Blood in the Sand

---

Monday Afternoon. July 10th. Pamplona, Spain. We woke up after some much needed sleep and took freezing showers (again!) and headed over to the Castillo del Toro which is the arena where they have some of the biggest and best bullfights in the world. I took some time to just watch the crowd while Marcus tried to find the bar, Hemingway’s, which is right across the street from the arena and meet me at 5pm. I sat on the street and remembered the times I read Hemingway and dreamed about being in Spain and attending a bullfight, as well as a lifelong dream of actually Running with the Bulls. Time stood still and I gave thanks for being right here, right now, in the middle of an adventure of a lifetime and smiled as I squeezed the sweat and excitement out of my bandana into the street, wiped my brow, and plopped my San Miguel grass hat on my lightly sunburnt head. The bandana is a necessity here and it goes along nicely with the traditional San Fermin festival attire of red scarf, the nicer ones are embroidered with Navarro in gold stitch, a red sash wrapped around the waist and tied at the hip (girls and guys wear the same thing), white or red t-shirt (doesn’t matter because it gets filthy from the sangria and everything else thrown around this town), and white sports pants. I found a great pair of white sport pants that are elastic so you can have plenty of room to run from the bulls.

We heard it was difficult to get tix but that is just a rumor Graeme started so he could charge us 65 euros apiece for a 10 euro ticket. We aren’t falling for that one and can see people at the window but before we go to the window are approached on the street to buy some tix. We check them out and they want 30 euros for each one (we didn’t know the price of the ticket is in the lower right corner) so we now know we were asking to pay 20 euros too much for each one, and we were nervous. Mark freaks a little and then shows me the date on the ticket. It says Julio 10th which was two days ago. We get a little irritated that the guy is trying to sell us tickets for a bullfight which is already taken place so we throw some stupido Spanish and walk off. He just looks at us dumbfounded like he didn’t realize he was ripping us off! In seconds we are approached again, this time by an older lady and her husband, we go over surreptitiously to some shade and she produces our now golden tickets. They check out and we’re ready to fork over the same amount of money until we look at the date! We both look at each other and just start laughing our asses off! It’s the same date on these tickets! Mark has to get a calculator out to verify that today actually is July 10th! We are in such a surreal world here we don’t even know what day it is! We buy the tickets, are very grateful and go in and find our seat.

Almost all of us know what it is like to walk into an arena and this is no different except the sun is blinding and it is 7.30 at night! The bullfight is all the spectacle everybody says. There are really two sections, the shade and the sun (sol). The sun is blistering hot and there is no shade so everyone refers to those spectators as penas for some reason. They bring huge buckets of fruit, beer, red wine and mix it up in gallons and gallons - then stand up and yell and throw it all over the crowd!! Everybody gets drenched in sangria and fruit and everything else they can throw and this takes place in over 2/3 of the entire arena - it is madness and a great time. Well, it looked like a great time to us because we were up in the shade chilling out and some young locals behind us started chatting and ended up giving us huge cups of all the sangria we could drink and even offered the rest of the cooler to take with us. We were in a rather conservative section of older Spanish gentlemen and ladies and that was okay with us cause we really wanted to concentrate on the bullfights.

I want to go into the bullfight in detail because it really is a tremendous spectacle although I will tell you upfront it is not for the meek or the passionate animal lover. It was a beautiful pagent of color and courage and athletic ability but it is also gruesome, bloody, and it had a visceral affect on me emotionally. It begins with the introduction of the three matadors dressed in splendid gold, bright robin’s egg blue suit with hot hot pink dress socks. It sounds ridiculous but it looked regal, traditional, and pleasantly romantic considering the event. In less than a minute a raging bull thunders into the arena and the crowd erupts!! The bull is confused, but very angry, and he is bigger than I can describe. Close to 2,000 pounds his shoulders and head stand almost seven feet high and you can see every sinewy muscle as he breaths. This bull is a beautiful rust brown with some black spots and I distinctly remember him during the run and also when I went to the corral at the bottom of the first street, San Domingo, at around 1.30am last night to take an early peak. The only thing I can compare them to is an SUV with fur and a temper.

Before I can get sentimental he charges each matador just trying to pull some kidney and loins out of anything that moves. They each tire him out a little before they expertly maneuver the bull towards a picador. The picador is on a horse that looks straight out the movie Excalibur. The horse is almost completely shrouded in chain mail with red and gold traditional Spanish design. The chain mail goes almost to the ground and it protects the horse completely. The picador’s wear traditional red and white and sits up on his horse holding a long, about 12ft. spear with a razor sharp point. The picador stares down the bull and gets him to charge him with a full charge and as the bull digs his horn up the horses stomach (the horse does not get hurt here). The picador takes aim and buries the blade in the back of the spinal cord and the tops of the bulls muscles. It’s gruesome to see as the bull is trying his best to kill the horse and as long as he is trying to gore the horse the picador plunges his spear into the neck around the spinal cord and leg muscles.

