Toro! Toro! Toro!

One of my most vivid memories from my first expedition to Spain centers on what is likely the most stereotypical icon of the country and its culture for Americans – La Plaza del Toros – the bullring. I recall being so impressed with Madrid’s beautiful, behemoth of a stadium, and I was so excited to witness my first, genuine bullfight.

In grade school, a fellow student had done a presentation on his spring vacation to Mexico where he witnessed his first bullfight. Most of the students were repulsed by the concept of a sport that ended with the beheading of an animal, and I was rather skeptical at that time of what could possibly be entertaining about such a barbarous event. However, come high school and my first trip to Spain, I determined that I at least wanted to see for myself what all the hullabaloo was about. And so I, along with the other students, purchased our surprisingly cheap tickets, and I bought a beautiful movie-style poster displaying a painted scene of a matador dancing with his cape and the bull in a fight to the death. I remember an older Spanish man calling out to us, protesting the institution that so defined the country for us ignorant outsiders. Only later did I regret my failure to heed his warnings.


I knew the ending was not a happy one for the bull who would likely die a swift death after a dance with decorated matador, but that was the extent of my preparation for the afternoon’s spectacle. Indeed, I was not prepared enough. To my dismay, the bullfight turned out to be what I can only describe as a thirty minute torture session in which the odds were heavily and unfairly stacked against the bull. Contrary to what I thought would be a couple minutes of taunting with a cape by one man followed by a swift beheading, the event instead involved a progression of multiple individuals and a variety of weapons. I do not remember the exact order of events, but I recall there were barbed flags expertly launched into the animal’s spine, men on horseback spearing the bull as he charged them, and a menagerie of men on foot who would dance with their capes until the bull came too close for comfort. Indeed, it must be a little terrifying and exhilarating for the bullfighter who is all too aware of the consequences of a misstep. One wrong move, and he would be gored in the thigh, dying almost instantly. But even then, the fight was not fair. The matador in such a precarious position would scurry away, hiding behind a wall as three other matadors came out to cause a distraction. With every stab, every charge, the crowd would cheer for the matador, the bull a mere instrument of their pleasure.

Finally, after thirty to forty minutes, when the bull had no more fight left in him, when he had worn himself out from the charging and the stabbing, the matador finally showed mercy and ended his suffering. After realizing the dire mistake we had all made, we unanimously agreed to watch no more of that evening’s spectacle. We left disturbed, disgusted, and embarrassed at our inadvertent participation in a scene from Gladiator. I vowed never to return to a bullfight again.

The first recorded bullfight is said to have taken place in 1133 to commemorate the coronation of King Alfonso VIII, though its origins are subject to debate. It is a sport that has dominated Spanish culture but has also been witnessed in Portugal, France, and South and Central America.

Like many sports, bullfights were ones that, until recently, excluded women. Even now, women make only minor appearances in the games. This is not an unusual phenomenon in itself. However, the gender implications the game creates are unique. Many scholars of bullfights in art and literature have reflected on the femininity the character of the matador tends to initially embrace and ultimately overcome when he dominates the wild bull, transforming into a true, machismo male. Adorned in brightly colored, be-jeweled, tight garments, the matador engages in an elaborate and beautiful dance with a cape as he works to subdue the bull. He must make a transformation throughout the game, overcoming the femininity and embracing his masculinity to prevail and dominate the wild spirit of the animal. Order is restored, machismo is rewarded, and the bull is dead.

Recent history has seen not only the emergence of women challenging the gender implications of a bullfight through their new role as matadors themselves, but also a growing sentiment of individuals who feel it is time to move away from this barbaric spectacle. Indeed we once, not too long ago, believed it was fine to pit prisoners against each other in a similar setting in order to cheer as they fought to the death. That time has passed, and now for many, their feelings with regard to the bullfights is much the same. The growing disapproval for this archaic sport’s endurance through modern times continues to gain momentum and present long term effects. In 1991, the Canary Islands became the first Spanish region to ban bullfighting. Catalonia followed suit in 2012, becoming the first region on the Spanish mainland to ban the sport. The rest of the country holds fast to this cultural "art form," with the Spanish parliament bestowing upon the practice "cultural-heritage" status, making it difficult for bans to reach beyond Catalonia. However, the battle may be lost even without an instituted ban. Attendance has fallen dramatically in recent years. Many Spaniards frown on the use of public funds for bullfighting, and 75% of Spaniards have not attended a fight in the last five years.

Some are naturally opposed to the elimination of what has become an integral, stereotypical component of Spanish culture. Some believe the bull, raging with adrenaline, does not even feel pain throughout the ordeal. Moreover, some hold fast to the ideal that bullfighting is an important part of Spanish tradition and to eliminate it would call into question the civil rights of Spanish citizens. However, my biases already apparent in my writing, I find it hypocritical or at least a difficult argument to make when one can approve of torturous slaughter of animals on the one hand yet be vehemently opposed to zoos on the other. Indeed the majority of Spaniards I have encountered share in this duality of contradictory beliefs, and they do so passionately. Keep the thirty minute torture sessions, end zoological conservation efforts that put animals in “prisons.”


Regardless of your sentiments of bullfights themselves, the Plaza de Toros in Madrid is alive and well and an architectural beauty worth visiting. My photos fail to do it justice in terms of its magnitude and detail. The multitude and variety of arched thresholds are adorned with green and blue mosaic tile, and beautiful movie-poster paintings hang along the entryway, advertising the upcoming shows.

Refusing to participate in an event I do not agree with, I no longer know what the prices are as far as watching a bullfight or potentially touring the interior. However, getting to the bullring is quite simple. One can very easily arrive by metro, taking line 5 to the Las Ventas stop. The exit spits you right out in the middle of the plaza, and before you have your bearings, there you are right in front of the gigantic structure and its awe-inspiring plaza along with a handful of other curious tourists. Sharing the bullring’s gargantuan plaza are a few statues dedicated to the matadors that have been killed in practice.

Dedication to those matadors who have fallen in combat

After a successful career as a matador and philanthropist,
Antonio Bienvenida was severely maimed by a calf he was
taunting on his family farm, which cost him his life 3 days later.

Jose Cubero Sanchez, known as "el Yiyo" was
born in France but grew up in Madrid where he
attended the National School of Bullfighting.
After dealing what was to be the mortal blow to
the bull, the bull mustered the energy to seek his
revenge, goring el Yiyo in the back, through the
heart, killing him instantly.