Beloved had it off from work and we decided this would be a perfect weekend to drive to Madrid. We got into the city at about 2pm, after witnessing the absolute exodus Madrenos were making to leave town. The traffic leaving the city was insane. 3-4 lanes bumper-to-bumper for over 30 minutes of straight driving for us. It put any other traffic jam (and we have seen our fair share in Chicago and LA) to pitiful shame. And yet Madrid was still jammed to bursting to people.
We arrived at the Hotel Opera near the Plaza Mayor after a frustrating trip to pick up our bullfight tickets. We had gone to the Plaza De Toro Monumental to pick up tickets but alas the ticket vendor was all the way on the other side of town. Apparently Ticketmaster has its claws in the bull ring circuit as well ;).
Thoughts on bull-fighting (warning: Images are graphic)
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| The horseman is only allowed into one area of the bullring. He is not allowed out into the central part of the ring (there are chalk outlines). If the bull enters into the horseman's area, the man is to stab the bull repeatedly with a long knife-tipped spear. Didn't really think it would hurt the bull much until I saw a huge festoon of blood come spraying out of the bull and onto the sand. |
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| It is a horrific moronic asinine mean and vicious bloodsport. |
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| One of the bulls attacked the matador and began to trample him. The bizarre thing is how much the crowd wanted the bull to win. The crowd does not cheer when the bull dies, but when the bull attacks or charges. The crowd applauds the animal as it is carried out of the ring. The crowd is eerily quiet during the fight, only expressing disgust or its disapproval when the matador makes the animal 'suffer needlessly'...however that can be taken...When the matador throws a poor charge or makes a bad cut, the crowd jeers and protests vehemently. |
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| The final blow is two-fold, a long saber is plunged into the bull from the top of the animal to pierce the pericardium of the bull, and then a short knife is stuck into it again as it dies. I think it must cut the spinal column. |
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| It is tied up to horses dressed with bells and pompom fringe and paraded around the ring and then drug out of the stadium. The bulls are then slaughtered and the meat is sold to tiendas and restaurants to serve later in the week. I had mentioned to a friend I cannot imagine the meat would taste any good, seeing as it has to be full of adrenaline and cortisol since the bull died such a stressful death. And no, we did not eat any to find out for ourselves. |
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| At this point the matador is making its last attack. The sabre is usually hidden underneath the red cape. |
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| The matadors in pink capes are used to 'tire out' the bull prior to the star matador arriving in the ring. They do not use any weaponry just flashing the cape to distract it and get it chase each of the three or so matadors in the ring. By the time the matador arrives it has lost most of its stamina and very rarely does it charge full speed at the red caped matadors. |
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| Me: You get him, Toro |
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| Post-slaughter. You could tell how well-trained he was. His suit remained pristine. |
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| This bull did not want to die. One of the 'matadors' (although not caped ) attempted to deliver the final blow to the bull at least 4 times. Each time he stood in front of the bull, jabbed limply into the bull and the bull each time would rise up and lunge at him. It was a considered a 'poor performance' though and the man left the ring quickly afterwards. His was considered a disgrace. I have never wanted an animal to attack a human being so much in my life. He was a fine animal. |
If that does not say it all...not sure what I was expecting; something Ernest Hemingway-esque and romantic, with Spaniards dressing up and going to attend a prototypical evening at the ring. Not so much.
The arena was barely half-full, with the ticket sellers selling out the section we were seated in entirely to American and foreign tourists.
Except for this guy:
Me: "Well. There's the bull." ;) ;)
( .....We (Doe and I) thought he was the bodyguard for a retinue of wealthy or famous dignitaries from Mexico. They were dressed in expensive suits and finely attired, and took out a large Mexican flag and we were waving it for cameras before the match..... )
Not for the faint of heart or animal lover. Here's what I thought would happen, and let this be a cautionary tale for those who are of the faint of heart. I thought there would be one bull and one matador. I thought it would be one fight, and that the bull would come out fully capacitated and the matador would be alone in the arena.
In reality, the bull comes out of the holding pen with a railroad spike impaled into its upper back. Sometimes its festooned with ribbons, sometimes it's left alone to just weep blood along the top of the bull.
There is not just a matador either. There's at least a dozen men in varying capacities used to help control the beast (but only the horseman and the matadors have weapons) The horseman is astride a large Clydesdale-sized horse, with feathered hoofs and legs, a huge beast of an animal that is protected with a heavy padded jacket and undercoat. This apparently protects the horse as the bull seizes upon each chance to attack and it barrels full-speed into it. It is a testament to the strength of the horse as it is literally rocked on its feet, but does not fall at the onslaught of a half-ton animal. I imagine it not feeling unlike it was struck by a Dodge Ram 250.
It was not until after the fight that I realized that the horses are in fact completely blindfolded during the matches. Had I know this as I was watching the first horse get knocked over onto its side and watching the bull lunge at its underbelly I would have gotten up and left the arena. The bull is stabbed and punched and knocked about until it releases it attack on the horse and gets up to go after its human oppressors. The horse had to have known it was being attacked by a bull, but it never lost its head or tried to escape. It was impressive.
I am not proud of attending a bullfight. In fact, I did not mention to many that I was attending one. I am not one to exploit animals, I even balk at paying money to going to circuses and to rodeos.And I still won't because I just can't justify it in the United States. Call me a hypocrite or worse, but I was not going in to this experience with an appreciation for how truly violent this 'sport' is.
In the end, I wanted the bull to win. Each time I wanted the bull to rise up out of his bloodied stupor and just gore the crap out of one of the matadors. I think they call that bloodlust? I left the experience with an amazing amount of respect for the Animal Kingdom. The power and stamina of the beast, the grace and agility of the bull, its force and ambition. The dutifulness of the horse, the power of its legs and the fearlessness it displays going into an arena again and again to face the noise and the smell and the bull onslaught. Blindfolded.
Judge me all you want for taking my children to the event. This is part of Spanish culture, an ugly part of it, that I felt we should have experienced. And while I will never attend another one, and will never encourage my children to attend another one I am fascinated with the experience. Anything that makes you stay up all night and ask yourself what makes you dwell on it is not always a bad thing.
It's a symptom of a Fallen world, a sinful world of gluttony and debauchery and using bloodloss as a means of entertainment. And while I am reminded of Ed McCaffrey snapping both of his thighs in half during a Broncos game on Sept 10, 2001 as I write, I came back with the reality that McCaffrey willingly placed himself on the field of play.
In the end, traveling throughout the whole of Spain, it is not the matador that is celebrated. It is the bull. it is not the matador that is used in silhouette throughout the entire nation along its roadways. It is the bull.
Bullfighting was used as practice for knights to work on their knife skills during the Middle Ages. And I do think that after seeing it first-hand, the utility of the bullfight has long passed. The bull is celebrated and lauded and praised in the nation. I do not imagine the Romans had crosses of Christians festooning its roadways as a sign of respect for those its nation had slaughtered.
The life of a bull destined for the ring is one of luxury. I sat behind an Englishman who had visited his friend's bull ranch in Central America. He was regaling me with stories about how the toro is fed a rich diet and allowed a life of good food and life outdoors and is overall pretty spoiled.
Until of course it is ritualistically slaughtered before an audience.
Food for thought.
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