Running of the Bulls Pt 2

THE BULL FIGHT

That night all of us who ran that morning headed to the arena to watch the bulls we’d run with fight. Watching a bull fight was every bit as amazing as running with them, and I actually think the experience of running with them amplified that experience and definitely gave us an enhanced perspective. Just a quick warning. The videos and descriptions below aren’t exactly light entertainment, and if you really can’t stomach animal cruelty, just skip it.

The atmosphere in the stadium was amazing. It was absolutely packed, there were marching bands playing, sangria being shared around (you could BYO because it wasn’t Australia and fun over profit was actually encouraged), and people starting chants (seven nation army again). This was all before the first bull even came out. While the crowd piles in, the matadors all stand out in the arena practising their moves and airing out their fancy suits. The first bull is then released and the fight progresses as follows:

First, the bull runs around charging at the matadors. There are four assisting matadors for each fight and one main guy. The assistants tire the bull out at first, and spend alot of time hiding behind the barriers built into the walls. Once the bull tires  a bit, the bastard on a horse (I’m sure he’s got a different name, but it must translate to that in english) comes in on his armor plated steed. The bull charges the horse and tries to gore through the armor, while the bastard on top stabs through the muscle at the top of the bull’s shoulder blades. This happens twice, once for each shoulder. If the guy stabs too long, and the bull isn’t able to be distracted away from the horse the crowd start whistling (Spanish booing), as this means the bull will be too weak for a fair fight. The stabbing of this muscle apparently makes the bull’s head drop and means he focuses more on one matador, rather than chasing after random targets.

After this, the assistant matadors keep running the bull around and making it do passes. They then bring out the crazy stabby acrobats (again, believe it or not, not their official title). These guys get the bulls attention, then as the bull charges them, run at an angle and dodge the bulls horns while stabbing two batons attached to spears into the bulls back. Stabbing both in and making them stick while keeping your intestines in your torso pleases the crowd, and draws much applause. Missing, or failing to attempt to put both in draws more whistles. 

After this, it is then the main matador vs the bull. The bull makes charges at the cape, and the matador dodges and pulls it at the last second. Sometimes the matador does this while sitting on a chair, or while on one knee, or with the cape behind him, so show just how massive his cajones are. 

This whole time, the bull is bleeding quite heavily, and is getting very tired. Once the matador sees the bull is knackered, he swaps swords (previously he had an aluminium one under his cape) and after a few more passes he goes for the kill. The aim is to stab the bull straight through the spine, causing as little pain as possible and resulting in a quik death. A miss causes the crowd to get extremely abussive, and people actually throw stuff at him. A direct hit and a quick kill gets a standing ovation and flowers and the odd bra to be tossed from the crowd. Once the bull drops, one of the assistants comes with a small blade and fully severs the spinal cord. Again, if he does this first go people clap, if he takes multiple stabs the crowd jeer. 

Finally, the bull is dragged from the stadium by horses, and the bull fighter takes his ear as a trophy.

From watching and reading that I could understand if you thought this was either surreal, awesome, barbaric, despicable, or have had any range of emotional response. And I think that’s what made this such an unforgetable experience. Having run with these bulls, and seeing what they are capable of doing, gives you an unbelievable respect for them. They are huge animals, can move lightening fast, and have a terror inducing amount of aggression and power. This respect also extends to the matadors. To let these animals pass so close time and time again is truly one of the ballsiest/most insane things you could do. While it is a bloody conflict, and inevitably the bull almost always dies, there is a certain level of almost gladiatorial respect for the bull shown by both the crowd and the bullfighters (except the stabbing horse rider bastard…what is it with horse people!?). If the bulls are to be killed anyway, there’s something honourable about them going out living to their potential, being able to use every ounce of their power until they literally can barely stand, rather than being unceremoniously put on a conveyor belt and waiting in line to get a bolt to the head.

