Running away from bulls

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Segorbe's narrow streets were crowed. Old, well-dressed Spanish ladies perched atop ladders. Most people had, in the words of our lovely hostess "a few beers down their necks" bought in the nearby plazas, which were now deserted as the crowd waited for the bulls (the fiesta would resume there in the evening). Then there is the sound of a large firework going off to signal the start of the bulls' procession down the street. To be able to see over the crowd to anticipate the exact moment to push off to the sides and out of the way one must bounce up and down as high as possible. There is no time to adequately process how funny a street full of bouncing Spaniards is because the bulls are there. No, they have passed. Blink and you will have missed it. The speeding bulls are flanked by only the best riders on horseback who have to wait five years to even be considered for the role. These caberarros have to make sure that the bulls continue straight down the street in a herd. A herd of bulls at full speed is formidable, but not anything near the danger of a single bull on its own. Earlier in the day on the train trip there a friend read us excerpts of Hemmingway's Death in the Afternoon. Apparently a bull in a herd obeys its herd instinct and will follow along without any problems. But if one should break away it will charge anything in its path. Spain's famous fighting bulls have even been known to charge moving trains, if they should happen to encounter them.

But back to Segorbe. Even paying attention I only saw two of the six or so monsters that whipped past us. But I was in luck - a few hours later the crowds (now full of serrano ham and more refreshments) make their way down to the largest plaza that has been converted for the next event. Wooden ladders and narrow slats surround the entire square. In the centre is a fountain that has been drained, a sturdy platform, and a few other well-placed obstacles. Young virile men stand around and look brave. Some carry long sticks or canes. We notice people around us chewing on small sticks and buy some for ourselves from an old man with a bundle. They first tasts sweet, but have the worst aftertaste ever. I decide to keep the rest of mine as a sovenier rather than eat it.

They let in a bull and the spectators all wait until it comes near before running up the ladders or slipping between the slats away from the long curved horns. The faster men try to see how close they can allow those horns to come before jumping over or under the platform or out of the way. One will probably have a bruise in the morning, but nobody is really hurt. The bull's toungue lawls out and he huffs and puffs from the effort, but it seems Hemmingway is right - he charges anything and everything until another bull (ancient and tame) comes in and the angry bull stops charging and trots out with his elder.

Ah, Segorbe. I agree with our host. This is a true taste of Spain. Foreigners are welcome to come and enjoy the festival but it is clear that this is true tradition and that it is not done for anyone else. If only we could have stayed for a full week of festivities or at least stayed with the fiesta until it ended, long after dawn. Alas, the infrequent trains and work in the morning.

By: Dennie

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Photos

Crowded Streets
Note the ladies on ladders

Jen, Kris and I
on the ladders.

Comments

[jp]

Bulls
Fucking barbarians.