www.sergiotraveling.wordpress.com
July 31, 2015
July 29, 2015
The pain in Spain: Inside the Running of the Bulls
(by Larry Getlen nypost.com 6-28-15)
On July 11, 2013, Peter Milligan, a Pennsylvania lawyer, was in Pamplona, Spain, for the annual Running of the Bulls, an event he’s participated in every year for several decades.
In the midst of that morning’s run, the horns of two separate bulls brushed his shirt, one after the other, but he escaped unscathed.
To his right, he saw a police officer motioning that all six bulls had passed. Recalling his own count, Milligan had doubts.
As he counted, he was clipped by another runner, and fell forward, snapping his ankle. “If I think about the sound it made too long, I still become nauseated,” he writes. “It was loud.”
Milligan fell at the entrance to the bull ring, “the perfectly wrong place to fall,” as “a street full of bulls and thousands of panicked runners is tunneled into a place hardly wider than my wingspan.”
He heard bull hooves on cobblestones and sensed the fear of the scattering crowd.
“I rolled against the wall in the fetal position, or as far into the fetal position as I could roll at 43 years old, and covered my head,” he writes. “Runner after runner after runner jumped me and kicked me and shaved the back of my head with their sneakered feet.”
He managed to stand up and lean against a wall. The smell of a bull came closer, and then he saw the beast.
“[A] white bull with blood dripping from its horns and malice in its heart had turned around while running and was holding the waves of lads behind me at bay. [A minder] was coming unhinged shrieking for me to flee. He looked like he was preparing to watch me die right there.”
As Milligan “reached down and [felt] two tiny nubs poking through the skin” of his ankle, his fingers now “covered in blood,” he saw that two more bulls had refused to be put in the ring and were headed in his direction.
His savior appeared in the form of “a senior-citizen Basque woman” who “leapt over the wall and shielded me with her body.” The bulls passed by without incident, and the woman helped emergency workers carry him to safety.
One might think such an experience would discourage further madness. But Milligan, in this new book, “Bulls Before Breakfast,” about what it’s like to run with the bulls and what you need to know to get out unscathed, dismisses this outright, calling the incident, “my ‘Starry Night’; my Apollo and Daphne.”
The Running of the Bulls has occurred every year since 1196 as part of the festival of San Fermin, named for the first bishop of Pamplona. A martyr to his faith, legend has it Saint Fermin was killed by being dragged through the streets by bulls. More likely, the running tradition started because the festival culminates in a bullfight, and the bulls had to be herded from outside the city into the bull ring.
Known as the “encierro,” there’s a run every morning from July 7-14. Originally held in October, it was moved to July for the better weather in 1591.
Despite their bulk, bulls are disarmingly quick, running about 35 mph. By way of comparison, cheetahs run 45 mph.
“In the street,” Milligan notes, “the difference is negligible.”
The encierro begins at precisely 8 a.m., when a rocket is fired to indicate that “the paddock doors are opened, and . . . the first bull has left the corral.” Soon after, “a second rocket announces that all the bulls have left,” and a runner’s ability to “count the seconds” in between the two rocket firings is paramount.
“Bulls running together are much less likely to engage in mischief,” he writes. “If there is a long time between rockets, it’s likely the bulls have become separated and danger is afoot.”
Once the run begins, the half-mile course has doorways along its path that look like perfect places to hide. They’re not.
“There is no safe doorway,” he writes, “and often bulls catch standers flush. And, climbing [over walls or railings] only draws the attention of the bulls. Running hard, and straight down the middle, is the safest option.”
One of the greatest challenges is timing the beginning of the run, which Milligan calls, “the absolute hardest skill to master,” noting that, “you may have to run dozens of times” before you do it well.
“Don’t wait for them to pass you,” he advises. “Run when you see the bulls. Or, run when you’re about to see them.” Later, he says that, “some friends advise that they start running when everyone stops looking back over their shoulder.” Runners used to time their runs with “the wash of camera flashes as the bulls approached,” but camera phones have made this obsolete.
“If you wait too long to run, [the bulls] will pass you before your brain can tell your feet to get on the move. When you are running down the center of the street, the bulls will quickly overtake you.” The trick, then, is to get out of the way in time.
Once you’re off and running, the most important thing to note is to “count the bulls.” There are always six, a fact made confusing by the presence of steers sent to guide them. There’s no consistent steer number, though usually between six and eight.
The greatest danger during a run, however, is not the bulls, but other runners, who might grab you in a panic or, worse, on purpose.
