Death In The Early Evening

Just like I did with my trip to Germany last year, I've saved my most (and I guess only) disturbing post about my trip to Spain and Morocco until the very end. Last year, it was my trip to Dachau that I reserved for last; this year it was my trip to Las Ventas bullring to watch a series of bullfights, if you can call them that. Whether you agree with the practice or not (and after having seen one in person I have to say I see little value in this), the experience of attending a bullfight is undeniably Spanish and that's the reason I had to see one for myself. I can only truly judge for myself that which I have seen in person. Like me or dislike me for that if you will.

Based on my experience at Las Ventas, the short story behind bullfighting from my totally uneducated point of view is this: man armed with sword gets together with his friends (who are also armed with knives on poles or other sharp instruments) either on foot or on horseback to torture a confused and scared animal before they finally decide they have had enough fun with the beast so they just kill it. It seemed cruel at the time and it still does two months later. But what happened in the bullring that night in Madrid was confusing to me, so I thought I would research and write down the rules, then write about my experience. And then never repeat that experience.

As I have come to understand a bullfight is a ritual which is ordered and structured and the various men involved in the event each have specific roles to play. This doesn't change the cruelty of the thing; I'm just explaining. The entire event is a corrida and the corrida is carried out by a group of men known as toreros, consisting of a matador and his cuadrilla. The matador is the lead man charged with fighting (and mostly killing) the bull. The cuadrilla is his entourage, consisting of two picadors and a group of banderilleros. A corrida consists of several bullfights, six of which (two per matador) are supposed to result in a bull's death.

An individual bullfight is divided into three parts; generally speaking it's a beginning-middle-end sort of thing (the entrance followed by the fight followed by death). I guess I could have figured this tripartite structure out by sitting in the stands that night but it was very confusing at first figuring out what was going on. The first couple of bulls we saw didn't die but were instead ushered out by a herd of cows after what I now understand as the first part of the event, whereas others were tormented further before ultimately being put to death.

Las Ventas Bullring

Bullfighting is all but dead in Europe. There are only three countries where this sort of thing continues: France, Portugal and Spain. Of all the bullrings in Europe, the Las Ventas bullring in Madrid is the most prestigious. And of all the times to visit Madrid to see a bullfight, the best time to go is during the Festival of San Isidro, an annual event starting in mid-May celebrating the patron saint of Spain's capital city. The Festival is celebrated by a month of bullfights which are held each day at Las Ventas and which draw the best matadors to the bullring during those 30 some nights. As it turned out, my trip to Spain happened to coincide with the Festival, so I guess I had plenty of nights to choose from and the so-called best matadors.

Las Ventas is an historic building which seats about 25,000 people. It was opened in 1931 after the previous main bullring in the city proved to be of inadequate size. It is constructed mostly of brick and is decorated in the moorish style with ceramic tile accents. The place is no luxury arena. The seats are stone and you are packed in really really tight on all sides. The stone seats were actually pretty comfortable; the lack of space in front and behind is not. You really have to sit bolt upright in your spot to avoid kneeing the person in front of you in the back and to prevent the person behind you from doing the same to you.

Seats in the arena are generally priced based on proximity to the ring and whether the predominant exposure of the seat is in sun, shade or both. The seats closest to the ring in the shade are the most expensive, with the exception of a few luxury box type seats in the rear of the arena. I guess those folks don't sit on stone or one of the cushions available for rent at the arena. We opted for shaded seats and I'm glad we did. I would not have wanted to bake in that place under the hot Spanish sun. We also found the process of purchasing tickets on line very confusing. We ended up getting seats from a ticket broker just because it was way easier to understand.

The opening ceremony of the corrida.

Since this was going to be the only bullfight of my life, I made sure to get there early so I could take everything in. The place filled up slowly but sure enough by the time the first fight started, the entire arena was pretty much filled. My emotions at the start of the fight were a mix between anticipation and dread. I'd prepared for my trip by reading most of Ernest Hemingway's book Death in the Afternoon, which is his non-fiction account of how wonderful bullfighting is. Some of his descriptions made an impression on me but I honestly couldn't see myself feeling the same way he did in his book. I'm pretty confident I would not get along with Hemingway.

