Corrida de Torros

Note: This post is about bullfighting. If you are squeamish about animals being hurt or Frenchmen peeing on innocent Peruvians, please click here. Thanks.

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The drunk Frenchman next to me summed up bull fights perfectly. "It is exactly like a ballet," he said, "except you don´t know what the bull is going to do."

We were lucky. First, we actually got to catch a bull fight in Lima, which has the best fighting in South America. We were repeatedly told that it would be impossible to get tickets, but we did. Second, it was the final and best match of the entire bull fighting season. Third, we sat next to some very drunk Frenchmen and an old Peruvian woman who explained the whole thing to us. Well the Frenchies explained things to us. The old lady scolded the French for setting a bad example. The details of the sport are complicated, and there are all sorts of traditions that determine when a matador can do what and how he is judged. However, I will give you a quick description.

This bull fight consisted of three matadors each fighting two bulls. A typical match starts when the bull enters the ring and several banderilleros (A.K.A. junior matadors with the pink capes) get out and run the bull around a bit to see how it will react.

So after the junior matadors get their chance in the ring, then the picadors come out. Picadors sit on padded horses and stab the bull with a spear or lance. As you can image, the bull really doesn´t appreciate this and tends to go a bit nuts. Generally, this means it tries to gore the horse and rider, hence the padding on the horse. One lancer was completely embarrassed when a bull managed to flip his horse and unseat the rider. Shame is a big part of bull fighting and the crowd booed the guy for being flipped and threw cans and trash at him as he left the ring.

Now the bull has been stabbed, but unfortunately for him, his troubles are just beginning. After the guys on horseback get one good stab, then comes the ugly part. The banderilleros come back out with banderillas (sharp, barbed sticks) and jam them into the bull close to where the lance wound is. This is the most interesting and vicious part of the match. Each bull receives six banderillas, which hang out the the bull´s back. To stick the banderillas, each junior matador allows the bull to charge him and then he leaps out of the way, stabbing the bull in the same motion. After all of this, then you finally get to the part of the bullfight that we all know - the matador. Actually, the matador is involved in the entire process, but now he is the only one on the field, with the traditional red cape and sword in hand. The goal is for the matador to take the bull´s charges without moving his feet. A good matador will be able to take three or four passes without adjusting his position. The cape is waving, the bull is charging left and right, the crowd is going nuts, and then... The matador will put one hand out, place it on the bulls head, and stop the charge as if he was walking out into traffic. This really sends the crowd into hysterics and the whole dance begins again.

Finally, the bull begins to tire from exertion and loss of blood. His head drops slightly and the matador begins the final steps. The matador may encourage a few more passes from the bull, but suddenly, the cape drops and the sword flashes. That is all you see. The matador has stabbed the bull directly behind the head and, if he did it well, the bull will die quickly. Occasionally, the bull wins, but this is very rare. We saw one bull just about catch a junior matador, but the guy flung himself over a wall to avoid being gored.

It was one of the most interesting, bloody, and brutal events I have ever seen.

At the end of the night the crowd was exuberant at the great matches and well fueled on beer and pisco (grape brandy). Everyone streamed out of plaza and onto the streets below where makeshift restaurants and bars are set up at the base of the stadium walls. I stood on the top row of the stadium overlooking the plaza below. People were below drinking and enjoying some dinner. To my left I saw a bit of movement and turned just in time to see one of the drunk Frenchmen belly up to the top ledge of the stadium. He looked over the edge, unzipped his pants, and proceeded to piss on all the Peruvians below. We wisely thought this was a good opportunity to leave before the police came, but I looked over to see the poor, poor people below. Several put out their hands to see if it was raining and one poor guy just pulled up the hood on his jacket.