“It is not uncommon to hear an inexperienced runner talking about his intention to push someone else into harm’s way to avoid being gored,” he writes. “These statements are made gleefully and with foolish bravado. After someone pries my kung fu grip from his neck, I enjoy calmly reminding the dullard that civility is essential to the fabric of our shared community.”
He then adds, “if you push another runner into harm to protect yourself, the locals might murder you. Forewarned is forearmed.”
Last year, Milligan’s son, Sam, ran the event.
“I saw another runner clearly reach out to grab him,” Milligan writes. “My big right fist left a big red mark on his left cheek.” My momentum caused me to slide about 10 yards, and I rolled head over teacup a couple times, and then the entire herd danced over and on me, which I guess was better than on my grave,” he writes. “A bull and multiple runners kicked me in the head and stepped on my back and shoulders. I tore open my leg, my arm, and my shoulder, and I had hoofprints on my back and head.”
Even without evil intent on their part, one should be comfortable with the notion that at some point, other runners will step on you and worse.
During a 2010 run, Milligan was horrified to glance back and see that the six bulls were charging in a row. He “tangled” with another runner for space, then fell forward.
Considering that he’s run with the bulls over 50 times, Milligan has been lucky. Several he’s seen cannot say the same.
There have been 15 official deaths at the event in modern times, and Milligan witnessed one of them. In 2009, Daniel Jimeno Romero, a friend of Milligan’s, “died while trying to regain his feet or slip under [a barrier].” Milligan’s brother, Ari, his constant companion on these runs, was just inches from Romero as a bull’s horn “pierced his neck and lungs.”
Shy of death, there are still many dangers. In 2005, Milligan saw a runner named Xabier, whom he later befriended, slip and fall during a run, after which he was gored repeatedly on the ground. Xabier did the smart thing and stayed there.
Milligan says if you’re knocked down, staying down is key to safety, as getting back up leaves you in the path of other runners and gives charging bulls a clear target.
“If you try to stand up, you will be crushed,” writes Milligan, noting that for a bull, “your exposed abdomen is a perfect soft target.”
“If you fall, curl up into a fetal position while covering your head until someone clearly tells you all the bulls are past. Having a bull step on you is better than having it gore you as you get up.”
Another great danger at the event is runner pileups — when one or more runners fall, tripping the runners behind them, leading to a pile of bodies — which Milligan says can be the scariest parts of the encierro.
There have been 25 significant pileups in the past hundred years, with “in excess of 700 serious injuries.”
“Both Ari and I have escaped smaller pileups with minor injuries, but each was scarier than anything,” he writes. “The crushing weight on your chest, and that sickening panic of not being able to breath, even momentarily, is nothing but execrable. I think I’d rather take the horn. I know I would.”
In spite of — or, perhaps, because of — the danger, the Running of the Bulls has always drawn its share of celebrities. In addition to Ernest Hemingway — who, contrary to popular belief and his presence at the event, never ran with the bulls — older generations saw the likes of Orson Welles and Arthur Miller in attendance.
In recent years, the event has drawn Rosario Dawson, who “ran like a pro,” and Tara Reid, of whom Milligan says, “I’ve never personally seen a drunker person in my life.” The one prolific celebrity runner these days is “Dawson’s Creek” actor Joshua Jackson, who has run four times.
Dennis Rodman “ran” with the bulls in a marketing promotion for a gambling website in the early aughts, but Milligan portrays it as a sham.
“By the time the first bull left the paddock,” he writes, “Rodman had run into the bullring, climbed over the wall, left, had a drink, talked to some women, packed, and was halfway over the Atlantic. He never even saw a bull, let alone ran with them.”
Also increasingly present in recent years are crews from the American media. Milligan has nothing but harsh words for them.
“In the early years, it was ESPN. Lately, it has been Esquire TV. Both are a pestilence,” he writes, saving his harshest bile for ESPN commentator Rick Reilly, “a twitchy twit” who, he claims, not only spread misinformation, but put runners in danger while doing so.
While running, Reilly “leapt at the bulls from behind and the side and swatted [them] away with his newspaper,” Milligan writes. “A bull distracted like that makes the danger factor rise exponentially. In his column, he actually wrote, ‘Honor and bravery were mine!’ in describing his dangerous and disrespectful behavior.”
Milligan’s years of bull-running have taken their toll.
“I have bursitis in both elbows,” he writes. “I’ve had concussions and multiple broken bones. My shin was sliced open. I had a serious staph infection and a third-degree burn. Annually, no matter how successful my running, the plane ride home is always pleasantly uncomfortable. Everyone I know who runs yearly has spent time in the hospital, or worse, for injuries.”
