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Last summer, I had the opportunity to fly across the world to Spain and view a traditional bullfight in Madrid. I will admit, the sport was rather gory and not exactly my cup of tea, but I understand the cultural aspect behind it. Modern bullfighting emerged in Spain in the 18th century, although the fascination with the fiery creatures has existed for thousands of years. For example, the Minoans on the island of Crete worshipped bulls (i.e. the famous “Bull Leaping Fresco”) and the Romans included bulls in animal/gladiator fights (i.e. in the Colosseum). Recently, animal rights groups have shouted loud and mighty about the inhumane aspects of bullfights. For this reason, Spain has outlawed bullfights in many parts of the country (i.e.Barcelona). Although I believe that bullfighting is an important tradition that should not be done away with completely, I also think that it is bloody and unfair for the animals being harmed.
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| A dead bull being dragged off the sand |
In Madrid, I saw my first bullfight in Las Ventas, a massive circular stadium with grimy tiers of white seats and ornamental arches framing the interior. For a place where many animals were slaughtered weekly, it looked very classy, dainty, and frilly (it reminded me of Rococo art in a way). The ring in the center, where the killing took place, was covered in absorbent tan sand so the bull’s blood did not create a giant, Jackson Pollock-like mess everywhere. Because my family did not wish to spend a large sum of money, we got tickets in the “nosebleed” section at the very top. However, just as we settled in to watch the spectacle, it started lightly sprinkling outside—I guess being frugal pays off eventually! Ticket prices also vary if one chooses to sit in the sun (sol) or the shade (sombra). Surprisingly, very few people showed up to watch the fight; granted, it was with baby bulls and not the full grown fire brands, but I did expect the crowd to be larger. Although the popularity of attending bullfights is going down (except for naïve tourists like myself), I do remember gazing upon an aged Spanish man sitting all by himself on the very top tier. His skin was wrinkly and translucent, his eyes were small and watery, but I bet he had been coming to this exact stadium at that exact spot for many years.
After the workers have prepared the killing patch, a slew of costumed men on horses dramatically paraded out from a small arch to the sound of blaring traditional music. The toreadors were dressed in their elaborate costumes, the ones with the gazillion sequences, baguette-shaped hats, and capri pants with the brightly colored socks. They looked impressive to say the least, but once the killing began, my insides began to churn uncomfortably. The first toreador stepped in the center, unfurled his bright pink cape, and egged on the bull which had just been released from its cage. I will admit, the first few runs and dodges were exciting, especially when the bull made a dive at the matador. The ivory horns were whipping about the place and the bull seemed possessed, running to and fro across the beige sand. However, once imposing men on blind-folded horses came riding up and stabbed the bull in the back, I was turned off. How is the bullfight actually fair if outside men are stabbing it to weaken it for the toreador? The bullfighters were skilled and fancy, but they certainly were no Manoletes if their opponent (the bull) was being fatally wounded. Speaking of Manolete, he was one of the best bullfighters of the 20th century, and his story, which was exciting and gripping, was eventually tragic. Being gored to death by a bull (called “Islero”) at a mere 30 years of age, Manolete went down with a fight, killing his beast as well. He was featured prominently in Salvador Dali’s renowned painting “The Hallucinogenic Toreador.” Buy “The Death of Manolete,” written by Barnaby Conrad, here.
Back to the gruesome bullfight in Madrid in July of 2013. After the first bull had been killed, a somber procession, complete with donkeys, uniformed men, and patriotic music, dragged the now dead bull across the ring and into a pen. The dark red stains from the bull formed a ring across the sand, like a figure skater trailing blood during a circular spin. After the first bull was done, a new toreador and bull followed, repeating the process three or four times. After the third bullfight, my family and I left because it was just too depressing seeing an animal being killed in such a brutal way. However, if one is not squeamish or an ardent follower of PETA, I would recommend seeing an authentic bullfight in Spain at least one. No matter the current trends, it IS part of the unique Spanish culture, albeit bloody and a bit barbaric.
Find about the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas here.