About 2 years ago, my mom, my dad, my younger brother, and I went to Spain. We traveled on a tour to Seville in the southern part of the country. While visiting there I went to my first bullfight.
We purchased our tickets at a window at the front of the bullring. When my dad bought the tickets, he had three seating choices. There were seats in the sun area, the sun and shade area, and the shade area. My dad bought tickets for the sun and shade area of the arena. We took our seats and waited for the fight to begin.
First, a colorful parade of young bullfighters came out to greet the enormously noisy crowd. The raging bull came charging into the ring. There were beginner matadors who teased the bull with a pink and yellow cape to tire it out. Then a matador, seated upon a horse covered in protective armor, rode in with a long spear in his hand.
The horse charged the bull, and when the horse got close enough, the matador stabbed the bull in the back with the spear. The mad bull started to bleed profusely. My mom kept saying to me, "All I wanted to do is sit and smell the flowers." She was quoting from the children's story, Ferdinand, the Bull. Her comments were extremely annoying! Now the bull was weak but was very mad. Two men called picadors came out into the bullring. Each one of them had four small but very sharp spears. Waving their spears at the bull, they waited for just the right moment, and then they ran toward the bull and stabbed it right in its back. The bull was angry as it was running with a hole in its back from the big long spear and about eight small spears stuck into it. It was now very tired and throbbing with blood and pain. Then I said, "Look mom, Ferdinand is bleeding to death. How do you feel now?" After all that time had passed the main matador finally walked into the bullring, and he was dressed in an elaborate costume of bold, fancy colors. He took his red cape with a very sharp dagger hidden behind it and made a couple difficult passes with the bull. On the last pass, when the bull was tired and worn out, the matador pulled out his shiny sword and forcefully shoved it into a small spot in the bulls back where it punctured its heart. "Take that Ferdinand!" I forcefully shouted. In a matter of seconds the bull was dead and the fight was over. Two Spaniards on two strong horses that were dragging shiny steel chains rode out and tied the dead bull up and dragged it to the slaughter house where it was butchered for food to be used in orphanages and homes for the elderly.
The bullfight was exciting and at times very tense. If you ever have a chance to go to a bullfight I wouldn't pass it up. I have learned that the sport of bullfighting is very common in Spain, but can also be very dangerous and gory.