And yet, like a stuntman or a daredevil, Milligan’s time in Pamplona has been defined by joy, as well as a sense of destiny. To Milligan and many others, running with the bulls, whatever its dangers, not only tests their mettle, but places them in a distinguished club — one that Milligan hopes to never leave as long as his legs can keep him on the move.
“Running with the bulls is not a sport. No one is competing,” he writes.
“The encierro celebrates grander topics, like brotherhood and honor and reverence. The running is not about calling attention to oneself. If you run bravely and with honor and valor, you’ll get all the attention you need.”
--------------------
http://nypost.com/2015/06/28/the-pain-in-spain-inside-the-running-of-the-bulls/
On July 11, 2013, Peter Milligan, a Pennsylvania lawyer, was in Pamplona, Spain, for the annual Running of the Bulls, an event he’s participated in every year for several decades.
In the midst of that morning’s run, the horns of two separate bulls brushed his shirt, one after the other, but he escaped unscathed.
To his right, he saw a police officer motioning that all six bulls had passed. Recalling his own count, Milligan had doubts.
As he counted, he was clipped by another runner, and fell forward, snapping his ankle. “If I think about the sound it made too long, I still become nauseated,” he writes. “It was loud.”
Milligan fell at the entrance to the bull ring, “the perfectly wrong place to fall,” as “a street full of bulls and thousands of panicked runners is tunneled into a place hardly wider than my wingspan.”
He heard bull hooves on cobblestones and sensed the fear of the scattering crowd.
“I rolled against the wall in the fetal position, or as far into the fetal position as I could roll at 43 years old, and covered my head,” he writes. “Runner after runner after runner jumped me and kicked me and shaved the back of my head with their sneakered feet.”
He managed to stand up and lean against a wall. The smell of a bull came closer, and then he saw the beast.
“[A] white bull with blood dripping from its horns and malice in its heart had turned around while running and was holding the waves of lads behind me at bay. [A minder] was coming unhinged shrieking for me to flee. He looked like he was preparing to watch me die right there.”
As Milligan “reached down and [felt] two tiny nubs poking through the skin” of his ankle, his fingers now “covered in blood,” he saw that two more bulls had refused to be put in the ring and were headed in his direction.
His savior appeared in the form of “a senior-citizen Basque woman” who “leapt over the wall and shielded me with her body.” The bulls passed by without incident, and the woman helped emergency workers carry him to safety.
One might think such an experience would discourage further madness. But Milligan, in this new book, “Bulls Before Breakfast,” about what it’s like to run with the bulls and what you need to know to get out unscathed, dismisses this outright, calling the incident, “my ‘Starry Night’; my Apollo and Daphne.”
The Running of the Bulls has occurred every year since 1196 as part of the festival of San Fermin, named for the first bishop of Pamplona. A martyr to his faith, legend has it Saint Fermin was killed by being dragged through the streets by bulls. More likely, the running tradition started because the festival culminates in a bullfight, and the bulls had to be herded from outside the city into the bull ring.
Known as the “encierro,” there’s a run every morning from July 7-14. Originally held in October, it was moved to July for the better weather in 1591.
Despite their bulk, bulls are disarmingly quick, running about 35 mph. By way of comparison, cheetahs run 45 mph.
“In the street,” Milligan notes, “the difference is negligible.”
The encierro begins at precisely 8 a.m., when a rocket is fired to indicate that “the paddock doors are opened, and . . . the first bull has left the corral.” Soon after, “a second rocket announces that all the bulls have left,” and a runner’s ability to “count the seconds” in between the two rocket firings is paramount.
“Bulls running together are much less likely to engage in mischief,” he writes. “If there is a long time between rockets, it’s likely the bulls have become separated and danger is afoot.”
Once the run begins, the half-mile course has doorways along its path that look like perfect places to hide. They’re not.
“There is no safe doorway,” he writes, “and often bulls catch standers flush. And, climbing [over walls or railings] only draws the attention of the bulls. Running hard, and straight down the middle, is the safest option.”
One of the greatest challenges is timing the beginning of the run, which Milligan calls, “the absolute hardest skill to master,” noting that, “you may have to run dozens of times” before you do it well.
“Don’t wait for them to pass you,” he advises. “Run when you see the bulls. Or, run when you’re about to see them.” Later, he says that, “some friends advise that they start running when everyone stops looking back over their shoulder.” Runners used to time their runs with “the wash of camera flashes as the bulls approached,” but camera phones have made this obsolete.
“If you wait too long to run, [the bulls] will pass you before your brain can tell your feet to get on the move. When you are running down the center of the street, the bulls will quickly overtake you.” The trick, then, is to get out of the way in time.
