the city of Barcelona, which is by far the most liberal and modern city in all of Spain.  Barcelona’s argument against the bullfight is mostly backed by animal rights activists, and I appreciate their point, but upon learning that the meat of the bulls killed in the bullfights is normally given to charity or sold for consumption after the fight, I did not find the concept of killing these bulls nearly as wasteful.  I can definitely respect the bullfight as an ancient part of the Spanish culture, but I do not plan on attending another bullfight in my lifetime.  Once is good enough for me. 

 

Now here is a very brief summary of my excursion to Toledo this Saturday: we received a bus tour of the city, took a lot of wonderful pictures of the landscape, the famous cathedral, and the synagogue, and walked around for a few hours speaking Spanish and eating gelato.  That’s all for now, folks! ¡Hasta la semana que viene!