Now the bull is really pissed. They tease him some more by making him run around and then the extras again expertly maneuver the bull into the center of the ring where the jumpers are located. There is a Spanish term for these guys too but they should just be called Gymnasts with Balls of Steel. The bull charges and the jumper holds in each hand a 4ft. colored spear. As the bull charges the jumper leaps up and to the side of the horns and buries both blades into the top of the bull. If it is a clean spear both stick in the bull and it adds color to the spectacle. The blood now begins to flow heavily down the bulls back and it glistens and streams down his huge body but believe it or not the bull simply gets more and more angry and shows no sign of letting up. Another jumper makes the bull charge again and does the same maneuver, and another, and if all are successful there are 6 of these spears in the bulls back and now the matador begins his work.

The matador takes his stance in front of the bull and drapes his cape over a long metal sword so it dangles at even the slightest motion. The bull will charge at even the slightest motion and the matador tries to get the bull as close to his body while making a clean pass. As this goes on several times the matador typically will show his athletic ability over and over again and many times the bull almost gets his prize. While in the stands, Mark and I are rooting for the bull! Viva Del Torro we yell! A lot of the locals hiss and some clap and honestly act like they could care less who we root for so we get louder! To no avail.

The bull faces the matador tries his best to kill but in a few minutes the bull has lost his energy and the matador gets even closer now, sometimes enough to touch the bulls horns and after each successful round of passes he will purposely turn his back completely to the bull which is the ultimate display of respect as well as courage. The bull now stands at the mercy of the matador, breathing like a freight train, confused, dying on his feet as blood from his wounds pours out of his mouth and nose into the sand. This is not a pretty sight by any stretch of the imagination, the irony of this beautiful animal, so powerful and raised only to eat, mate, and kill, is now almost powerless. The matador readies his cape once again and quickly moves to the side of the arena where he is handed a sword the same size as the one he uses to support his cape. He readies himself like an expert and makes the bull charge again. After the bull passes and gets nothing for his trouble but some red material on his horns and a rush of air, the matador sweeps to the side, leaps high in the air and buries the sword, all 4ft. of it, into the back of the bull. The crowd erupts because of the athleticism, the courage involved and in respect because we all know the bull will have a quick death from such an expert strike by the matador.

The bull still stands, but as he begins final charge, he stumbles on one knee and slides face first through the sand and immediately leaps up and charges the matador. It is useless now and after a last pass the bull collapses in the sand. The matador takes a huge bow. The crowd goes incredibly crazy throwing everything from seat cushions to sangria to huge 100 yard blue and silver streamers into the arena. The bull lies on the ground and as the matador is accepting his salutations, a man with a short blade that can barely been seen from where we sit takes the bull by the horns and sinks the blade into the back of the spinal cord and severs it quickly. The bull is dead.

As the crowd rocks and yells and makes as much noise as possible three huge stallions tethered together side by side come out like a roman chariot in the coliseum. They tie the bull up and drag him out at full speed, his immense body leaves a wide trough in the sand and in less than a minute he is gone. They have a full butchering facility in the arena which we did see, but they were done with the bull. The eat bull as common as roast beef in the united states and we both had it and I’m glad to say it is very tasty and if someone substituted your pot roast with vegetable with roast bull, you would never know. Delicious!

Depending on the how much fight the bull had, the dexterity and beauty of the matador who shows great courage (I’m being a bit sarcastic here), a group of three judges, one being referred to as the Mayor, either lays out one white sash called an ear. An additional white sash can also be displayed and that means there was a fantastic fight and the Mayor rewards the matador with two ears. Although I didn’t see it, the most the matador can receive is two ears and a tail. This matador got two ears and the crowd wholeheartedly agreed.

All six bulls that I ran beside this morning were killed in the same ceremony this evening. Since this is my travel blog I can editorialize here. I have mixed feelings about the ceremony, but they are strong feelings none the less. There is beauty in the tradition and the pageantry and this country is steeped in romance and tradition and I respect that. There is athleticism and incredible bravery in what all of the participants do, especially the jumpers and the matador. There is as much respect for the entire event as could be expected and it’s interesting to note that there was not one, not one, advertisement or marketing or stupid sign in that arena. As Marcus commented as we, both drunk on sangria and three days of revelry, were commiserating for the poor beautiful bull, at least this place isn’t called Citibank Arena, or Amex Arena. It is tradition and it is important to this culture and I have respect for that. However, I would have enjoyed nothing more on this trip than to see the same bull I ran beside this morning calculate his timing just a precise second to the left and skewer that fucking matador right in the femoral artery. We both seriously were hoping the bull would plant a horn into the matador and we could watch him die in the sand for a nice change. And like Forest Gump says, “and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

---