Once you’re off and running, the most important thing to note is to “count the bulls.” There are always six, a fact made confusing by the presence of steers sent to guide them. There’s no consistent steer number, though usually between six and eight.
The greatest danger during a run, however, is not the bulls, but other runners, who might grab you in a panic or, worse, on purpose.
“It is not uncommon to hear an inexperienced runner talking about his intention to push someone else into harm’s way to avoid being gored,” he writes. “These statements are made gleefully and with foolish bravado. After someone pries my kung fu grip from his neck, I enjoy calmly reminding the dullard that civility is essential to the fabric of our shared community.”
He then adds, “if you push another runner into harm to protect yourself, the locals might murder you. Forewarned is forearmed.”
Last year, Milligan’s son, Sam, ran the event.
“I saw another runner clearly reach out to grab him,” Milligan writes. “My big right fist left a big red mark on his left cheek.” My momentum caused me to slide about 10 yards, and I rolled head over teacup a couple times, and then the entire herd danced over and on me, which I guess was better than on my grave,” he writes. “A bull and multiple runners kicked me in the head and stepped on my back and shoulders. I tore open my leg, my arm, and my shoulder, and I had hoofprints on my back and head.”
Even without evil intent on their part, one should be comfortable with the notion that at some point, other runners will step on you and worse.
During a 2010 run, Milligan was horrified to glance back and see that the six bulls were charging in a row. He “tangled” with another runner for space, then fell forward.
Considering that he’s run with the bulls over 50 times, Milligan has been lucky. Several he’s seen cannot say the same.
There have been 15 official deaths at the event in modern times, and Milligan witnessed one of them. In 2009, Daniel Jimeno Romero, a friend of Milligan’s, “died while trying to regain his feet or slip under [a barrier].” Milligan’s brother, Ari, his constant companion on these runs, was just inches from Romero as a bull’s horn “pierced his neck and lungs.”
Shy of death, there are still many dangers. In 2005, Milligan saw a runner named Xabier, whom he later befriended, slip and fall during a run, after which he was gored repeatedly on the ground. Xabier did the smart thing and stayed there.
Milligan says if you’re knocked down, staying down is key to safety, as getting back up leaves you in the path of other runners and gives charging bulls a clear target.
“If you try to stand up, you will be crushed,” writes Milligan, noting that for a bull, “your exposed abdomen is a perfect soft target.”
“If you fall, curl up into a fetal position while covering your head until someone clearly tells you all the bulls are past. Having a bull step on you is better than having it gore you as you get up.”
Another great danger at the event is runner pileups — when one or more runners fall, tripping the runners behind them, leading to a pile of bodies — which Milligan says can be the scariest parts of the encierro.
There have been 25 significant pileups in the past hundred years, with “in excess of 700 serious injuries.”
“Both Ari and I have escaped smaller pileups with minor injuries, but each was scarier than anything,” he writes. “The crushing weight on your chest, and that sickening panic of not being able to breath, even momentarily, is nothing but execrable. I think I’d rather take the horn. I know I would.”
In spite of — or, perhaps, because of — the danger, the Running of the Bulls has always drawn its share of celebrities. In addition to Ernest Hemingway — who, contrary to popular belief and his presence at the event, never ran with the bulls — older generations saw the likes of Orson Welles and Arthur Miller in attendance.
In recent years, the event has drawn Rosario Dawson, who “ran like a pro,” and Tara Reid, of whom Milligan says, “I’ve never personally seen a drunker person in my life.” The one prolific celebrity runner these days is “Dawson’s Creek” actor Joshua Jackson, who has run four times.
Dennis Rodman “ran” with the bulls in a marketing promotion for a gambling website in the early aughts, but Milligan portrays it as a sham.
“By the time the first bull left the paddock,” he writes, “Rodman had run into the bullring, climbed over the wall, left, had a drink, talked to some women, packed, and was halfway over the Atlantic. He never even saw a bull, let alone ran with them.”
Also increasingly present in recent years are crews from the American media. Milligan has nothing but harsh words for them.
“In the early years, it was ESPN. Lately, it has been Esquire TV. Both are a pestilence,” he writes, saving his harshest bile for ESPN commentator Rick Reilly, “a twitchy twit” who, he claims, not only spread misinformation, but put runners in danger while doing so.
While running, Reilly “leapt at the bulls from behind and the side and swatted [them] away with his newspaper,” Milligan writes. “A bull distracted like that makes the danger factor rise exponentially. In his column, he actually wrote, ‘Honor and bravery were mine!’ in describing his dangerous and disrespectful behavior.”
Milligan’s years of bull-running have taken their toll.
