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!
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