Day 31
It was 4pm and we were looking at the last of the wonderful impressionist artists as well as examining the baroque and cubist era´s of art when we decided we´d better get going.
Tonight was the first bullfight of the season. 1st April 2007. We wanted to see this sport for ourselves, and experience the whole culture of Spain.
So much has been said about The Bullfight. Somerset Maughan writes about it in great detail. The spanish are proud of it and yet don`t publicise it to tourists for fear of recrimination. The Tourist Centre seemed hushed about it. People have their thoughts and ideas about it.
We briskly move out of the museum to catch the metro to Las Ventas where the Bullfight will be held. We wondered how crowded it would be, whether it´d be a replay of the Flamenco from the night before where we didn´t get in.
The train was full and we thought we were on the right track. We were. People seemed excited somehow. The air was brisk. We were clad, once again, in our warm clothes. Thank goodness for my pashmina Annie brought back from Turkey. Instead of being in all black at least i had pink about me, and warmth.
We disembark from the train, and we were right thereª! In the square at the entrance to the Bullfight. PLaza Toros De Madrid. At the Corrida de Toros.
We took the pics, as you do, in front of the bull in the square. Bought our tickets. The best seats. Why not get a good view.
We hadn´t eaten and were hungry. We´d by food there, we thought.
The doors were open for us to go in.
In we go. The arena was old and dark. No food anywhere. Bar in the corner with only alcohol, ´wickey´ in abundance (whiskey). Smokers, pipes and cigars everywhere. Mostly men. Spanish. A few tourists. We enter the huge granite stadium and realise we need cushions because we would just be sitting on granite. Nothing flash. Just a huge arena.
Our seats were right behind the main gates where the matadors came out. Where all the action was. I started to feel a bit nervous. What would we be subject to? We were only 20 metres away from them.
From where we sat in the stalls we could see the royal boxes and the band playing. We waited for the stadium to fill but it only half filled. Seemed to be a sport that only the diehards attended.
The music started. The bull appeared in the stadium. The Corrida. The Bullfight was to begin. The majestic looking animal with what looked like a bow on his back came out charging. He saw the various matadors and charged at them. They were dressed in all different colours and had pink and yellow capes. The bull charged, they showed their capes. Tested by peons. He looked fierce. Nothing to be sorry about as he charged on and ran around the arena.
Next the music starts and a horse appears. There is a picador on the horse and the horse is heavily armoured. It must entrance the bull and make him charge even more. He heads for the horse and his huge horns are thrust into the armour. The horse stands stoic as if he knows he won´t be hurt. His eyes are covered. The bull charges further, agressively and the picador thrusts a long spear into the bull´s back. The lance that makes the bull erupt with blood. The crowd claps if the bull goes to his knees.
The madadors lead the bull away from the attacked horse. More men come with the colourful bandarillas and spear them into the bull´s back. Three lots. They hang out in colours and the bulls bucks and defends himself trying to be rid of these spears that are searing his skin.
One of the matadors dropped his cape and rolled expertly away so the bull would head for this rather than him.
The bull is already dying.
The main matador, dressed in tight white úniform comes out with his red muleta, the red cloth and hugs his fellow matadors. As if he may not live should the bull outwit him.
In artisic form the main matador uses his red flag and teases the bull. Behind the muleta he has a sword. The one that will kill the bull.
When he got a chance, and after teasing the bull with his muleta, he thrust him with his sword in the back of his neck with one thrust and it brought the bull to his knees. He then rolled over.
The crowd goes silly. The matador is revered. The bull lays down. And dies. His legs up. Greg and I were filled with emotion and i couldn´t stop crying. Greg was choked.
We werent ´the only ones. I heard the spanish man next to me start snivelling as well. Really Snivelling. It was sad. Yet it was inevitable. Planned. A sure thing. That the bull would die at a bullfight.
It touched a raw nerve within us. How could we be here watching this? How could be be so transfixed on this oldage tradition and in some way not be able to take our eyes off the action. Getting caught up in the atmosphere, just like at the football. Wanting the end to come with a spectacular result.
The majestic bull was brought to his knees and didn´t have a chance. It was a brutal killing.
He was then tied to the back of four horses and paraded in the arena. Dragged for everyone to see. He was in his glory. People stood up and gave their respect to the brave matador. ´He´d won the respect of his crowd. People honoured the mighty Bull.
After this happened they brought out another bull. He was teased by the matadors and his back pierced by the picador on the horse, but he was saved and was brought back into the arena by a series of other bulls that lured him back.
This was repeated 3 times. The two acts.
One thing we did find humouros and almost like the bull was getting his own back was during the second round, when the second unkilled bull came out and was to be lead back by other bulls, he bucked and decided, no, he was going to stay in the arena. They brought the bulls in to get him 5 times! Finally the bull ringer man had to run along the inside of the arena to get the bull to go back inside. It seemed like the Bull´s revenge.
After the third round, when it was too cold and wet and our raincoats and umbrella´s were drowned and our adrenalin was saturating us, we decided this was the first and last Bullfight we´d attend.
No repeat was needed.
It was extraordinary.