“I have bursitis in both elbows,” he writes. “I’ve had concussions and multiple broken bones. My shin was sliced open. I had a serious staph infection and a third-degree burn. Annually, no matter how successful my running, the plane ride home is always pleasantly uncomfortable. Everyone I know who runs yearly has spent time in the hospital, or worse, for injuries.”
And yet, like a stuntman or a daredevil, Milligan’s time in Pamplona has been defined by joy, as well as a sense of destiny. To Milligan and many others, running with the bulls, whatever its dangers, not only tests their mettle, but places them in a distinguished club — one that Milligan hopes to never leave as long as his legs can keep him on the move.
“Running with the bulls is not a sport. No one is competing,” he writes.
“The encierro celebrates grander topics, like brotherhood and honor and reverence. The running is not about calling attention to oneself. If you run bravely and with honor and valor, you’ll get all the attention you need.”
--------------------
http://nypost.com/2015/06/28/the-pain-in-spain-inside-the-running-of-the-bulls/
July 27, 2015
Toro, the video game
Toro, is the first bullfighting simulator game, that will challenge your skills, reflex and fast reactions interacting with 500kg bulls. You will be able to face the bravest bulls in the most famous bullrings worldwide, and become a number one bullfighter In an exciting and fun way, Toro offers the possibility to get in front of the most dangerous bulls and complete a stylish performance with the wide variety of passes that are available for each round Face the bull, combine different passes correctly executed to enrage the bull and do it with style to get the support of the demanding spectators and get the highest score.
Available for either XBox, PlayStation4, or PC from Reco Technology.
http://www.recotech.es/
http://store.xbox.com/en-US/Xbox-One/Games/Toro/2bc05983-5e3f-47f2-bf2a-14b9e597d58e
July 24, 2015
Could bullfighting be returning to Catalonia?
Spain’s ruling Popular Party is pushing a law which would classify bullfighting as part of Spain’s cultural heritage and could herald its return to Catalonia, where it is currently banned.
(thelocal.es 3-12-15)
Catalonia held its last bullfight in 2011, but a new law proposed by Spain’s ruling Popular Party (PP) giving bullfighting more protection could see its return to the northeastern Spanish region.
The 'Safeguarding of Cultural Heritage' law has already been approved by the cultural commission of Spain’s lower parliament, and has been sent to the senate for further processing.
The law, which would give protection to various aspects of Spanish culture, would designate bullfighting as part of Spain’s cultural heritage, allowing the government to take “measures to safeguard” the activity.
It has faced fierce criticism and has been approved only by the PP, with the socialist opposition party PSOE abstaining and Spain’s smaller parties voting against the law.
Catalan daily La Vanguardia reported that there is strong concern among opposition politicians that the law could see the return of bullfighting to Catalonia, based on the argument that bullfighting is a cultural asset to be preserved throughout Spain. Catalonia voted to ban bullfighting in 2010.
"Catalonia has always been one step ahead of the rest of Spain when it comes to animal rights, for example they have banned animals in circuses, which is allowed in most of the rest of the country," she added.
Barquero, whose party has fiercely campaigned against bullfighting, sees the proposed law as a political struggle.
"This is a political fight between the Spanish government and Catalan society," she said.
"The PP is always promoting bullfighting as part of our culture, but the majority of Catalonians are against it," she added.
The law describes cultural heritage as "the uses, representations, expressions, knowledge and skills that communities, groups and individuals recognize as an integral part of their cultural heritage".
Particular examples include languages, theatre, festivals, crafts, music and culinary specialties.
Bullfighting has also been banned in the Canary Islands since 1991, but the islands recently came under fire after cock fighting, popular in the Canaries, escaped an animal cruelty ban.
Queen of pop Madonna was recently criticized by animal rights groups for "glamourizing gore" by dressing as a bullfighter in appearances to promote her latest album.
--------------------
http://www.thelocal.es/20150312/bullfighting-to-return-to-catalonia
(thelocal.es 3-12-15)
Catalonia held its last bullfight in 2011, but a new law proposed by Spain’s ruling Popular Party (PP) giving bullfighting more protection could see its return to the northeastern Spanish region.
The 'Safeguarding of Cultural Heritage' law has already been approved by the cultural commission of Spain’s lower parliament, and has been sent to the senate for further processing.
The law, which would give protection to various aspects of Spanish culture, would designate bullfighting as part of Spain’s cultural heritage, allowing the government to take “measures to safeguard” the activity.
It has faced fierce criticism and has been approved only by the PP, with the socialist opposition party PSOE abstaining and Spain’s smaller parties voting against the law.
