2nd Day and Bull Fight

2nd Day

As with all international travel, today we had grand ambitions, and they were indeed met, but not the way in which we intended. The morning was actually to be a reconnaissance plan for our later attendance of the bull fighting. Before setting out we planned our subway route and made a quick stop at a local bakery for breakfast. To find the fabled bullfighting ring we decided to chance the Mexico City metro (subway). Now many would have preconceived notions of said conveyance being a imminent danger to two white tourists, and nothing could be further from the truth.

The DF subway system is highly organized, albeit busy way to get around. The maps are colour coded, and just by chance, our hotel happens to be very close to the hub of all the activity. The one interesting, possibly disadvantageous aspect of the subway are the music hawkers. There desperate fly-by-night salesmen walk around with speakers on their backs, and when the cars start to roll, so does their music. They walk up and down the cars selling what can best be described as “mix tape” CDs of all their favorites of the 90’s and 00’s. The odd thing is people actually buy their stuff (an enchanting underground economy). Of course there is other merchandise available: scissors, candy, miscellany, but music appears to be the mainstay, especially at Christmas.

Bull Fight

Thus we enter one of Mexico’s most famous and beloved colonial past times. We went a bit extravagant with the seating; however, anything worth doing, thousands of miles from home, is worth doing to grotesque proportions. As I mentioned earlier, we had conducted a busy yet uneventful reconnaissance of the place earlier in the afternoon, so this time we knew where we were going. By uneventful, I mean we only asked about three taco stands and walked around without a clear idea of where we were going for only 20 minutes before we hopped a cab (on this holiday, that constitutes laser focused efficiency).

The outside of the arena was decorated with several statues venerating matadors of years past, and further outside the perimeter were the usual tent souvenir shops and street tacos. Interestingly, at this venue cheap cigars were the merchandise of choice. Intended for your typical naïve gringo, these things tank like a burnt tire yard, and the sombreros, well, my position is if the locals don’t have them, neither should I. In fact, much of the merchandise we’ve seen in DF thus far I have given scarcely a cursory glance. Most of it is cheap, and I suspect of oriental origin.

Back at the bull fight we were led down our exclusive corridor into the comfortable “barerro” seating. In fact, at our $55 USD we were not even required to handle our own tickets. No, it was all handles by our personal usher. We were quite early, at Caroline’s wise insistence, and as we sat I began to take in the sights and sounds of the seething venue. First, the band was struck up, and the grounds keepers finished raking, watering and chalking the arena. Then entered the main players; since I have no idea their traditional names, for now they will be known as the groundskeepers, the matadors (m= in training), the horsemen, the executioner, and the Matador. The band added an additional flourish and unique theme for each position. All players walked in rank, and in step with somber gait toward the imminent mayhem.

After the processional was finished the first fight began. The bull was released, a magnificent 500 kg beast, and clearly furious at what had just transpired outside the ring. It raged around the arena charging at incrementally placed parapets behind which the matadors all hid. I assume this is to tire the beast out a bit to assure a fair and bloodless match on the part of the Matador. After a while the matadors came from behind their defenses, and challenged the bull with their capes for a few minutes. The bull is confused, slightly out of breath at this point, but still clearly dangerous. Then enter two horsemen from two sides of the arena, their horse robed in a brightly coloured thick cloak for reasons that will be evident presently.

The horsemen attracts the bull principally due to the fact that he is the largest and most mobile target on the ground, and the bull consequently charges, digging his horns into the horse’s cloak. As the bull thrusts his horns, the horse amazingly does not yield but holds its ground steadfastly as the rider thrusts a spear into the bull’s back. The bull will not yield until the blood flows freely, and the horseman has jabbed several more times with his spear. After the horsemen depart, the matadors take darts about two feet in length and face the bull head on. When the bull charges, the matador leaps and plunges the two darts into the bull’s back, halting the charge and releasing a torrent of blood. This death defying feat is repeated twice for a total of six darts in the bull’s back (occasionally, the better Matadors perform this duty themselves in addition to their red caped performance). At this point, the once great beast is left confused, terrified, and frothing at the mouth, its entire torso glistening with streams of blood.

Now enters the heroic Matador with his red cape and sword, ready to subdue an already much diminished opponent. The bull will charge when baited but his lunges are now spiritless and he often loses his balance, falling on his haunches as he passes through the red cape. The Matador continues to bait the bull again and again with increasingly elaborate and risky furls of his cape as the crowd chants “Ole!” The bull is now completely dominated and compliant allowing the Matador to perform his signature move of turning his back on the bull; the crowd relishes in this display of machismo. The time has now come for the Matador to deliver the death blow with his rapier. The crowd is hushed to a dead silence as man and beat face each other in an almost hypnotic stance. The Matador extends his rapier as a conductor with a baton, lightly and effortlessly but with a hidden intensity with murderous intent. The Matador leans back slightly on one foot and then lunges forth ramming the rapier into the bull’s back until the hilt spatters upon the congealed blood of old wounds. Because of the crowd’s silence you can actually hear the liquid, quickening sounds of the rapier’s passage into the bulls flesh. The crowd goes wild as the executioner strides out into the arena.

Meanwhile, the bull staggers a few feet and strangely looks up, as if actually contemplating the brutal absurdity of its fate. Then it stumbles, falls, and is near death. The executioner’s dagger is plunged deep into the vacant hole once filled by the Matador’s rapier, and now ensures paralysis and a quick death. A team of Clydesdales are brought out to drag the now emaciated beast out of the ring. It is almost tragic to see what was once a magnificent lively animal reduced to this pathetic state. Caroline and I were both thrilled and filled with pity at this event. The beer was cheap, there were plenty of families in the audience and afterward we enjoyed a delightful taco feast at one of the innumerable venues outside the arena. Tomorrow we see Teotiwakan.
Other notes: When a Matador is particularly incompetent and causes undue suffering to the bull, the bull is cheered and the Matador booed violently. It is a very fickle crowd. The “grand ambitions” part was meant to explain that we were supposed to see other things today; sadly, time ran out.