The only other notion I had before sitting down and watching a bullfight was that I would pretty definitely be rooting for a spirited showing by the bull complete with a goring or two of the matadors. But my vision of what might happen was significantly different than what actually happened. The majority of the bulls really stand no chance. They are totally set up to fail. As I mentioned before, there is a spot in the event where a bull can be ushered out of the arena by a herd of cows (and presumably spared?) but the euphoria of one bull getting away with its life is quickly dashed by the bullfight organizers as they throw another animal out into the ring. Eventually, there's going to be one that's not that lucky.

An individual bullfight starts with the entrance of the bull and the initial sparring, for lack of a better term. Even though we were sitting several rows back in the stands, I could tell these animals are big. Like really big. And at the beginning of the fight they are barely wounded and pretty darned angry. I hestitate to use terms like bravery to describe what happened on the night of May 25 at Las Ventas but I know from watching that night that I don't want to ever come across an angry 1,000 pound bull when it's just me and him in a dusty circle. There is real danger for the banderilleros, even if they do have some gates in the outer wall of the arena to duck behind.

This part of the bullfight was actually the most enjoyable to me, probably because it almost seemed fair and actually involves some skill. At a couple of points, two of the younger banderilleros obviously looking to prove themselves took on mostly healthy bulls solo in the center of the arena, guiding the bull past their bodies with their pink capes. Hemingway discussed the obligation of the bullfighters to stand still when guiding the bull past them. Moving is not an option in the eyes of the audience. And thinking about that proposition could actually cause some admiration.

Does seven on one seem like a fair fight?

After a short while getting the bull to chase their pink capes, the banderilleros retire for a time and the picadors enter the ring on horseback. The picadors are the first men in the fight to draw blood and from here on (unless somehow they are spared) it is really all downhill for the bull. But the bull does have a moment of hope, unfortunately at the expense of the horses. Compared to the banderilleros which have toyed with the bull to this point of the fight, the mounted picadors represent a significantly larger and less agile target for the bull to attack and after the tormenting so far, the bull is good and ready to attack something and hit it. The horses are blindfolded (which I guess prevents flight at the horns of a massive pissed off animal) and heavily padded, which prevents them getting disemboweled by the bull. I'm not kidding on that last point. Hemingway described the disemboweling of the horses in his book. I am sincerely glad they wear a significant amount of padding these days. That would be something I do not need to ever see.

Each picador is accompanied by a banderillero and the reason why became obvious in a fight when the bull raced towards one of the mounted picadors only to have the pink cape waved in front of him right before he hit the horse. I am quite confident there would have been significant damage to horse and rider if this hadn't happened. As it was, the second bull of the night had a horn snap right off when hitting the horse and we saw a horse almost toppled by a bull. These bulls are fast and they dip their horns low when reaching their target and swipe up when they hit; it's easy to imagine a horse being ripped right open by a bull's horns. I can't imagine how painful it is for a bull to lose a horn all at once but I really don't want to imagine how painful a disemboweling is.

Ultimately, the picadors have their effect and serve their purpose and they leave the bull in a hurry, with blood streaming down its back. At this point, the animal is confused, scared, frustrated and tired. It was not uncommon to see the animal just move away from all the men in the ring just to get away only to be led back into combat through repeated pestering and taunting. Most of the animals were breathing heavily in obvious discomfort and a few urinated likely out of just sheer terror.

That marks the end of the first part of the fight and at this point there seems to be some sort of judgment made by the crowd on the bull's fate. I should mention that (unlike us) the crowd was not just sitting there in shocked silence. I guess maybe you get numb to this sort of stuff after a while? The manipulation of the animal's movements by the banderilleros and a few falls by one or two of the bulls yielded applause and jeers from the crowd. But after the picadors left, there was a general buzz around the arena directed to a ceremonial box in back of where we were sitting. The man at the center of the box it seemed was the determiner of the bull's fate at this point by waving a handkerchief. Red for death; green for life.

