I saw a real, live, Bull Fight

So the past week I haven't written on here, and honestly it's all due to my lack of time! We have been very busy lately with school, small excursions and hanging out with people. I have finally made some Spanish friends on top of my American friends, so I have been mingling in between the two groups. Regardless, a lot has happened since I bought those red pants.

First of all, I went to my first bull fight. Man, oh man! That was an experience. And just being honest, it's not really my cup of tea. What happened was our program director came into class and asked everyone if they wanted to go to the bullfight that was happening on Tuesday afternoon. She gave us a heads up about the violence and the fact that many Americans don't particularly enjoy watching bulls die. So, me being miss adventure, I decided to say yes and see the torreros. It was definitely an experience, to say the least.

The stadium was a really old, very small place with stone bench seating and close proximity to the main part of the city. This is cool, except for the fact that everyone in Spain chain-smokes and will do it right next to you. I usually don't mind people in the U.S. who smoke, but at least people there have some consideration when the do it. Not here. So, bullfight 1, Sarah 0.

We walked in as the fight was starting and took our seats. We had great seats (and they should be for 34 euro). There were three different bullfighters and six different bulls at this event. One of the bullfighters was on horse (and I felt bad for that horse) and the two others were on foot. And while I would like to say I was prepared for it, I wasn't. All six bulls died in front of a stadium of people cheering on its suffering and waiting for it to pass out from losing so much blood. It was sad. And to be honest, I don't think the fight is fair. The bullfighter doesn't even really do it himself! He has all these other people who come in and help wear the bull down so that when it's dripping blood and almost about to die anyway, the torrero comes in and "heroically" forces it to run through sheets of red before he stabs it to death.

I mean, I get it. There's a sense of tradition and culture that I might not completely understand (and there are rules and techniques to it), so that's why I try to keep an open mind. However, I would much rather go to a baseball game than go watch some innocent animal die from some guys that run around in pants that are too tight for them. You know, it's just not my thing.

At least they do eat the meat after the fight. And while my vegetarians all roll their eyes, if it's going to die, it might as well be used, right?

Next week we go to the north of Spain, which should be a very good time!