Waving the white panuelo

Spain is popular for a variety of things: Flamenco dancing, mouth-watering tapas, its conquistadors, and Penelope Cruz. What I witnessed today is yet another thing to add to the list… A bullfight! Each city has a Plaza de Toros, or a bull ring. We went to Salamanca’s Plaza de Toros to experience this traditional event. Even the coliseum had a historical charm of its own; I cannot help but wonder how many toreros, or matadors, have battled in this arena.

The Plaza de Toros was packed with people of all ages. We sat on the highest tier, which was only the third, so although we might’ve been in the “nosebleed” section, we still had a good view. At the bottom of the ring, I took note of the red doors where the bulls would enter the ring. Directly across from the doors on the third tier, was an open box where the judges sat. They had a velvet blanket with a large gold diamond draped over the box. Depending on how the matador performs, the judges hang different combinations of “panuelos,” or handkerchiefs, which signify the type of trophy… if the torero (matador) even manages to please the judges and the audience.

No panuelo = no trophy
One white panuelo = one of the toro’s ear
Two white panuelos = both of the toro’s ears
Blue panuelo = the toro’s tail
Two white and a blue panuelo = both ears and the tail

Yes, yes, yes… the trophy is not some shiny gold cup, or a silver plate… it consist of the bull’s body parts. Somewhat cool and gross at the same time, this has been the Spanish tradition for centuries. All the PETA activists can gripe all they want; they are not going to be able to change this cultural cornerstone. I’m taking Spain’s side and am “all ears” on this debate…

Before any fighting starts, there is a procession of the participants. The two guards (dressed up like Don Quijote, all in black with red and yellow plumes swaying on top of their hats), three matadors each with three “rodeo clowns,” and two “picadores” on horseback. The uniforms of the matadors and their entourage is the same, however, a matador’s uniform had gold thread, while the others have silver. Although European, when it comes to bull-fighting, the Spanish like to be flashy: gold and silver thread, hand beading, bright colors, funny black (and not very aerodynamic) hats… and highlighter pink tights… they reminded me of flamingos.

There is the exchanging of capes between all three matadors. Each one was going to have two bull fights, so a total of six bullfights for the night… I was thankful that the sight of blood does not faze me. It is definitely not for the faint hearted. Before each round, they bring out a sign which states the weight of the bull, where it is from, its age, etc. The smallest bull was 486 Kg, and the largest was 529 Kg. The conversion factor is 2.2lb for each Kg. That’s over 1000lbs for each bull! YIKES!

The trumpets sounded their horns, and all of a sudden, the first raging bull seething with too much testosterone run out of the gates and into the arena. The “rodeo clowns,” all carried pink and yellow capes to distract the bull and tire him out before the matador struts into the center with his red cape. I sat on the edge of my seat the whole time.

Angry bull + crazy daredevils dress like flamingos = suspense x infinity.

After running around the area, it was time for the picadors on horseback. Their job was to spear the back of the bull, in order to weaken it and start the loss of blood. This was probably the hardest part to watch since the bull charges at the horse… I definitely whimpered and sympathized with the horse, although the blankets protect the horse, the bull’s horns are still scary!

Next the three “rodeo clowns” each had to stick two decorated lances on the bull’s back by sprinting at it head on, forcing the lances in, and turning to run in a different direction… this all happens in 3 looooooong seconds! I don’t know how people don’t get an anxiety attack! Apparently this tears the muscles in the bull’s neck so that he holds his head lower, which makes it “more safe” for the matador.

The crowd always goes wild when the matador comes out with the red cape. The rest is a dance between the matador and bull. In this instance, it seems like all time stops and the world revolves around the center of the ring. Obviously the end of the fight is signified by the death of the bull. The matadors took their sword, ran toward the bull, and pierced him through his back, straight though the heart. It takes a minute before the bull falls and then one of the rodeo clowns quickly knocks the bull on the head so that it dies instantly and feels no pain.

My emotions were up and down, depending on the performance. The first matador was a novice; it was his premiere performance! During his first bullfight, the bull trampled him, dragged him around in circles, and even tore apart his jacket! The matador walked away with unharmed, and continued like a pro… he even had the guts to kneel and tease the bull on his knees! He pierced the swords perfectly on the first try. We all got to wave our white panuelos, trying to persuade the judges to give him a good score; it seemed as if it was snowing because everyone was waving their white handkerchiefs. He ended up winning four ears, two for each fight, which is really difficult! People threw flowers, leather flasks of wine, and even the leather jackets off their backs as gifts toward the matador. I guess matadors are their own category of “celebrity” in Spain…

The other two matadors did well, but their performances were not as precise. My heart melted for another one of the bulls because he refused to be teased by the matador. I think he realized what was going on and ran around the ring trying to look for an exit back to the green fields where he once could roam free and eat all he wanted. My friend Lauren wore her sunglasses so that the Spanish people could not see that she was crying. However, my padres explained to me the traditional Spanish perspective on bullfighting (since there are many Spaniards who do not agree with this fiesta). All animals die for human consumption: chickens, pigs, cows, bulls. The bulls have it the best: they are pampered and treated like kings for their whole lives. They only have to spend fifteen minutes in a ring before their death. On the other hand, chicken farms grow chickens in small boxes where they cannot move and are injected with steroids. Which is the better life? It is definitely something to think about…