So, a while back a new friend and I decided to take a trip up into the gypsy hills of Sacromonte. This friend is named Marcos, is Chilean, and the way we met is also a story. One, I believe I have not recorded yet, so I will start there.
Paula and I took a trip to Malaga, one of the biggest cities in the south several weekends ago. It was at one time the coolest trip and the most horrible I have taken here yet. This could be classified as the coolest trip thusfar because Marcos and Mehdi (his Moroccan best friend) started talking to us at the bus stop and invited us to the Alcazaba which is the Malaga version of the Alhambra. Very interesting conversations ensued, as well as very interesting food trying. Mehdi suggested we try eating raw almonds off of a tree...which I did...which I regretted. He knew so much about plants it was incredible. As for other cool things that happened, Paula and I had done no planning so we had to "hostel hunt," which turned out very well in the end. We found a beach front one for $25 dollars a night. There, we met two guys, one of whom was from Madison, Wisconsin and actually goes to Lacrosse. Imagine that! All the way across the world and we bumped into some fellow midwesterners. We also got to eat some GREAT Italian food. As for the next day, it was a perfect beach day. All greatness, but then, I was groped. A crazy gypsy man grabbed me in plain sight, on a main street, in front of a restaurant. It was scary, and horrible, and I screamed and swore at him, but he ran away. Anyway, overall it was mostly a wicked great trip. And that is how I met two of my favorite people in Spain. Marcos and Mehdi, Mehdi and Marcos.
So, to get back to the story that this blog is named for. One day, Marcos invited me to explore the hills where he and friends like to go and look out on the Alhambra and the city. What I didn't understand was to get to this lookout we would have to traipse through the gypsy neighborhoods that are known for being, well, dangerous. Tourists are told not to ever bring anything valuable, never go at night, and women especially should not walk there alone. This neighborhood isn't normal though. The houses are man-made caves that have been carved into the hills. From what I hear, there is a man whose job it is to carve these out, and it costs about $1500 euros or $2200 dollars. I did not feel any danger whatsoever on our way up because Mehdi and Marcos happen to be friends of some of the gypsies around there. I met a few, and the stereotype that gypsies have extremely raspy voices turns out to be 100% true.
We spent several hours soaking up the honey and lemon sun, the graham cracker crust Alhambra, and the bittersweet greens of all the surrounding trees and brush. Once the sun started to set though, we realized it was probably a good idea to head down the mountainside though because we had no flashlight, and the idea of streetlamps in a place like that is laughable. Unfortunately, it was too late. It not only had gotten dark, but all the gypsies had gone inside, locked up, and put their guard dogs out. Let me tell you, I am not scared of dogs, but that night I almost died of a heart attack. They were not happy when we would walk by the front of their cave.
I was hyperventilating after getting barked and lunged at various times, but the worst was yet to come. My heart dropped when I saw the large German Shepherd up ahead. The cliff dropped off this point though so we couldn't step further away as we so badly wanted to. His growls were terrifying. He showed his teeth and started lunging and half circling around us. I wasn't sure if it was a bluff or not, but I remembered that you should never run from a dog so I took deep breaths, power walked and tried to act as if I was not scared. It didn't work. I was about to break down in tears when Marcos fronted with the dog and told me to go. I didn't want to leave him there but I had no idea what to do if the dog attacked. I went up ahead and a few seconds later I heard him running up behind me. At that point we must have been out of the dog's territory because he did not follow. We half ran down the rest of the mountain and when we made it to the bottom I was shaking and felt sick from the intense amount of adrenaline that had been coursing through my body. This is probably the most terrified I have ever been in my life. All I could think of was how it would feel to get attacked by a dog, and how I would never be able to get it off. Anyway, at least it makes for a great story in the future. Although, I will never feel relaxed around german shepherds again.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Corrida de Toros
Originally, I was not going to see a bull fight. Animal cruelty and whatnot trumped the fact that it is a supremely Spanish tradition. Then, a friend of mine named Katie suggested we go. Vitty and Paula had left for the weekend to go to Ibiza, so in an effort to drown my bitterness, I changed my mind and decided to go.
After classes the next day we hopped on bus number 33 over to the Plaza de Toros where they were selling tickets. I asked for "the cheapest ones, please," and the ticket salesman kindly obliged. Cheap means seats in the sun. Cheaper, means seats in the sun about three miles from the action. Equatable to buying major league baseball tickets, I suppose. Except instead of a game that sometimes feels like life or death, it actually IS a game of life or death. Always ending in someone's death in fact.
Now, to explain the process of this strange ceremonious entertainment. There are always six bulls, and can be as many as 3 torreros, which are the "bull fighters." In the case of three, as there were at this bull fight, each man fights two bulls. If there is only one though, he has to kill all six bulls on his own. Well, not on his own exactly.
Each bull fighter has his own team. Towel boys, mini knife men, big knife men, long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men, man on armored horse, cape waver guys. Sometimes, if he is a particularly daring bull fighter though he kicks the long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men off his team, and does that part himself. This part of the bull fight involves him enticing the bull in to charging him and jumping into the air to plunge the banderilleros (long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached), two at a time, into the nerves of the bulls spinal cord.
All of various stabs taken at the bull are aimed for the spinal cord. This is done to weaken it. Before any of the banderilleros are inserted though, they play with the bull, drawing its attention to various parts of the ring using capes. One side is hot pink, and the other yellow. Before the bull is weakened too much from various puncture wounds, it is actually surprisingly fast, as well as extremely dangerous. For that reason, the measly humans have wooden barriers to scurry behind once the bull starts charging them.
