No More Bull For Me, Thanks

This past Sunday, a small group of us went to the bullfights at Las Ventas in Madrid. In preparation for this event, I was supposed to read Death in the Afternoon, Ernest Hemingway's non-fiction book about Spanish bullfighting, or, at the very least, do some sort of research before entering the building so I had a clue about what was going on. In very un-like me fashion, neither of these things happened.

My friend, Steve, has a Spanish friend who knows a thing or two about bullfighting and helped him decipher some of the more obscure facets of the bullfight. He's posted some of those on his blog (scroll halfway down the page).

Like many of those whom I asked before going to the bullfights, I have to say that I'm glad I went, but I won't go again. I'm not a PETA member by any stretch of the imagination, but it is a disturbing thing to see an animal killed right before your eyes with such pomp and bravado. This feeling stands despite the fact that they use bull for food or other goods. And, yes, there were, indeed, six of these animals killed during the bullfight -- that's the norm.

Bullfighting seems to be a dying cultural event in Spain, if the sparse attendance at Las Ventas is any indication. Perhaps further evidence lies in a conversation I had with one of the teachers I work with at school the next day who commented, "a beautiful painting, music or a play is culture. Bullfighting and cruelty is not. I'm glad it {bullfighting} is dying out".

**This blog post dedicated to bulls number 15, 48, 29, 7, 61 and 13**