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!