Catalan daily La Vanguardia reported that there is strong concern among opposition politicians that the law could see the return of bullfighting to Catalonia, based on the argument that bullfighting is a cultural asset to be preserved throughout Spain. Catalonia voted to ban bullfighting in 2010.
"No one would welcome bullfighting if it was brought back to Catalonia," Silvia Barquero, president of Pacma, an animal rights party in Spain, told The Local.
Barquero, whose party has fiercely campaigned against bullfighting, sees the proposed law as a political struggle.
"This is a political fight between the Spanish government and Catalan society," she said.
"The PP is always promoting bullfighting as part of our culture, but the majority of Catalonians are against it," she added.
The law describes cultural heritage as "the uses, representations, expressions, knowledge and skills that communities, groups and individuals recognize as an integral part of their cultural heritage".
Particular examples include languages, theatre, festivals, crafts, music and culinary specialties.
Bullfighting has also been banned in the Canary Islands since 1991, but the islands recently came under fire after cock fighting, popular in the Canaries, escaped an animal cruelty ban.
Queen of pop Madonna was recently criticized by animal rights groups for "glamourizing gore" by dressing as a bullfighter in appearances to promote her latest album.
--------------------
http://www.thelocal.es/20150312/bullfighting-to-return-to-catalonia
July 20, 2015
Matador pierced in throat and tongue by bull 'recovering well'
A Spanish matador who suffered a horrific goring when a bull's horn ripped through his throat, pierced his tongue and smashed his palate last week has made an amazing recovery.
(telegraph.co.uk 5-24-10)
Julio Aparicio, 41, was wounded on Friday evening during a bullfight at Madrid's Las Ventas bullring. The half-ton bull caught the torero under his chin after he lost his footing and stumbled while executing a pass with his red cape at the Spanish capital's packed bullring.
The horn of the animal tore into the bullfighter's throat and emerged through his mouth in a dramatic goring on Friday evening that had the crowd screaming in horror.
The pink-stockinged, sequined matador was lifted into the air and then dropped to the sand. The bull backed away after it was distracted by fellow matadors who dashed to the rescue.
Mr Aparicio struggled to his feet, staggered a few yards, spluttering blood and was then carried from the ring and into the medical ward at the Las Ventas arena.
He was initially treated at the ring's emergency medical unit, then transferred to the city's October 12th Hospital where he underwent a six-hour operation.
On Monday he was moved out of the intensive care unit and the October 12th Hospital said in a statement that Mr Aparicio's condition was "evolving favourably" and that his prognosis was "less serious".
Most major bullrings in Spain and abroad are equipped with top flight teams of surgeons, traumatologists and anaesthetists. Smaller bullrings are obliged to have ambulances on standby during fights.
Improved medical treatment over the years has cut down the number of deaths by gorings.
The last matador to die from a goring in Spain was Jose Cubero Sanchez "Yiyo" in 1985.
--------------------
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/spain/7760530/Matador-pierced-in-throat-and-tongue-by-bull-recovering-well.html
--------------------
July 17, 2015
Why Matadors Won’t Eat Before a Bullfight
http://munchies.vice.com/articles/why-matadors-wont-eat-before-a-bullfight
(by April Smallwood munchies.vice.com 7-18-15)
As someone who practices kirtan, I know the cow is a powerful religious symbol, representing righteousness to those who revere it. The animal is sacred and subject to compassion. This is what flashes through my mind as I sit on the stone pews of Seville’s Plaza de toros and watch as a bull is stabbed vigorously in the brain, thanks to the failed sword-thrust of a cut-rate matador.
(by April Smallwood munchies.vice.com 7-18-15)
As someone who practices kirtan, I know the cow is a powerful religious symbol, representing righteousness to those who revere it. The animal is sacred and subject to compassion. This is what flashes through my mind as I sit on the stone pews of Seville’s Plaza de toros and watch as a bull is stabbed vigorously in the brain, thanks to the failed sword-thrust of a cut-rate matador.
To anyone who’s seen a corrida (Spaniards don’t say bullfight), what matadors do for a crust is … chancy. Aglitter in their cropped jackets and cape in hand, they strut into an arena with a five-year-old beast that is bred for ferocity, plant their feet in the sand, and call to the animal.
“Toro! Toro!”
If the wind behaves, the cape commits to the matador’s will and the bull passes clean through it. For his artistry, the crowd will cheer. In the finale of this three-act spectacle (not sport), the man has 15 minutes to slay the bull. Depending on his skill, this last scene can be powerfully moving or amateurish butchery.
