Chapter 123: Red Bull

nerd blog post #134

Well at least the farm isn't bah-ring! So much happens every day that it's hard to even think of what to write about.

After Marie's departure, I moved into the caravan. I love it in there. My old bed was a high one, about 3 feet from the ceiling. A foot above my head was the mosquito net, which meant I couldn't even roll over without being suffocated in the smelly thing. So I was happy to move into my own place, where I could sort of unpack (there was no space in the old place, my suitcase was on my bed with me) and have some more privacy. I have decided that I would like to live in a caravan one day, at least for awhile. It rules.

As I mentioned in the last post, Gemma likes company, and last Saturday night (Marie was still here), she announced that that night, we would go to the discotheque. Huh!? Okay! So we all got ready on our own. The three others were near strangers to me. It had been under two weeks since my arrival, so was a weird thing to be doing. Plus, the age range is 31 years. Strange. Still, I put on my clubby clothes and heels and exited my room. I was met with the other three, and we were quite the funny group. Latoya was dressed to impress, with loads of make up, thigh-high leather boots, a small shirt. Marie wore her usual runners and baggyish jeans and a t-shirt. And Gemma had her white Michael Jackson pants, the outside seam unbuttoned. I laughed out loud several times in the evening thinking of the absurdity of it all, and wishing I had a friend to be there and witness the awkward hilarity of the evening. We went to a club in Montijo, a nearby town, and hung out in the Spanish music room. There, sexy cops taught us routine dances and we drank various bevies. We danced our faces off until 5am. It was great fun. We all danced with the Portuguese men, even Gemma. She also let her waist-length hair out of it's tight-knit braidbun. It was one of the funniest nights of the year.

Last night, Latoya and Gemma and I went to Lisbon for a bullfight. I debated going. I dig animals and not animal cruelty. But it's a wishy-washy area. It's a cultural event that dates back 250 years and is mainly to showcase Lusitano horses, and brave men. There is also a lot of myth that surrounds how the bulls are treated. I did some research before agreeing to go, and then decided that it was a once in a lifetime type of thing, and that I should go and then decide how I feel about it.

There were protestors outside of the arena, and I was glad to see them. It shows that while it is a national pasttime, it's also controversial, and people should be thinking about it in a critical way. Still, I didn't join them, but handed my ticket to the man and went to my seat.

We had great seats. They were the cheapest ones and near the top, but we had a railing right in front of us and were directly opposite of where the bull is released (like being across from home plate). Last night was a speshy gala night, so there was a huge processional parade beforehand, where everyone was introdued with their horses and in traditional outfits etc etc. And then there were six "rounds" or whatever. Basically, a man on a horse comes out with two helpers (who wave the sheet thing) and then the bull is released from behind doors. The bull has been annoyed, so comes out disoriented and angry. Then the man puts spears in the bull's back and it bleeds a lot. Then the man switches horses. Rinse and repeat a few times. Then a line of men come out and all try and tackle the bull. They sometimes try several times. Then they send out a herd of cattle who try and get the bull back into its area. Then a new man and a new bull and new everything, but the same.

The poor bull!! Kind of, but actually I didn't feel so badly for it. The bulls are four or five years old and have spent their lives in a large field with their buddies. If they're right for the fight (weighing over 600 kgs, perfect horns, etc), they are taken that day to the bullring, annoyed behind the doors, spend 20 minutes angry and getting stabbed, and then are taken to the meat factory. The alternative is not making it to the bullring, and going to the meat factory. So really, it's a different fate of one day. If the bull is really good, he has the chance to be stitched up and used for breeding. Also, the area of the back that is stabbed is really fleshy, so bleeds easily, and has less nerves that the rest of their bodies. While watching the bull, it was as if he was stung by a mosquito, not stabbed with a spear. They didn't get weaker or even seem to tire really. So I don't think there's much pain. And they can only be released into the ring once, otherwise they'd know what to expect. So whatevs.

Really what was astounding was how macho it all was. I'm supposed to cheer for a man on a horse who has been doing this professionally for years? A man who is smarter than any bull, knows what to expect, and is riding a horse that will always be faster and has done this countless times? Um, no thunks. The bull is totally confused, having been uprooted from his green pasture hours ago only to be thrust into mayhem, and I'm supposed to be happy for the man who's attacking him? It's absurd.

I enjoyed seeing the bullfight. It was an event, it was highly theatrical, and it was a night out (that went from 10pm until 3am!) in Lisbon. So no regrets going. But I definitely had my full of bullfighting and I think it's a weirdo and unnecessary "sport."

Otherwise, life is continuing just fine. My time is running out, so I should go. Hope this finds you all well!

Much love,
Hincks.