My oh my. Bull fights.
I knew what to expect before I even decided to go to the bull fight, but for some reason I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to watch. I knew before I entered Las Ventas that the object of the fight was to kill the bull. I knew there was going to be blood. I knew I was going to watch this creature die. But I didn’t realize it was going to make me feel so sick.
While making the bull angry by waving a flag in it’s face, the men run around in sparkling tights with giants spears trying to poke the bull – bringing it closer to its death. The blood that dripped down the side of the bull wasn’t gruesome to see since I was so high in the stands. But because I knew that the darker patches on the bulls back – now decorated with spears – was blood, it made me feel pity for the bull and I started hoping the man would get a horn through his body.
There were other men in the ring as well helping the matador to distract and poke the bull. While two sat on BLINDFOLDED horses with more spears. After the men would poke the bull from the safety of the horse, the bull would come charging the poor horse. What the fuck.
I realized since I was wishing pain upon the matador that I should leave. So I did – only after watching two of the six bulls die. Two too many. As much as I can say I’m horrified by this Spanish tradition, I’m glad I was able to see it first hand. It made me realize how strongly I feel against bull fighting. What made me even more uncomfortable was the fact that people were cheering. Oh well. To each his own . . .
It’s really too bad the architecture of the building is so beautiful, yet the activity that takes place inside is so gruesome.