First off, I would like to apologize for the tardiness of this post. We’ve been so incredibly busy the past week or so that every time I’ve sat down to write my brain just gave up. But wait no longer, for the gringo is back. I believe the last tale I spun for y’all was of our adventure to Moralzarzol, so I will do my best to recap the time that has lapsed since then. Gentlemen, start your engines.
The past couple of weeks seemed relatively tame compared to what we’ve been doing (and the things that have happened to us), but it was still jam packed. Last Wednesday (September 26) I went to the Reina Sofia, Madrid’s modern art museum. What an interesting/terrifying place! I think we accidentally started in the most modern – and thus most avant garde – section of the museum. The first thing I saw was a three minute video of a woman standing naked by a river, pouring blood all over herself, and rolling in feathers for about two minutes. Further into the room was an exhibit of some kind of tropical island, complete with shanties and parrots (yes, live parrots). The next room was cordoned off by a thick black curtain, but on the other side of the cloth was what appeared to be a rave from hell. Bright, colored lights were flashing in no apparent pattern and a pair of large speakers was playing what sounded like a cross between Sigur Ros, The Mars Volta, and every terrifying sound from every nightmare you’ve ever had in your life. I don’t even know if there were any paintings of boxes or incomprehensible sculptures inside. I didn’t linger. The rest of the museum, however, was pretty cool. We say a few things Picasso things (including his famous Guernica) and a bunch of Guerra Civíl era art. There was also a bunch of Dalí’s works, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t wrap my head around modern art.
After that, I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a concert of the National Youth Orchestra (Joven Orquestra Nacional de España). The musicians were absolutely amazing, and most of them probably younger than me. There was also a percussion soloist (Juanjo Guillem, who is apparently pretty famous) that did a Marimba piece that was very cool. He also conducted a piece. Well, I thought he was going to conduct a piece. In the end, it turned out he was doing an interpretive dance on the podium – sans music. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. Most of the audience was cracking up, but i was dying. He just look so silly.
Over the weekend we took a day trip to Ávila, which sucked. It was super cold and rained almost the entire time, and pretty much the only things to see there were an old church and a wall). I have seen SO many old churches since I have been here that I honestly can’t tell them apart anymore. The wall actually was pretty cool though. It’s apparently the oldest, best-preserved wall of it’s type and it extends all the way around the city.
But the highlight of the weekend – without a doubt – was the corrida de los toros. As if we didn’t get enough bull-related
violence last weekend, we decided we had to go to a bullfight. The season ends in October, and if I came to Spain without seeing a bullfight I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. The fights themselves are held in this big, mudéjar-style plaza, and we somehow managed to get great seats (second row, right where most of the action took place). My madre told me beforehand that I had to look through the violence and see the art in the fight, the juxtaposition of the power and size of the bull against the grace and agility of the torero. I thought nothing of it, but as it turns out, they’re pretty gruesome.
The fight begins with all of the toreros and their cuadrillas (basically a posse) marching out in a nice little parade. Then the madness starts. The first bull they release is usually the smallest and one of the less-fierce. The torero and his cuadrillo go out and do the little cape thing at the bull. It seems unfair to have all of them out at the same time, but they only do this to study the bull’s movements and tendencies. Then, the picador comes out mounted on a horse covered in padding. Eventually, the bull charges the horse, hitting it in the flank head on. When it does this, the picador thrusts a giant spear into the muscles behind the bull’s neck. It was by far one of the more unsettling parts, because it happens three or four times.
Apparently, from this the torero can tell which side the bull prefers to charge on, and it makes the bull keep its head lower when charging – a must for the kill shot. Then the banderilleros come out and get the bull to charge them. When it does, they jump out of the way and stick these two mini-spears into their back. This supposedly wears the bull down, but also pisses it off at the same time. Finally, after a little more teasing, it’s time for the main event: the torero. He generally comes out with much ado, and then does some cape work with the bull. The measure of a good torero is how close he can get the bull to him while it’s charging. One torero actually had the flank brush up against him, leaving a smear of blood across his costume thing. After a while, it’s time for the kill shot. The torero lines up the bull – usually while mumbling something about a good fight – and runs at it, thrusting his sword between the bull’s shoulder blades before it can gore him. The goal is to pierce the heart or spinal cord of the bull, causing an immediate death. This is usually pretty rare, however, and one of the cuadrilla usually has to finish the bull of with a dagger. As you can imagine, the whole spectacle involves a lot of blood. Then they repeat it five more times (each torero fights two bulls). All in all it is quite a show. The grace and nerve of the toreros is beyond impressive, and the age-old battle between man and beast is a sight to see. Once you get used to the violence of the first couple of fights, it’s really something to realize you’re taking part in a tradition older than the United States itself. And sometimes it can be really exciting. The best torero, hit 
his second bull dead on. The bull dropped immediately to the ground, but not before its horns found purchase in the torero‘s armpit. For a split second I thought he was dead, but he eventually stood up and walked out of the ring himself. It was intense.
This week, not much has happened, but I’m about to leave to go to the Reina Sofia again with class. Hopefully it will be pretty interesting with a guide.
Memoirs of a Yankee 