Day 83... Death to all Matadors in spandex. - 17th September

*PLEASE NOTE* please do not read this if violence and animal cruelty upset you

After 6 days of rain, woke up to a cloudy but promising sky. We got up, and drove out of town picking up a drive-through croissant on the way. We headed north-east towards Nice, with a planned stop in Nimes as we wouldn't make Nice comfortably in one day. Plus there were some things to see in Nimes. As we drove, the clouds eventually blew away and cleared. Ah the sun! I hadn't seen it in sooo long! I was scared the rain was going to follow us fro Spain, so kept an eye out behind us!

We arrived in Nimes around lunchtime. The TIC booked us into the cheapest room available. It ended up being an absolute bonus as we got charged for a double - but scored a 4 bed family room. Ah luxury! It was cheap and poxy, but large. We were on the 3rd floor, with big shutters opening to a sunny square below.

Walking around Nimes, it had a Spanish flair - but it was the Spanish flair I expected to get, but didn't get, in Spain itself. Make sense? Nimes has Provencial and Spanish influence, as well as many well preserved ROman buildings. We had arrived at their grape harvest at the end of September and they have bullfights as part of their festival. Nate wanted to boycott it, but I said we should go. We are here to soak up culture - good and bad. Its a travel experience, not a holiday. Therefore if we are seeing the world, we must see the world - warts and all. The pretty views and good food must be mixed with crying at Dachau and eating snails and shit tapas.

We had a sandwich near the hotel and spent a bi to ftie on the internet. Then we walked to the arena. Les Arenes was built around AD100. Its just like the Colusseum albiet smaller. However it was built back then to seat 24,000 spectators, and still can! It is impeccably preserved - even retaining its upper storey. The ost amazing thing, is that it is stil used as a sporting and cultural venue. So its good to see a real Roman arena in action, like it was back in the day. There was a festive gaiety in the air and around the arena was packed with brass bands, drink stalls and happy people. I had committed cultural faux pas by dressing "aussie style" as if for a football match - eg: in jeans, singlet and cap. Everyone else were dressed in their sunday best. Those weird flat-topped wicker hats abounded, as did the white panama hats. Women wore dresses. The youth all had Ray Ban sunnies. There were a few portly gents who looked like Columbian drug lords sweating in tan and blue suits, with trimmed beard and hat. It seemed like most of the crowd were locals.
It was tricky to find tickets as no one spoke English and we didn't know where to go. But we eventually scored pleb tickets and joined the riffraff up top, after a quick wine and beer. Our tickets were 17 euro, some were 94 and upwards!

We scrambled up the stone and rock, none of which has changed in nearly 2000 years. To see it ful of people eating and drinking, shouting and talking for an event like this - we felt like we were transported back in tie. It was just like the movie Gladiator. The sun was hot, people were fanning themselves with white hats. People were scrambling all over the arena, some even sitting right on the top part. With the bullfight, I thought there would be some festivities (I don't know, like sheep shearing? - humour me ok!) Well, wrong! After a quick ceremony where the matador and horses come out for a quick parade, they got stuck into it.

The first bull came out, a magnificent black beast all shiny with thick muscle. He was all head and chest, which would have made it hard to do a sharp turning circle (think Mishka vs a greyhounds reach. Mishka can't reach her bum with her head, but a greyhound can). They'd stuck a spike in his side so he was agitated and angry. We thought there would be a "fight" between matador and bull. Not so. There were 4-6 matadors in the beginning, calling and heckling the bull. Whenever he picked a target and charged, they ran like cowards behind a wooden barrier. Seeing them run, holding up their cape in front of them so they didn't trip - they looked like women running while holding their skirts up. The bull was a big beast (596 kilos) and it was not long before he was blown. As it was, he seemed more defensive and frightened than angry and charging. It took alot of jeering to get him to run. He'd look at two capes being flapped in his face, back and forth with the intensity of Mishka watching a tennis ball being hit back and forth. But for the bull, he didn't know which one was going to hurt him. When he ran, his muscles gleamed, his testicals swung pendulously and his hoofs sprayed sand. It felt so weird to watch and know that he would be dead. Particularly when he didn't have to be.