However, as you can see in the video above, the Matador once he’s made the kill celebrates a bit too conceitedly. There’s something really off about a poncey man in a ridiculous suit standing so proudly as if he truly is mightier than this impressive beast he’s just killed. Like I said above, there is no doubt about it, the matadors have cajones the size of grapefruits, but the bull is the only true warrior in this fight. Only if you took to the arena alone and mastered the bull should you be entitled to such a self satisfied celebration. The moment that truly showed this for me was when one of the fighters performed a set of very impressive passes. As the crowd cheered he walked away to grab a drink. The bull noticed his back turned and charged him, only for one of the assistant bull fighters to run and distract the bull at the last moment. So after the bull was stabbed twice, tired by your four friends, and then stabbed another six times, you still required someone to help you avoid the bull killing you, and then you opulently celebrate your domination, all while wearing pink three quarter pants? A feat of courage and bravery it may be, but it’s definitely not a duel.

While I was watching I kept recalling a conversation I’d once had about the movie Blue Valentine. My friend Joey had watched it and didn’t enjoy the movie. ‘It was so depressing, I felt so crap afterwards’ she had said. But my friend Bella’s Italian boy friend piped in and said ‘Yes, but it made you feeeeeel’. I think that is exactly what was so brilliant about bulfighting. It’s not an easy experience. You will feel pretty much every emotion you’ve ever experience simultaneously, while getting a go at a few new ones at the same time. Some people just can’t handle it. One kiwi rugby player in our group just went completely grey and didn’t say a word until we left. I think the whole crowd cheered for the bull, and really would’ve loved one, especially the lead bull from that morning, to have won their fight. The cheers that went up when the bull first entered the ring and when it narrowly missed the matadors while slamming into the barriers around the side were spine tingling. Conversely, the feeling that swept over you as you saw the impressive beast that had narrowly spared your life that morning being dragged through the dirt, toungue out, ear removed, with a marching band playing a song more befitting of a touchdown than an execution, was one of complete hollowness. I completely understand why people want it banned, and I have no argument against this opinion, but I definitely see why the Spanish would leave the EU if bullfighting were banned, and why they still do it to this day.

NON OPENING DAY FESTIVITIES

The rest of the festival was just a bombardment of sounds, sights, smells, all experienced through a sangria induced fog. My daily schedule generally consisted of a couple of hours of sleep at night, wake up for the bull run, grab breakfast, sleep for an hour until my tent heated up to about 300 degrees, then sleep in the shade for a few minutes until someone arrived with beer or wine, then drink and party until about 4am, and repeat. Each day as the sun set the town would come alive, as everyone (still dressed in white) would pour into the streets to dance, drink, eat, and celebrate. There were marching bands each competing against each other which would travel around the streets playing songs that all the spaniards seemed to know, and which they would try to teach to us. The winning band each day was the one with the biggest group of people following them through the street. There were also drumlines playing all through the city. Combine this with the music blaring from the bars and it meant you were never short of a rhythm to dance to. 

Each night at 10pm, the kids got their turn to run with the bulls. Don’t worry, they’re not that crazy here. They just ran with a guy who had a wooden model of a bull pulled over his head and shoulders that the kids would run alongside, so nothing dangerous or scary about it for the kids….except for the 10kg of fireworks that were strapped to said bull. The fire bull ran a few times each night, and the parents would eagerly propel their kids towards the fiery embers. There were just as many drunken revellers also running (I may have been one of them), and in true San Fermin style it mixed pain and pleasure perfectly together. 

Apart from that there’s not much more I can tell you. I will definitely come again (I’ve got to get my gopro video!). I will definitely be organising a group of mates to come with me next time. I will never forget the fear of running with the bulls, the feeling of utter exhaustion combined with desperate homesickness I felt after sleeping about 10 hours over 4 nights and abusing my body like it’s never been abused before, the smell of urine under the shelter at the bus station that was so overpowering you couldn’t stand within 10 metres of it, how exquisitely beautiful spanish girls can be, and how easily this can be ruined with the mullets that some of them were sporting. And I will definitely never forget the impact of that bulls head on that spanish mans’ torso.

Till next time Pamplona….