Spain: In Consideration of the Bull

Because the air over the Iberian peninsula is strong and ever-moving, Spain has invested heavily in wind power.

The wind farms can look rather majestic... (photo: EW)

...or less so, depending upon your perspective.  (photo: EW whilst GW drives)

The whooshing sound of many turbines is spooky white noise.  The moving shadows cast over the landscape have got to be messing with the predator location instincts of the small mammals in the 'hood.

Never- fail Kate took us via a smaller road over a spectacular mountain pass...

through gorgeous countryside...

So many greens.  (Photo: EW)

across fields...

EW helped Kate find a short-cut to our hotel.

and on to Ronda.

Ronda is home to plaza de toros de Ronda, the oldest bullfighting ring in Spain.

We took the audio tour (always take the audio tour.)  I knew something was up when the narrator, in her most soothing British voice, said: you will now enter the ring as does the bull.

The bulls are brought inside the compound and led down a narrow passageway.
The red doors open on  pulleys  to keep the bulls separated from one another.

The bulls are then sequestered in individual pens.
The heavy metal red doors swing open on pulleys, seen above.
Open the bull pen doors Hal.

Our soothing British narrator continues: once the bull enters the ring, a picador, one of the matador's six assistants, pricks the neck of the bull starting the flow of blood.  This is done, she assures us, to "release the pressure built up by the bull's transfer into the ring."  Here I pause. Really?  Am I that stupid?  Really the purpose of the initial lance is to make the bull feel better?

My understanding of the initial lance is to weaken the bull in the neck so that he cannot hold his head up so high.  A bull who holds his head lower than his neck and shoulder is a less formidable opponent.

Auto-panorama shot from EW's camera

Looking towards the Royal box from the center of the ring.

The fight is full of ritual and ceremony.  From the way the bull is passed to the cape movements to how the matador delivers the final blow -- each movement is prescribed.  It is still, in the end, a fight.  One that the bull almost always loses.  With a Hunger Games shudder, I moved on.

Trying to make sense of it.

No bull fight for you!

Orson Wells and Earnest Hemingway spent summers in Ronda no doubt drawn by the violent masculin aura wafting up from the ring. Man against beast.  Blood.  Conquering the wild beast beyond. Taming the wild beast within.  Maybe it was the rainy windy day, the lack of sun, of warmth, of color, the empty ring, ...all I felt was pity for the bull being tortured for sport.

It was a blustery day.

The rain was coming up.






Despite the weather, the views were just fantastic.

Onwards, to dinner!