Bullfight

Check out the accomanying photos here.

Around 2:30pm on a hot, dry Guadalajara afternoon, I made my way by city bus to the plaza Plaza del Toros. 2 hours early, the mostly unpaved parking area was largely empty, but a large queue of inbound cars extending well onto the avenue suggested that was soon to change. Snack and paraphernalia vendors lined the perimeter of the 300m wide stadium, accompanied by a few crowded temporary restaurants shaded under canvas tents. I easily found the ticket vendor and selected a moderately priced seat, crossing my fingers for a good view. My first attempt at entry into the stadium was rejected, citing a need to transfer the contents of my water bottle into a plastic bag. I did so, despite feeling a bit foolish carrying around a clear plastic sac of water. I clambered up to my section of the second level. The area was general seating, boasting 10 rows of seats covering 300 degrees of the round venue. The other 60 degrees were a fenced of section of pricier seats, already in the shade at 3pm. There I sat for 90 minutes, soaking up the sun and watching the stadium slowly fill to near capacity.
As the 4:30 start approached, a concert band of some 20 members claimed a small section of the upper deck to my left and began enriching the atmosphere with a selection of robust Spanish marches. Into the band's second selection, a group of some 50 people, all costumed, some horse-mounted, proceeded on a tour the arena, much to the delight of the spectators. Three banderillos took to their respective barriers at three of the quarters of the circle and everyone else left the arena floor. Moments later, the most furious looking animal I'd ever seen I my life came charging into the arena.

The first banderillo stepped out of his hiding spot, waving a shiny golden & pink cape at the bull. As if overwhelmed with rage, the bull charged full speed towards the cape-bearing man. The man swiftly resumed to his sanctuary behind a shoulder high board, taking the cape with him. The bull continued without hesitation in a counter-clockwise gallop towards the next awaiting banderillo and his fiery golden cape. Twice around the arena ran the bull, further enraged with the swift disappearance of each banderillo that he failed to impale.

Sufficiently aggravated, the bull was then put to the bidding of the event's three guest matadors. On horseback came the first, swiftly dodging and evading the bull's desperate attempts to wound the horse & rider. At times, it looked as though the horse was trotting sideways in a small circle around the bull - a truly magnificent display of horsemanship. After his brief horseback dance with the bull, the matador took two small spears and planted them into the mound on the bull's back. A job well done, the first matador was soon relieved by the second. His charge was just the same as his predecessor's. It's my feeling, however, that he executed it with much greater style & grace. The third and final matador took to the arena to finish the job, rendering the bull unable to stand. Soon thereafter, the head banderillo took to the field and executed the bull with a dagger, provoking the paralyzed animal to release the dregs of its energy through a slew a spasms. Amidst trumpet fanfare, uproarious cheers and another stately Spanish march, the groundskeepers returned. Assisted by two horses, the bull's corpse was dragged out of the arena.

The groundskeepers swiftly raked the ring and tidied up a few of the blemishes on the two large circles of chalk. As if right on cue, out charged the second bull - a fine toro of nearly 500kg. After another two laps of Banderillo madness, out marched a picador - a well-armoured horse carrying an equally well-armoured rider. The bull charged at this less than agile vessel, forcing it sideways into the perimeter wall. The rider then repeatedly stabbed the bull with his 2m long spear until it relented its attack. The injured horse limped out of the arena as the dumbfounded bull stumbled towards the center. It then became evident that the bull, accidentally or otherwise, had been stabbed in the left eye. (In a future query, I was told this to be an accident.) The banderillos made an effort to further aggravate the bull with hand lances, but the animal's new found disorientation proved to be a mark of unworthiness. It was resolved that the bull be removed from the arena. This task may sound simple, but it proved to be quite complicated - perhaps, I dare suggest, this was because the bull was blind in one eye. The banderillos futilely strove to draw the bull towards the exit. After nearly 15 minutes, out jogged a posse of five other bulls, held previously on reserve for moments of this nature. The bulls circled the toro and led him towards the exit only to see him disband as the five escorts made their departure. This scene went on for nearly 45 minutes and for quite nearly all of it, the entire arena was in hysterics. The bull was finally allured by the banderillos to an alternate exit from where he bid his farewell.

After another quick cleanup, the third bull came running out into the arena. He was subjected to his due two laps of banderillo teasing then once again, a little one-on-one with a picador. The bull pinned the armoured horse to the wall as the rider speared him several times at the hump of his back. One at a time, the banderillos danced around the bull, each planting two feather-toting daggers into the animal's back. Soaked in his own blood, still bestowing 6 embedded daggers, the debilitated bull was now at the mercy of the pedestrian matador. Even as a bit of a skeptic, I couldn't help but find this man to be amazing. He elegantly floated around the bull, bestowing a cape and cutlass. The toro would charge furiously towards the cape, hanging from the outstretched arm and cutlass of the matador. Not a moment too soon, the man would pull the cape away, leaving the bull diving at thin air. With each leap of the bull, the fans would cheer in unison, "Olé!" For ten minutes, the matador would invigorate the bull, sometimes standing backwards, sideways, even apparently looking the other direction. As the bull grew weary (from loss of blood?), he took two more passes at the matador where instead of thin air, he found the sharp end of a sword. Quite quickly, the bull's energy tapered and soon enough, he was dead on the ground and being subjected to the same execution as that of the first victim of the evening.

The fourth of six bulls (however, the last that I stayed for) put on a show not unlike the third. This time, the matador found himself just a little too close for comfort. Mid way through his equally graceful dance, he found the pointy end of a bull's horn somewhere around his elbow. The bull charged passed as the matador clutched his arm with an expression of irritable panic on his face. He quickly retired to the periphery and the banderillos swiftly executed the already wounded and bloody animal. Through another musical interlude, the bull's corpse was dragged out of sight. The matador ambled on a tour of the arena perimeter as fans by the hundreds waved white handkerchiefs paying respects to the injured. Dozens of fans even threw forth their hats as the matador walked by. He'd pick up the hat, nod obligingly, then throw it right back.

Partly motivated by a bus schedule, it was around this time that I decided I'd seen enough. I made my way out of the arena and back to the ground floor. The girl guarding the exit gate looked a bit astonished to see someone leaving early, but soon concluded that I was just another gringo who hadn't realized what he'd gotten himself into. Content with an evenings discoveries, I cut back across the deserted makeshift restaurants and through the small sea of cars to my awaiting, downtown-bound public bus.