On Sunday afternoon, we attended a bullfight (with Carly!!!!).
There were, I think, more American students there than Spanish spectators. Most Spaniards who attend bullfights are older people. Young people don’t really like going because bull fights (corridas, as they call them, and as I will refer to them, as I am slowly becoming Española) have become extremely controversial around these parts. I sort of thought everyone was making too big a deal out of it, and didn’t really understand why people protest such a cultural tradition. Then I went to one. Now I know. It was horrendous/awesome/terrifying/shocking/cool/awful/gruesome/traditional/oh my god. Let me try to give you a little view into the world of the bullfight (as if I really know something about it, which I do not).
The whole thing starts with a huge bull running out into the middle of the ring.
He looks confused and kind of pissed, and when the little team of ‘toreros,’ as they’re called, all come out, he runs towards their pink capes and gets to them just after they duck behind a little wooden fence.
After they’ve done that for awhile, two horses come out dressed in an armor of wood or metal, and the toreros provoke the bull to charge the horse, at which point the guy on horseback proceeds to stab the bull’s back with a short, but very sharp little blade. After that guy continuously shoves this spear into the bull, the toreros distract the bull again, and the horse runs off. Next, they do this really scary thing where a guy, sans cape and sans sword, faces the bull head on, gets it to charge him, and stabs it in the back (now bleeding profusely from the injuries inflicted by the horseback rider) with two little objects. (When I say the bull is bleeding profusely, I kid you not. There is legitimately blood spurting out of the wound. Too graphic? Tough noogies). The two little stick things (I really know my vocab when it comes to bull fights) are about 2 feet long, and are usually multicolored.
From where we were sitting I couldn’t tell what they were made of, and by the end of the bullfight you can’t even tell what color they were, because they are entirely soaked through with blood. They do this three times, and each time it’s terrifying. Just as the torero (brave?crazy? Your call) is about to be trampled, his teammates distract the bull (thank god for colorblindness) and save his little tush. By the end of this part the bull should have stab wounds from the horseman and 6 little poles sticking out of his back. Now it’s time for the Top Gun matador. Again, I have no idea on the name, and most people actually call him Torero also, but I’m going to stick with Matador because it means killer, and that’s what he does. Anyway, he goes out into the middle with a red cloth and a sword, and, for about 10 minutes or so, provokes the bull, yells at it, and gets it to charge at his cape.
After close calls, the crowd yells, “Olé!” Eventually the matador walks off to the side of the ring, leaving the bull in the middle looking confused, bloody and pissed, and gets his bigger sword. A few quick charges later the matador stands poised, sword in the air, and stabs the bull through the back.
If done correctly the bull staggers, charges again, and then dies almost instantaneously. Out of the six we saw, that was only the case once. If it’s done incorrectly the sword sticks out of the bull’s back, he continues to charge at the team of toreros, and slowly bleeds out. After several agonizing minutes it trips, falls, coughs up blood, and then is stabbed in the back of the neck with a small sword to kill it once and for all. Everyone cheers, and the bull’s horns are tied to a slay that is dragged out of the circle by two horses, leaving a thick trail behind the bull’s carcass. That’s the standard.
The variations, however, are endless. They kill six bulls in a corrida, and so there are millions of moments during which someone can mess something up. At one point the matador tripped and the bull stomped all over him, leaving him with a bloody knee. With that bull he went on to be the one to stab all six little poles into its back, and to kill it with one swift blow to the back in the very end. He was the recipient of said bull’s ear for doing such a good job. He later killed another bull, and for the whole day, after being trampled early on, he wore a turnucate around his leg as the red spot near his knee got bigger and bigger. Yum. In another weird turn of events a different bull straight up just charged the wall and broke a panel of wood out. Not at all dangerous.
The people at the Corrida are a whole different area of fascination. First of all, for them, watching it is like watching a hockey game. It doesn’t really affect them at all, and they know all the rules and customs. When the Matador does a good job and kills the bull with one swift blow, they stand up and wave little white flags at him. When the bull almost tramples the torero, but doesn’t, they all yell, “Olé!.” Most of them seem a little bit like the people who go betting at the horse tracks. Some of them seem way too nice to be at these Corridas. All in all, not a normal crowd.
Some things I learned at the bullfight:
- It is not customary to eat there (or anywhere other than a table, for that matter)
- The bull’s ear is cut off and given to the Torero if he does a good job
- Bulls are colorblind
- Bulls are not that intelligent
- Neither are people
All in all, I have some concluding comments:
- After seeing the bullfight I agree with the protestors, it is a little barbaric. It’s almost like the people are taunting the bull, “You’re gonna die, you’re gonna die.” Kinda effed up. It would be a different ballgame if all parties involved knew the desired outcome.
- I no longer want to eat red meat.
- Spain needs subtitles. For everything. Including Bullfights.
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