The next day in Madrid the traffic had calmed down—at least a little.
Photos: The cathedral and the Plaza de Toros (bullring)
I went to the Reína Sofía Museum, El Prado, the main cathedral, and the Palacio Real (Royal Palace). It was incredible to see the palace and imagine myself in the rooms filled with gold, silver, velvet, and porcelain! For all it’s fame though, I was not impressed by El Prado. Most of the art consisted of portraits of royalty, and after the first room or two it got a little repetitive. I much preferred the Reína Sofía, where I saw more interesting pieces by artists like Picasso, as well as many that I enjoyed from names I had never heard of before.
Photos: Palacio Real
That night I went to see a bullfight at the Plaza de Toros. Having never seen a bullfight before, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
At first, I found it thrilling: decorated horses and colorful bullfighters parading around the ring and showing off their fancy garb.
Then, I found it funny: several bullfighters dressed as brightly as clowns teasing the bull so it would come after them, then hiding at the last second behind little walls built into the ring. The bull would build up speed and come after them, then either stop, look confused and walk away, or occasionally blast headfirst into the shield when it was unable to stop itself in time. My favorite was when the bulls caught on to the game and waited outside the shield, watching for the fighters to dare come out.
Then, it stopped being a game. Though I knew the bulls would eventually die, this was something I was willing to accept given that the meat is eaten and the death is a cultural art form. Right?
I thought that getting the bull angry and having him plunge into the sword for a quick, clean death was the point of the bullfight. I had no idea that they start by stabbing it with pikes from the top of the horse, then continue by attaching 6 heavy hooks onto its back that hang there as the bull runs around. Then, and only then when the bull is already severely weakened and bleeding, does the actual bullfighter come on the scene. But even this part failed to look like art. Perhaps because the fighters I saw were amateurs, or perhaps because the sky started to look dark and they wanted to beat the rain, but at least half of the fights ended in sheer brutality. In many cases, four or five fighters would surround the bull and literally take a pike and jam it into the bull’s head several times until it died.
This would be a fair ending if the bull were near death and just needed to be put out of its misery, but when the bull is still up and about, ready to run again at its attackers, I cannot accept it. I almost left before the first kill was completed, and I stopped taking photos halfway through because I felt bad. In fact, I probably would have left altogether if I hadn’t made plans to meet afterwards with the Brazilian for dinner.
Photo: Restaurante Botín
We dined at Restaurante Botín, the oldest restaurant in the world according to the Guinness Book of World Records. It has been a restaurant since 1725. We shared the baked lamb and pig, the most famous of the dishes.
