Ancient art’s dying days
Spanish bullfight ...
SCEPTICAL and feeling a little uneasy after a few sangrias the night before, I enter Madrid’s Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas.
We take our seats and wait, the blazing Spanish sun beating down on us.
I had heard many things about bullfighting during my travels – some good, most bad – but I wanted to make up my own mind.
The city is one of the few places in the world where traditional bull fights still take place. This means the matadors actually kill the animals in front of their audience.
Bullfighting is now banned in the Cataluña region of Spain, and I’m sure it won’t be long until other regions follow suit.
But to a curious Australian backpacker, this was an experience I just couldn’t pass up.
So I find myself staring down into the dusty bullring, unaware of what is to come.
A band of trumpets interrupt my thoughts and a procession of flamboyantly dressed men parade in through the gates.
The crowd goes wild and I can’t help but feel excited.
All of the men leave the arena, except one.
Kneeling in front of the gates, the matador places his cape delicately over his lap.
I want to look away but somehow I can’t.
The gates open and in charges a massive beast – horns sharp, temper blaring.
Let’s just say we didn’t see that matador for the rest of the evening.
Bull 1, matador nil and the show has only just begun.
Men on horseback and on foot, take turns spearing the animal as it
Bullfighting is not for those with a weak stomach
runs around the ring.
I cringe, but there is something about the bright colours, the sparkly costumes and the incredible showmanship that has me mesmerised.
A number of other tourists around us get up to leave, but I am glued to my seat.
The bull is weak, blood trickling down its back, its head dropped in exhaustion.
But it has one more opponent to face – death.
Another matador enters the ring and all is quiet.
It is just him, his cape and the bull.
As the crowd holds their breath, the matador manoeuvres around the bull in a graceful dance.
Sometimes the bulls horns come so close to the matador, I am sure he is a goner. But with each successful turn he proves his bravery and talent. Now for the grand finale. The matador is handed a long sword. Staring intently at the bull, he points his weapon at the beast as if to say “your time is up”.
With one last flick of his cape, the bull charges. The matador launches himself in the air and places the sword deep into the bulls back, piercing its heart. The show is finished. Oh no wait – there are five more bulls to go. Golly.
Somehow I make it through the rest of the spectacle, viewing the more gory parts through the protective lens of my camera.
Bullfighting is not for those with a weak stomach, and I definitely wouldn’t recommend it for a family outing or first date. Many call it cruel and vulgar, and I don’t disagree, but bullfighting is an age-old tradition to these people.
I leave the arena with the realisation, who am I to judge?
I may not understand it, but that is what makes this world so great.
A cultural experience I will never, ever forget.