Cayetano Rivera Ordóñez, 38, hails from a well-known family of bullfighters; his father famously died in the ring in 1984. On the day of a corrida, the matador is solemn, well-rested, and afraid—of the wind, the bull’s temperament, the crowd’s expectation. In the hours leading up to the fight, he will fast.
“You keep your intestines empty in case they end up being opened, either by the bull’s horn or the surgeon’s knife,” says Alexander Fiske-Harrison, author of Fiesta: How To Survive The Bulls Of Pamplona, and friend of Ordóñez. Like bee stings to their keepers, incidental gorings come with the job, and injuries to the extremities, groin, and abdomen are most common. “Matadors have to deal with those little matters,” offers Ordóñez, who admits to a serious injury every season.
Attend a corrida and you will likely see these men flung into the air and pinned to the dust. Unless he is dead, the matador will get back up. “My friend and teacher Juan José Padilla took a horn through his neck—literally, completely through—and it caused hairline fractures in his spinal column en route. He was back in the ring two weeks later,” says Fiske-Harrison.
Just as the ballerina is lean and lithe, the torero has an ideal shape, too. “When I eat with matadors, I notice a tendency towards carnivory, and then a sudden pang of vitamin-conscience kicks in, so salads and fruits are ordered,” says Fiske-Harrison. “Mind you, one of the best and most artistic matadors—Morante de la Puebla—is on the chubby side, but maybe that’s why he doesn’t always perform so well.”
If the torero has pleased his audience—marked by trophies of a bull’s ear, two ears, or tail—post-fight celebrations can be baller. Of course, this will depend on the salary of the matador, who can bring in seven figures if he’s got chops. “El Juli earned 5 million euros a year at his peak,” reveals Fiske-Harrison. “Though most do not make a living.”
To take the edge off any lingering adrenaline from the ring, he will reach for hard liquor and sherry (Manzanilla, specifically). In this country, drinking is more a skill than a pastime. It is said that if a man cannot hold his liquor, you know he is a tourist. As such, a Spaniard would decline a hangover cure, but Englishman Fiske-Harrison has no such pride. His next-day miracle—the hair of the bull that gored you—“is two fingers of vodka added to an iced gazpacho, after a run. I call it Madonna on the Rocks, due to the similarity to the Bloody Mary.”
For dinner, the star is the Iberian pig. Nearing the end of its life, the animal forages for acorns (bellota), herbs, and grasses. The resulting jamon is complex, exquisitely marbled, and hot-damn expensive. The feast continues with pluma ibérica, the shoulder part of the loin that’s big on fat, cooked simply with sea salt. “It’s incredible,” boasts Fiske-Harrison, “and a cut you don’t find outside Spain.”
What’s missing from the menu, of course, is the slain bull. After the fight, the carcasses—all six of them—are taken apart for sale at farmers’ markets the following morning. Outside the ring, refrigerated butchers’ vans await the bodies, in some cases, with axes at the ready.
While the fighting bull ends up in the food chain, it rarely reaches the torero’s fork. “I’ve never eaten carne del toro de lidia with a matador,” says Fiske-Harrison in our interview. “Top matadors kill 200 or so bulls in Spain a year alone, not counting what they do over in Latin America in the winter. [If they did eat it] they’d never eat anything else!”
Chefs who don’t support bullfighting, however, are quick to make tapas of the by-product—liver, steaks, chops, and tail. Because the animals are reared for fighting, not food—as in, the bull is killed whether it’s eaten or not—the meat is relatively cheap, up to 10 euros less per kilo than regulation cow.
In Seville, I am urged by my friend, Felipe, whose family breeds the prominent Núñez del Cuvillo fighting bulls, to taste rabo de toro (bull’s tail). I order a plate from a nondescript restaurant a short walk from the Plaza. It arrives as a glistening mess, served with roast potatoes similarly slick and greasy. The flesh has ditched the bone but its stubborn sinew needs a knife to free it completely. It’s sticky in the mouth, not offensively gamey, and rich like dessert. I am all for it.
As it turns out, I am one who appreciates the Spanish bullfight (despite all its uglies) and practices an Indian devotional meditation that honours the bovine. Weirdly, both render me undeniably present and in the moment. During each, the mind’s inane chatter is silenced and profound feelings flow.
To whit, being moved by a matador’s prelude to ritual killing is probably bad and speaks of my black heart and inner contradiction. I’m sorry. I’m out. And I’d like a cigarette, please.
July 13, 2015
Bullfighting: A celebration of death, and life
(by Robert Elms cnn.com 7-31-10)
The recent vote in the Catalan parliament to ban bullfighting in the autonomous north-eastern region has led many people to conclude that this ancient Iberian tradition is about to disappear due to a wave of animal rights sentiment throughout Spain.