Then the trumpets sounded and the crowd started clapping. 2 armoured horses came out, with guys riding them holding a big wooden spear. The bull was induced to charge. The amazingly obedient and patient horse copped 500 kilos of bull into its side, while the guy thrust the spear into the bulls shoulders. The horse was protected by the armour. They did this twice, then the trumpets sounded, the crowd clapped again and then they left. The matadors ran the bull around some more, and did a few 'cape charges'. It soon became very obvious to us, that the bull was focused on the cape, and the cape alone. Any contact between bull and man would be due to mans stupidity by getting between the bull and the cape. With such thick shoulders, and now injured, the animal did not have much of a turning capacity. But the crowd loved it! It was structured very much like the baseball match we saw in NY. The crowd knew certain songs played at certain times. They ate praline nuts and chips, and brought their kids. There wre babies and 4 year olds and 8 year olds eating chips and watching a bull get stabbed. One little girl was with her mum, emulating her mums unbridled adoration of the matadors. You could pic the one or two tourists in the crowd -- we all had our hands clapped to our faces.

It was like being in primary school, and watching a pack of boys bullying the retarted kid. There were lots of shouts of "ooh toro!" (toro is spanish for bull) and "oi" and waggling their cocks and cloacks at him in turn, almost like a circle of bullying kids. Watching them, it because extermely obvious that a bull is a stupid and predictable animal. He ran where they wanted, and spun where they wanted. The skill was getting him to run when he stood there frightened. During the run around, a matador would come out without his cape, and run at the bull clutching two white sticks. At the precise moment, he would leap to the side and thrust the sticks into the bulls shoulders an dback. It was like the crocodile hunter - they know the animals turning and running capacity, so they can leap to the side with ease before the bull could turn. (well I shouldn't say 'ease' but they piss me off goddammit). The white sticks were barbed and they stuck in his flesh, flapping grotesquely around his shoulders. He would spend a few seconds leaping in anger and fright, before resigning to his pain, and trying again to defend himself. They did the stick thing three times. Highly oxigenated from running, the bull sshoulders were glistening wet with bright red blood.

At this point, the 'ultimate matador' would come out. This brave bold man in his thight spandex outfit, strutted out to challenge an injured and blown animal. He did the cape thing like the other matadors prior, except it was him doing it solo. (Although the others all stood around as back up). The bulls had eyes for the cloak and the cloak only. At timesthe matador would stand in front of the bull and it would do nothing, then the cloak would come out and the bull would perk up.

the crowd shouted "olay!" and "ooooh"ed if the bull got close. he didn't really, and the time that he did - I got excited too. Not out of horror for the matador, but for the bull. I really, really, really wanted to see that man get hurt. He was asking for it. A great big horn right up the date would have suited me just fine. I kept whispering at the bull "not the cloak sweetie, go for the spandex, the spandex! "
The bull stopped alot, he washurt and tired. It wsa devestating to see the change. I think the bull could tell too. He was slick with red blood, panting, his flanks splattered with shit from the effort. During one cape swirl, the matador whipped out a hidden sword and stabbed it down to the hilt into the bulls shoulder. The bull flicked his head up and down, trying to get it out, then stopped - hurt. The atador walked off while his mates distracted the bull, all flapping capes at him and teasing him. The bool looked intently back and forth, frightened as to which cape would hurt him, but he did not run. Old mate strolled back with another sword. Using it, he hooked the one jabbed inthe bull and pulled it out slowly. Why, we don't know. To show how close he could get I guess. We figured that the 'skill' of the matador liesin running and teasing the bull enough so the crowd is entertained, without killing it too quickly - or too late when the bull is fully blown. Our matador was not that good, as the bull gave up and backed himself into a corner. The group all converged and flapped their capes at him, but it didn't matter. The bull had its head down, defensive but exhausted and not knowing what to do. It was an awful moment, knowing what was to happen.