This goes on for a while, then the man on his armored horse comes out and is allowed one good, hearty, stab between the bulls shoulders. This is the most crippling blow for the bull (besides the death blow, of course) and makes the physical competition more equal between man and beast. Sometimes if this blow goes wrong, it can make it impossible for the bull to stand up. Usually, if the bull falls to the ground twice after that they will bring in a group of lady cows to lure him out and he gets to go live in a pasture for the rest of his life. These bulls weren't so lucky.
After this stab I believe came the banderilleros. Then, the Torrero plays with the woozy beast. The idea is to be as close to the bull as possible when he charges. This is the showmanship part. The torrero could be compared to a ballerina. His posture is exquisite. Posing with squared shoulders, in lunges, tiptoeing towards the bull, making pelvic thrusts on occasion, and when he gets really confident he will even turn his back on the bull after a charge.
Eventually, assuming the torrero wasn't fatally stabbed by the bulls horns, the bull will be fatally stabbed by a sword. Well, really, the sword incapacitates the bull and as the torrero looks out at the crowd waving, one of his team members comes up with a small knife and severs some necessary something in the back of the bulls cranium. Sometimes once doesn't work though. So it is done again. And again...as the life twitches right out of the bull. The audience knows he is dead when his legs stretch out stick strait.
Then come the prizes. If the audience feels the torrero has done a good job he gets the bull's ear, sometimes two. A great job deserves the tail. The decision ultimately is left up to the President of the bull ring who waves a handkerchief to signal what he thinks the torrero should get.
Then, the hero, icon, sex symbol makes his way around the ring while audience members throw things such as hats, flowers, even canteens. Everything but the flowers do get tossed back up to their owners, though in the past I don't believe that was the case.
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I found this tradition extremely interesting, although repulsive. I am no crazed animal rights activist or anything, but it seemed to me to be a very primitive display of human power. Yes, it is clear that brains can often beat brawn. Though, stabbing an animal repeatedly while people look on and cheer just doesn't seem very brainy to me.
After classes the next day we hopped on bus number 33 over to the Plaza de Toros where they were selling tickets. I asked for "the cheapest ones, please," and the ticket salesman kindly obliged. Cheap means seats in the sun. Cheaper, means seats in the sun about three miles from the action. Equatable to buying major league baseball tickets, I suppose. Except instead of a game that sometimes feels like life or death, it actually IS a game of life or death. Always ending in someone's death in fact.
Now, to explain the process of this strange ceremonious entertainment. There are always six bulls, and can be as many as 3 torreros, which are the "bull fighters." In the case of three, as there were at this bull fight, each man fights two bulls. If there is only one though, he has to kill all six bulls on his own. Well, not on his own exactly.
Each bull fighter has his own team. Towel boys, mini knife men, big knife men, long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men, man on armored horse, cape waver guys. Sometimes, if he is a particularly daring bull fighter though he kicks the long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men off his team, and does that part himself. This part of the bull fight involves him enticing the bull in to charging him and jumping into the air to plunge the banderilleros (long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached), two at a time, into the nerves of the bulls spinal cord.
All of various stabs taken at the bull are aimed for the spinal cord. This is done to weaken it. Before any of the banderilleros are inserted though, they play with the bull, drawing its attention to various parts of the ring using capes. One side is hot pink, and the other yellow. Before the bull is weakened too much from various puncture wounds, it is actually surprisingly fast, as well as extremely dangerous. For that reason, the measly humans have wooden barriers to scurry behind once the bull starts charging them.
This goes on for a while, then the man on his armored horse comes out and is allowed one good, hearty, stab between the bulls shoulders. This is the most crippling blow for the bull (besides the death blow, of course) and makes the physical competition more equal between man and beast. Sometimes if this blow goes wrong, it can make it impossible for the bull to stand up. Usually, if the bull falls to the ground twice after that they will bring in a group of lady cows to lure him out and he gets to go live in a pasture for the rest of his life. These bulls weren't so lucky.
After this stab I believe came the banderilleros. Then, the Torrero plays with the woozy beast. The idea is to be as close to the bull as possible when he charges. This is the showmanship part. The torrero could be compared to a ballerina. His posture is exquisite. Posing with squared shoulders, in lunges, tiptoeing towards the bull, making pelvic thrusts on occasion, and when he gets really confident he will even turn his back on the bull after a charge.
Eventually, assuming the torrero wasn't fatally stabbed by the bulls horns, the bull will be fatally stabbed by a sword. Well, really, the sword incapacitates the bull and as the torrero looks out at the crowd waving, one of his team members comes up with a small knife and severs some necessary something in the back of the bulls cranium. Sometimes once doesn't work though. So it is done again. And again...as the life twitches right out of the bull. The audience knows he is dead when his legs stretch out stick strait.
Then come the prizes. If the audience feels the torrero has done a good job he gets the bull's ear, sometimes two. A great job deserves the tail. The decision ultimately is left up to the President of the bull ring who waves a handkerchief to signal what he thinks the torrero should get.
Then, the hero, icon, sex symbol makes his way around the ring while audience members throw things such as hats, flowers, even canteens. Everything but the flowers do get tossed back up to their owners, though in the past I don't believe that was the case.
------------------------------------------
I found this tradition extremely interesting, although repulsive. I am no crazed animal rights activist or anything, but it seemed to me to be a very primitive display of human power. Yes, it is clear that brains can often beat brawn. Though, stabbing an animal repeatedly while people look on and cheer just doesn't seem very brainy to me.
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