Much of the impetus for the ban comes from the continued drive for Catalan separatism -- a way of distancing themselves from their hated cousins in Madrid who still flock to see the bulls in their thousands.
Just as the Spanish language is now frowned upon in Barcelona (on a recent trip I saw menus in Catalan and English, and was ignored when I spoke Spanish,) so this most potent symbol of Spanishness has been outlawed in an area where there was limited interest anyway.
As Barcelona was the only functioning ring in the entire province, this is little more than a symbolic snub, but it is still important for those of us who love the corrida -- like the many Spanish intellectuals, writers and artists who campaigned against the ban -- to put our case in favor of this unique event.
For me bullfighting is, as the poet Lorca declared back in the 1930's, "The last serious thing," a genuinely profound art form, which deals with matters of mortality and humanity, man's relationship with nature and the unavoidable fact that death comes as the end.
On the all too rare occasions when everything runs to plan, the men are brave, the bulls are noble and the crowd is focused, it becomes a hugely moving metaphor, a breathtaking dance where both man and animal are equal partners, and both face their fate, before the essential truth is revealed and the matador dispatches one of nature's most fearsome creatures.
It is a public celebration of death, and therefore of life.
In more squeamish countries we prefer the killing of bulls hidden away in the abattoir. We want to eat the meat but don't want to be confronted with the reality that this involves death.
In Spain, always a brutally honest land, they turn this relationship between man and the animals he breeds into a performance which elevates death into an art form.
But just as importantly, the life of the bull is also elevated. The Iberian fighting bull -- a thoroughbred animal, different in every aspect from its docile domestic cousin -- lives the life of an aristocrat.
Where bulls in Britain live lives measured in a few short months, often in factory farmed conditions, before meeting their ignominious end, the fighting bull must reach a minimum of four years of age, living entirely wild on the finest pasture in Spain, never even seeing a man on foot, before his date with destiny in the ring. I know which I consider more cruel.
Throughout most of Spain, and indeed in the south of France and throughout Latin America, there are still plenty of people who wish to see men in the glittering suit of lights step onto the sand with this beautiful animal and act out this time honored tragedy.
Sadly the people of Barcelona, and those who visit that beautiful but truculent town, have now been denied the opportunity.
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July 12, 2015
Bull decides not to take part in Pamplona
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/07/11/4-gored-running-of-the-bulls_n_7775590.html
One bull chosen to take part in Saturday's San Fermin festival took one look at thousands of thrill-seekers waiting to be chased down Pamplona's narrow streets and scampered back to the safety of his corral.
In a scene that confounded revelers and experts - and could have been scripted by Munro Leaf, who wrote "The Story of Ferdinand" - a reticent bull named Curioso I barely ran 20 yards (meters) before heading back.
Meanwhile, his five ornery stable-mates gored four revelers - including one 20-year-old American identified only by his initials A.G.O. - and injured five others with cuts and bruises as they hurtled through the northern Spanish city.
One bull charged into runners, goring one deeply in a thigh while cutting another runner's leg as it lifted its head.
Red Cross spokesman Jose Aldaba said four people received treatment after being gored while at least five others were recovering from bruises.
Kiko Betelu of the region of Navarra's medical service said three of the gorings were simple to treat but one of the injuries was deep and required surgery.
Normally six bulls run in the San Fermin festival, but on this occasion Curioso - a 1,180 pound (535 kilogram) beast belonging to the Jose Escolar breeding ranch - later had to be transported to the ring to join the other five.
Unlike the gentle, flower-sniffing Ferdinand, Curioso almost certainly won't get a chance to retire.
According to San Fermin experts commenting for state television TVE, the last time a bull turned back to the holding pen was in the 19th century.
The run covers 930-yards (850-meters) from a holding pen on the edge of town to the central bullring where the beasts - including Curioso - face matadors and almost certain death in afternoon bullfights.
The cobblestone streets of Pamplona were packed with thrill-seekers who had traveled to the northern city to take part in the annual San Fermin festivities. The weekend runs are traditionally the most popular and well-attended.
The nine-day fiesta was immortalized in Ernest Hemingway's 1926 novel "The Sun Also Rises."
Every morning of the festival at 8 a.m., the bulls race through the medieval streets accompanied by an equal number of large steers - each wearing a clanking cowbell - tasked with keeping the pack tight and galloping at an even pace.
This was the first time that breeder Escolar - whose heaviest animal was the 1,280 pound (580 kilogram) Costurero - had presented bulls for this festival that dates back to the late 16th century.
July 7, 2015
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