Bull fighting, is it
a sport or is it a tragedy acted out through stages from entrance to exit and
ultimately death?
Hemingway said “Bullfighting is the only art in which the
artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the
performance is left to the fighter's honour".
After four years of visiting Pamplona and seeing the festival
of San Fermin first hand which culminates each day at 8am with the infamous running
of the bulls; I decided it was time to see a bull fight for myself.
I wanted to see how I would feel seeing an animal die in
front of cheering thousands. I wanted to know how I would react. Would I see it
as a sport, an art or even a pantomime?
We entered the famous Bull ring in the centre of Pamplona on
the 7th of July. That morning we had already run with the bulls and been in
that very ring dodging steers with taped horns.
Our seats were the very last ones, row z with our backs to
the wall. However the view was stunning and you could see everything.
Then it started. Not one but six bull fights which all culminated
with everyone invading the bull ring in the end and many clutching the blood
stained sand.
The music blares and everyone cheers, flags and neckerchiefs
are waved and the sun shines down on each person who looks fantastic all in
white.
The procession enters, armoured horses, people on foot and the
colours on display are dazzling. This is all sounded by the blast of a trumpet.
The three stages are:
Stage 1 - Tercio de Varas ("third of lances")
The bull enters the ring and is tested by the matador and
banderilleros.
Next, two picadores enter the arena armed with a long lance
or varas and mounted on large heavily padded and blindfolded horses.
The bull sees these horses and makes a massive charge at
them. The poor horse suddenly jolts as the bull blows in to the padding, the
picadore simply moves his legs out of the way and slams a lance into the bulls
back to weaken it. The picadore stabs at a mound of muscle behind the bulls
neck.
At the time the matador, the star of the show is observing
the bull and seeing what the bulls caging preferences are and he starts to make
a game plan as it were.
The bull should in effect be weakened by the exertion of
charging and lifting the horse and the lance. This will make the bull have a
lower charging position as its neck is weakened.
I watched as the bull charges full throttle into the
unsuspecting horse which judders violently before a lance is plunged into the
bull.
The crowd cheers and cerveza sellers come up to us to offer
cheap local beers.
The atmosphere is one of jubilation and not a single protest
can be seen.
In my previous years in Pamplona I have seen many animal
cruelty protests but not this year. Not a single one was I able to spot.
Stage 2 - Tercio de banderillas (“third of flags”)
This stage the three banderilleros each attempt to plant two
banderillas, Which is a sharp stick, into the bull's shoulders.
This will weaken the bull but it also angers it and makes the
charges more furious. You can see the bull trying to decide which banderillos
to charge. Soon the blood starts to pour down the bulls shoulders.
Stage 3 - Tercio de Muerte ("third of death")
The matador enters looking resplendent in his shining attire. We saw some in white, some blue, some pink and many variation of clashing
colours. He enters strutting jaw thrusting out into the sky and a look of arrogance on his face.
His cocksure manliness and arrogance can be seen by all but
at the same time he struts and doesn’t walk. Bull fighting is incredibly manly
and masculine and ridiculously brave, but it is also incredibly camp. The costumes
and the strutting and the hand gestures are so dramatic and thespian that it
adds an air of showmanship and pantomime to the whole experience.
The red cape which the matador carries is called a Muleta and
it is carried over a wooden stick or a dowel.
What I didn’t realise is that from the moment the matador is
first charged by the bloodied, angry and weakened bull he has only 15 minutes to
kill it.
If he does not successfully kill it or cleanly kill it the
crowd whistle their discontent.
This happened on more than one occasion as the bull finally
collapsed but was still sitting up right. Soon a knife was smashed repeatedly
into the dying bulls skull until its massive bulky frame lay motionless
bleeding out onto the sand ready to be pulled away by the team of horses.
After a series of passes where the matador agile and nimbly darts away from the horns in an effortless motion he gets ready to kill the
tiring bull.
The horns whistle by his body as he in one swift motion seems
to swerve through time and effortlessly receives a huge cheer and applause from
the crowd.
The bull is lumbering and tiring from blood loss, the crowd sense
a kill and the matador draws his sword.
His sword is called a estocada and to end the esctocada the
sword is thrust between the shoulders of the bull and severing the spine and
ultimately the aim is through the heart.
While we sat here open mouthed thinking what we were seeing
was art yet brutal art the faena which is the entire 15 minutes to kill process
ended roughly and the crowd whistled and booed.
One matador did it with one blow. The sword was thrust as he
leapt into the air as the bull charged and it came down slicing through the
bulls shoulders.
The bull staggered and in one breath hit the sand with a thud.
Other attempts were not as successful as the bull seemed to carry on and the
matador had to have another go to the annoyance of the crowd.
To the Spanish this is more than a sport; it is a part of
their lives, culture, heritage and soul.
One matador was the epitome of a showman. The bull was
tired, panting heavily and bleeding profusely. He looked beaten, his horns aimed
down. The matador walked up to the bull
and in a display of arrogance, bravery, showmanship and art slapped his chest
with his fist, raised his palm to the bull and turned his back on it and
strutted off.
The bull tired just stared at him and didn’t move. The
matador; a good matador knew the bull wouldn’t charge, he was too tired and that
he was defeated.
The unsuccessful kill with the sword leads to a thing called
a descabell. This is where the sword is used to sever the spine rather than
piece the heart.
If the bull is still going then the dagger to the head which
we brutally saw is called puntillero.
The last of the bulls lay motionless on the sand, blood seeping
from his wounds. The team of horses attached ropes and unceremoniously drags
him out. His life over, bred to run and fight, bred not for entertainment but for
a battle between man and animal and a battle where so many times pictures of
matadors coming second best have been seen but wasn’t seen today.
Today the bull ring at Pamplona exploded in cheers, applause
and singing. People climbed down over the seats and threw the seat covers into
the air as they invaded the ring. They ran and cheered and were joined by brass
bands from the seats. The scene was of pure celebration.
The Spanish don’t hate bulls and don't fight them for torture. A
bull’s death should be with honour and quick. That’s why the whistles sound if
a death is slow and clumsy. They regard the animals with admiration and the
local papers are full of pictures of the bulls with their vital statistics.
They regard the bulls with honour.
While we were there the bull was paraded around the ring twice
or three times and I later learnt that this meant that bull was a good fight and
the dignitaries were impressed with it.
The crowds were surging forward and we joined them in the
ring. The scene wasn’t chaos but fun, people were chatting and laughing and you
suddenly forget that you just saw six bulls die.
It is strange to watch it and I have to be honest and say
that even though I am an animal lover I enjoyed the whole experience. The pomp
and splendour and the utter camp heroic machismo of the event was stunning.
You forget that you have seen death and drank several beers throughout
because they are so cheap, you forget you need the toilet; you just are in the
moment.
You are in the ring dancing with people you have never met
before chatting to your new Australian friends who you only met on the bus over
and are at the same camp site.
The bull fight was an experience, one I will never forget
and with the way the world is going may soon be a thing of the past. Therefore
I am glad I have seen, no not seen one; experienced
one.
Because the experience is not like anything else at all.