The matador tapped his sword on the bulls nose, ensuring his head stayed down, then tried to stab him with it in the base of his spine. It was horrible - it took a couple of goes to do, with the bull leaping and shaking the sword out several times. Eventualy he got his mar and the bull wne tdown, les kicking in the air. The crowd cheered and claped The matador pranced around a bit while people waved their hats and white handkerchiefs at him. However, in the background - the assitant matadors converged on the bull with knives, hacking at his neck while his legs kicked and splayed in the air. The band kicked up, an started paying gay, bouncy music as the 'death horse cart' came out, attached chains to the bulls horns and dragged him out of the arena.I couldn't believe something so alive could be so ruined and dead. Little men ran out and did a frantic cleanup, sweeping the sand around and dispursing the blood and bull drag marks.

I thought that was it, albiet early, but they brought out another sign, with different bull weights and height. "What another one?" I shrieked. "Can we go now?"
"Nope" said Nate, "you dragged me to this thing, so you suck it up".
He was right. I was here to see a cultural experience, I had forced him here so I had to see it through. I sucked it up. 6 times. Or 6 & 1/2 to be more precise (I'll explain later).

The more I saw, the more disgusted I got. It was the same formula, playing on the same predictableness of the bull. The 4 guys tiring him out, the trumpet, the horse and the spear x2, the more running and barbed sticks x3. The matador strutting out, flapping around then stabbing with sword. Pull sword out and stab again. Everone cnverge and hustle in, confuse it, stab it till it falls. Matador prances, his friends hackfuriously in the background. Drag bull out to cheerful music. Wave your hat or hanky in delight. Repeat.

The matadors got a bit more practised as they went, some gettig the death blow with the first or second sword. this sounds bad I know...but the same method for 3 hours? I got BORED. The tables would never turn for the bull and it was all really dull. Despite the horror of it. Everyone else was excited and go to these things often - but c'mon, its the 21st century! Even though we were sitting in an ancient arena, watching a crowd that could have come from that time (minus the leper of course) it didn't have to be so. We didn't need that form of 'entertainment' anymore like they did back then. Go watch a football match you sick fucks.

one bull was getting roused by the matador, when the matador went for the first sword stroke. He must have hit an artery near a lung, coz the bull just stopped. It looked like it was struggling to breathe, choking, then it coughed and a massive spurt of blood shot out. I heard Nathan mutter "oh he's fucked' as more blood spewed out of his lungs and he collapsed. The crowd went wild and the matador pranced and wiggled his cock like never before.
One bull that came out would have none of it. When he was first sent out, he turned around and tried to run straight back in! The crowd laughed cruelly but I thought it was one smart bull. The 'half' bull I mentioned earlier was the one we liked. If the matador was going to cop it, it would be from this guy. He was lighter, so more agile and better turning capacity. And man, was he mad~! He threw himself into it, and though he slipped a few times I thought he was onto something. The matador must have too, as the bull was sent off. (He had been stabbed by the horse-guy too, so would have been killed out the back.) I asked a guy next to me why, and got 'he was a bad toro'. Maybe because he slipped over a fair bit, we're not sure.

I say all this with passion, but there must be some skill in it or people wouldn't go. I don't nkow, I still hate it. THere was one matador, that I thought was skilled. When the last bull came out, it came out fresh and he met it solo and on his knees! That was pretty cool. If he can do that, before hurting and killing the bull then the whole hurting and killing thing is superfluous. Uneccessary.

After much hat and hanky waving, we left the arena. We ate ata restaurant under the shadow (well, it was actually evening) of the arena. The streets partied while we ate, but died quite quickly by the time we were finished which wasn't long. We went to join them afte,r but it had all the feel of 5am, although it was only 11. It was sunday evening, so the locals prolly had to work tomorrow.
We couldn't get what we saw out of our minds! We kept phasing out of conversation and drifting off in thought till the other person brought us back (and sometimes it was us speaking!). I just kept thinking of one bull. He let out such a cry when death-stabbed it broke my heart - I'll hear it forever. but I didn't cry. Unlike Dachau concentration camp which took me by surprise, I knew what to expect and went anyway/. And I dragged Nate there too, so to have him turn around and comfort me would be hypocritical (although he would have). But I still think it was interesting to go. A travel experience, not a holiday. When in Rome...

It was a cool evening, so we went to bed and struggled to sleep.