It's odd to talk about sparing a bull's life based on its bravery like you see gladiators being judged by the emperor of Rome in Hollywood movies but honestly that's what happened. Those bulls that were spirited and challenged the banderilleros were cheered by the crowd and I believe the people around us were asking for the bull to live (such as I understand from my non-Spanish speaking perspective). A green hanky wave meant the release of a herd of cows to entice the bull to leave the arena and I guess freedom. Five of the nine fights we saw that night resulted in the bull leaving the ring alive. I'm not entirely sure what happens to these bulls, but I hope they live.

A red handkerchief meant something entirely different and much grislier. If a bull was deemed fit to fight on for the amusement of the crowd, the fight continues to the second part. The second act of the fight involves men on foot sticking the bull with sharpened pointed blades attached to brightly colored sticks. These things are called banderillas (not to be confused with banderilleros). The men who stick these items in the bull's back stand directly in front of the bull and entice it to charge at them. When the bull gets really close, they step aside and jab the bull with the banderillas, which remain in the bull's back looking colorful and drawing blood continuously until the end of the fight. This process was repeated until the bull had anywhere from two to six of these things in its back. Now it's even more confused and hurt and I have to imagine it's feeling the night is not going to end well. So ends part two.

From this point on, the matador takes center stage and it is his responsibility to finish off the bull. For this phase of the fight, the matador abandons his large pink cape and swaps it for a smaller red one and a sword, which at the beginning of the fight is ceremonial. Notwithstanding the fact that they are facing a weakened animal, the stuff these guys do in the ring is insane or inane, whichever you prefer. These guys stand so close to the bulls with the capes so close to their body and control the animal's every movement. If there wasn't blood flowing from the bull's back and I didn't know this part of the fight would end in death for the bull, I'd actually be impressed by the skill displayed.

The abilty of the matador to focus the bull's eyes on him but not allow him to charge and then make the animal concentrate on the cape and make him charge was impressive. I don't understand why this isn't the event. It would be a hell of a lot more dangerous and entertaining and it wouldn't result in the senseless death of an animal. In the most brave/foolhardy display that night, one of the matadors actually passed the cape behind his body and kept the animal feet from him and then made him charge once the cape was free of his body. It was actually somewhat amazing.

As dangerous as this part of the fight is for a matador, we eventually understand that this just wouldn't last that long and that eventually the matador would change his toy sword for a real one. When he does that, the task is to stand in front of the bull (like in the photo above) and make him charge, sidestepping the charge at the last possible moment and slide the sword down into his body and kill him in one stroke. Only one of the bulls we saw killed that night died that way. The others took multiple attempts, which was really sad to see. Once that killing stroke is rendered, the final kill is delivered with a small blade to the brain and it's all over. The animal being dragged out of the arena is honestly one of the most cruel things I have ever seen.

Then the whole thing is repeated. After a while, it's upsetting and numbing and you just don't want to sit through any more. I don't get why people don't stay away. They couldn't be all tourists like me.

It's difficult for me to say that I was glad I went to a bullfight while in Spain. It wasn't exactly enjoyable. A large part of me can't imagine why this sort of stuff still goes on in the twenty first century. It is completely senseless and brutal and serves absolutely no purpose. I do think, however, that I got to see something uniquely Spanish and from that point of view, I considered it sort of a rite of passage that I couldn't miss. I am also quite confident when I say that I will no way in hell ever do that again.

Our bullfight experience that night lasted two hours and 20 minutes. We left early; enough was enough after the fourth kill. I probably didn't need to see that many but we honestly thought it would be over once each of the matadors had one kill and we just didn't split quickly enough after the third kill. I suppose that there were two more bulls killed after we left. 

I will say that we got some of what we were hoping for. We were pleased to see some spirited showings and one of the bulls did actually outsmart the matador and draw blood. After one of his last charges past the cape, he whipped his head around and caught the matador in the leg, knocking him to the ground. He then went for the kill but his attempts to further wound the matador were foiled by him rolling and a pack of banderilleros coming to his aid. Too bad, I suppose. Although seeing a matador get killed wouldn't make me any happier.

I imagine that was the last corrida I will ever attend. But before I close I would feel remiss if I did not memorialize the bulls who died that night. Some of the bulls are named in the program handed to you upon entering Las Ventas so we recorded the names of three of the four killed. We didn't get the fourth. I hope that Astillo, Aguacero and Costurero are resting in peace along with the one whose name I didn't quite get.