Bullfighting

Suzy:

I came across this post from the last time we were in Spain and I thought that it should belong on this site instead. Just for the record, I haven't been back to a bullfight. So here you go:

Monday, June 21, 2004

Submitted by Suzy

So, the bullfight. Let´s talk about that. For being a person with certain convictions about animals (who doesn´t eat red meat for example), I can honestly say that the bullfight two weekends ago was... amazing. I won´t say that I´m a fan, nor that I´m against it, simply that it...affected me. Deeply. Especially the last fight. There were six bulls in all that day, with three Toreros (Matadors), each Torero killing two bulls: one two three and one two three (in order). I think that it affected quite a few of us, but my experience especially was one of deep respect, admiration, and appreciation of the rhythms and profound culture of the event. During the whole time, I was a bit squeemish and unsure whether to walk out or stay seated. They killed all five, first driving barbs into the extremely tough flesh at the back of the neck to soften the meat, then toro-ing the bull until it was exhausted. Finally after about fifteen minutes of this dance, the Torero brought out his long sword and drove it in the heart through the shoulderblades. However, with the first five (I guess this is common), the bull was not finished off by this ´´final blow,´´ and was stabbed with a palm-length dagger quicky at the base of the skull, behind the horns, after the bull was so tired it fell to the ground. The blood quite literally bubbled out of the flesh, glinting almost metallic red on the black skin of the creature. However, during the last fight, the whole rhythm changed. The Torero fell and was trampled, which is extremely dangerous. He got up, toroed, posing dramatically with the bull pawing and snorting, later to fall again, this time on the bull. The dance between the two was intoxicating. In the middle of so much violence and what has been called barbary, there was so much honor and beauty, like you could feel centuries of history thickening the air. The whole stadium waved white handkerchiefs in respect for the bull, and the Torero drew the final blow. The bull took a few steps back, side to side, and fell, the only one that died from the final blow, a great honor to both parties. Even in memory the event brings a sort of ache as I am writing. It was so filled with every kind of emotion, of ancient and new, and blood and violence and history and perfume, of rhythm and art and dance, of symbolism and metaphor. It´s one of those things that really strikes a person, and I wouldn´t give up the experience for anything.