Maaaadrrrrrrid! Madrid was amazing! The city was so much different than Barcelona, it was cleaner, more open and I felt it was way less touristy.
We arrived at Madrid airport on the morning of June 30th. And I am pretty sure I slept through the entire forty-five minute fight, including take off and landing [my two favorite parts] … needless to say I missed the in flight snack but woke up in time for the plane taxing to our gate. Soon we were exiting the aircraft and headed for our baggage in the new terminal four.
Terminal four didn’t sound like a bad place to be, up to date, state of the art technology and no lines in sight. But the confusion pretty much started when we had no idea how to get from terminal four to the metro station located somewhere in the Madrid airport. It didn’t take long of poor Chris lugging his bags around before I asked how to get to the Metro stop. We had learned that we needed to catch a bus from terminal number four to terminal numbers one and two. After a short seven minute bus ride from the middle of what seemed to be the largest construction site I have ever seen, off in the horizon, like a mirage, appeared the rest of the Madrid airport. Ok so it wasn’t all that bad but after weaving our way through the labyrinth like halls of terminals one and two we found the escalators that would take us to the metro. Once we were there from the map I could tell that we only had to transfer trains twice, which was more than good enough for me.
After our two transfers we emerged form the metro station and immediately could see out hostel. It was such a relief to see that we weren’t going to have to navigate our way through mid-day traffic with our bags and a crumpled map. In the heart of the city we arrived at Hostel Metropool with bags strapped to every inch of our bodies and sweet running down our faces, backs, arms, legs, toes, fingers, finger nails and necks. This hostel was pretty cool; it was an older building right in the heart of the city, practically near everything in walking distance. Despite the amazing location there were a few draw backs, like no air condition and everlasting noise from the street.
It didn’t take long before Chris and I were out and about walking the streets of this beautiful city. In our three glorious days, Chris and I explored the Madrid Palace, the local cathedral and many of the hottest tourist [trap] shops in town! Also during stay we were able to take in some great Picasso art, the royal gardens and a variety of beautifully crafted churches. One of the highlights to the stay happened on the last night to our great adventure. We attended a real live bull fight, full on no stops. Call out the cavalry and sound the horns, the bulls were selected and the matadors were dressed and we had front row seats to see it all go down.
I have never really known much about bullfighting, only a wee bit thanks to the MTV reality TV show “Road Rules.” Where season six cast members took on baby bulls with red capes and paint to mark where they would have potentially stabbed the bull, had they been real matadors.
We purchased our amazing tickets a day before the event and only paid five euros to sit in the front row just to the left main rings exit. This turned out to be the place where all of the action would ultimately end up taking place. The matadors were decked out in head to toe in vibrant colors and intricately embroidered jackets and pants. Glittering pieces of intertwining embroidering cascaded down the sides of the skin tight knee length pants and across the shoulders, arms and backs of the cropped jackets. These outfits were part of the bull fighting legacy and the image was nothing short of tradition and awesomeness.
As the fight began trumpet players indicated the start of the show and all at once the huge wooden doors across the stadium opened wide to reveal 5 bull fighters and their numerous assistance, six men riding horses. The horses just happened to be heavily armored and not to mention masked, and two other old guys on horse back with feathers in their hats.
When the first bull was released it bolted from the wooden doors and straight into the center of the stadium. As the bull darted across the arena’s dirt floor bits flew into the air leaving a trail in the wake of its path. The four “helpers” coaxed the already tagged [stabbed with some ribbon trough the hole] bull from one side of the stadium to the other. After receiving the bull’s full attention and it’s head on charge the men would dart behind the wooden partitions, safeguarding them from the bull’s fierce and intense anger. The bull’s fiery temper was worn down by these men darting in front of and behind these wooden barricades. After several passes the trumpets sounded again, the larger oversized wooden door opened to reveal two men on horseback. The horses were covered with thick “armor” and blindfolded. The armor pretty much consisted of a thick yellowy orange blanket and the man that rode the horse was carrying a large pole with a sharp pyramid shaped tip of metal at the end. After parading around the edges of the arena the men came to a stand still and one took aim, raising the pole above his head and briskly jammed it into the bull’s backbone in the same location that the tag was strung from.
The bull reacted by ramming into the horse with the intent of pushing his horns into the horses body. At one point in the match the bull was able to overturn the horse and rider. The bullfighters quickly came to the horseman’s rescue and were able to draw the bull away from the struggling man and his horse.
After the men on horseback left the ring the bullfighter’s helpers took center stage again. This time they were no longer armed with capes/ponchos but rather poles that they held with the tips of their fingers and once again took turns sticking them into the bulls back while avoiding the two horns coming straight at them. After the three men stabbed the bull it was time for the most familiar part of the fight to begin.
The matador emerged form the side of the ring and slowly walked to the center of the ring took off his hat and placed it on the ground. Soon he was taunting the bull getting it to chase after his bright red poncho. The matador would slowly inch toward the bull and with no fear at all get the bull to follow the poncho back and fourth in a rhythmical almost dance. After several passes the matador removed the silver sword which he had been hiding beneath the red poncho, squared up with the bull and took aim. The same spot that everyone else had been aiming for [just above the bulls shoulder blades on the top of the bulls back] was the matadors mark. With one sweeping move he stepped forward and shoved the sword into the wounded bull, and with in seconds the bull struggled for steps and fell to the ground. It wasn’t long before a team of horses came into the ring and drug the dead bull away.
During our bull fighting show we saw six bulls beaten by the matadors and two bulls be saved by the crowd.
The very next morning we boarded the plane at 11:30 bound for Atlanta. I was looking forward to this 9 hour flight, strange but true. Looking at my watch I kept flicking it back and fourth between St. Louis time and Prague time, whishing I could be in both places at once. My Timex iron man had been strapped to my arm for only a short while, since my other one broke. But it still felt like it have been there for and eternity. Now it wouldn’t be long before I was resting in my own bed with my own sheets in my own house. However, even when I did arrive safe and sound in my home everything felt strange everything felt unfamiliar. But the most comforting thing was that Milo remembered me, like I had never been away. I dropped my stuff off in the basement and was ready to unpack for the last time. Ah it felt good to be home. This had been a great end to a great adventure, meeting wonderful people, seeing and experiencing wonderful things.
