My final day of scouting was spent sweating through the narrow cobbled streets of Toledo. I followed a procession of drummers until the music stopped, ate venison and then boarded my return bus to Madrid and the plaza de toros.
I joined the other global works group for the evening at the bullring. We sat in the bleeders with the other tourists. Most of the kids left after the first bull was killed. It was clean as a brutal animal slaughter amidst a dance as one can imagine. The second bull did not fair so well and exited early with the cows.
And then came the third bull. It charged and kicked with its hind legs. The matador egged him on. They danced. The matador drew the bull nearer and nearer as he turned his back on the bull with his chest puffed like a proud bird. More dancing. Then, the bull clipped the matadors leg, staining his sequined outfit a deep crimson from chest to knee. The next charge was even closer. The bull got both of the matadors legs, flipping him head over heals a full three feet in the air. Advantage bull. He landed with a thud that we could hear from the upper level as the crowd drew to a whisper. Only a second passed before the matador got to his feet and showing no fear continued to show the cape. It ended the same as it always does, but the drama we witnessed left an indelible if not unsettling reminder of culture and drama in me.
My kids come tomorrow and then the adventure really begins. I have taken pictures, and will upload soon, I promise.
