Despite having previously been a vegetarian for eight years, I ended up spontaneously going to a bullfight for the first time, at the weekend. Jumping off the metro Las Ventas, we went to see the spectacular building and, on finding out it was only around 9 euros for a ticket in the shade (it’s only around five if you’re willing to sit in the sun for a couple of hours), we decided to see a show.
As the San Isidro festival was on, the matadors were on horses for the bullfights. I had no expectations of enjoying the thrill of seeing an animal tormented and slowly killed, but I was intrigued to see how the crowd would react, what kind of spectators went along to these shows, and to experience the atmosphere in the arena.
Our seats were on the highest row, which made me question Spain’s health and safety quite considerably but meant we had a great perspective of the audience and the fight. Something I found quite peculiar was that the majority of the crowd had brought along white handkerchiefs that they waved when they thought a matador had struck a bull particularly well or narrowly escaped its force with much bravado and grandiosity. Many of the horses were injured in the ring, and were not brought out for a second time to perform. Astonishingly well-trained, their coats were immaculate – just as pristine and well-groomed as the matadors, who each pride themselves on their unique outfits for the ring (including their own hats and flags to set them apart from their competitors).
In sum, I found it a very low form of entertainment. Whilst I could imagine that in its early days it had a more justified place in society, today it seems bizarre and distasteful to opt for seeing animals tortured and lives risked (as several were, just this Tuesday, in the same bullring) when there’s so much more on offer to us. Surprisingly, and much to my distaste, it was quite a family event, with young children eating their packed lunches and waving their handkerchiefs besides their parents. I also saw that it can’t be ruled out as a Spanish nationalist tradition; I even met one American lady there that said she’d been going for 20 years. It was also, of course, a huge reminder of Spain’s machismo stereotype.
I have no intention of going again and left after just two fights (there were many on the programme for the evening), but I didn’t expect to find a new hobby either. If you’re unsure about whether you want to go, be realistic: it is distasteful, animals are killed and tortured for a long time beforehand, and the bravado surrounding it is bizarre – which is perhaps the only aspect of bullfighting that remains intriguing today.
If you’re interested in finding out more about bullfighting, I suggest watching this interview with David Mora – the most badly injured matador in the events that took place this week, leading to a bullfight being called off early for the first time in 35 years – talking about preparing for these fights in Madrid.
Madrid for beginners 