Sunday was a day that I will never forget for the rest of my natural life. We had been planning for a few weeks to go with our “amigos” (basically people who volunteer to baby sit us and show us around) up to the wee pueblo of Moralzarzol to partake in their annual fiesta. For those who aren’t familiar with Spanish custom, pretty much every small town and village in Spain has its own little festival – involving a variety of different things from parades to bull fights – over the span of several days. They’re a huge source of pride, and the citizens actually pay a tax to fund these fiestas every year. This particular town was throwing theirs on Sunday, and we were going to get to go. On paper the trip sounded innocent enough. When I left my house at 7 that morning, no tenía ni idea. I had no idea what was to come.
After a quick trip on the Metro, Dylan and I got to the bus station around 7:30 Sunday morning. Madrid is not a morning person on the weekends, so at this point very few people were out and about. More specifically, very few people were on their way out; most seemed to be groggily making their way home after what had to have been a crazy night. One guy in particular had had a little too much fun the night before. As a group of sweet, nice-looking old ladies entered the station, he began to forcefully request oral sex from any or all of them, complete with appropriate hand-gestures. When they refused, he smacked his forehead repeatedly, shouting “Get back here!” (all in Spanish, of course). Not satisfied with this display of frustration, he realized he needed someone else to appreciate his plee. That’s when he noticed me and Dylan. “All I wanted was for them to ———-” he complained. Naturally, we ignored him. Unfortunately, he was persistent. He came closer, until he was standing right next to Dylan. “All I wanted was for them to ——–” he shouted. When he was once again met with silence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package. “Es cocaina. Tomalo. ¡Tomalo!” It’s cocaine. Take it. He then reared back, and as hard as he could kicked the mettle ledge we were sitting on. Terrified, we walked away from him as fast as we could, but like I said, he was persistent. He followed us around the corner. Followed us to the snack machine. Followed us back to the bench. All the while shouting “No me oyes?” Don’t you hear me? I didn’t know what to do. I was certain we were about to get attacked by a coke head in this random ass bus station. Fortunately for us, he gave up after a while, but not before making a wild swipe at Dylan, grazing his back as we walked away. That was all before 8 o’clock.
When we finally got to Moralzarzol, it looked like war zone. There were broken bottles, empty cans, and trash scattered throughout the streets. The only survivors had obviously given the Sandman the slip the night before, and were somehow still staggering around the only bar still open, which conveniently doubled as the bus station. As drunk as they were, however, they immediately recognized us as Americans. “Come on, babies! Come to the party!” They shouted in English as they stumbled toward us. In the end, they turned out to be pretty amiable and we had a long conversation with this girl and her boyfriend (?), who seemed to take a particular interest in me. After offering me his beer for the fourth time, and me denying it for the fourth time, he decided it was time for me to go with him to get my own. Every time I declined he got more and more upset. He was leaving soon and he had to have a drink with me before I left. Eventually his friend came over and convinced him to leave. I thought I was in the clear, but as he was walking away, he cupped my face in his hand and gave it a nice, tender stroke. “Mucho gusto.” What the heck?
Finally, our amigos found us and took us over to the main part of town, which was absolutely deserted. It was from there that we were going to watch the encierros de los toros, or the running of the bulls. By standing on the fence that lined the main street, we were able to get a pretty good view of the bulls, but the real excitement didn’t start until we went inside the stadium. Apparently, after the running it’s tradition to bring one of the smaller bulls into the ring and let the people (literally just anyone from the street) come play.
About thirty men, most of them drunk, crowded the ring and taunted the bull to charge, dodging the horns – which fortunately had the points cut off – at the last minute. It seemed crazy, and we knew, and secretly hope, eventually someone was going to get it. Then it happened. One guy, a boy of just 19 years, was a little too slow with his dodge, and the bull caught him square on the butt, lifting him maybe six or seven feet into the air. When he tried to get up, the bull was too fast, and once again flung him up into the air. This happened at least half a dozen times, then the bull just started crushing him into the ground. Everyone had surrounded the bull and people were pulling on its tail until they finally got it to move. All of this occurred over less than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity. I felt like I was going to throw up, and everyone seemed pretty shocked, but as soon as the guy was out of the ring the play continued. After a few minutes they let the bull leave, and brought in a new one, but this time they only let professionals in to tempt the bull. These guys were good. They were dodging horns by inches, and one guy (obviously the best one there) jumped over the entire bull as it charged him. It was pretty sweet.
Afterwards we hit the streets to festejar. The main street was just one big street party, complete with make-shift outdoor bars, speakers lining the road, and a dj. For those Savannians reading, imagine River Street on St. patrick’s Day, but with fewer people. At one point, a band of dancers and drummers came through with two gigantes y cabezudos. It was so much fun! By four that afternoon we were all exhausted and left our amigos to return back to Madrid, where I’m sure most of us just crashed. It was, after all, quite a day. Thanks to Lauren for taking these photos.