Blood and sunshine - bullfight in Malaga

On a blisteringly hot day in Malaga in the summer ofsun or the shade with the latter obviously being the
2001 whilst away learning Spanish in the Andalusianmost coveted and therefore most costly. As the
city, I resolved to see my first bullfight. With myafternoon sun cast its light over half of the arena, I
father being a long time Spanish teacher I had oftenlooked around and noticed that the bullring was by no
heard about his trips to the bullfight with his studentsmeans full as the first bull came skidding and pounding
and I also had vague recollections of a televisionout of the enclosure. I was at once struck by the
programme watched whilst on holiday in northernsheer size and power of the creature, specifically
Spain commemorating the death of a matador - abred to be as aggressive and unpredictable as
horrific goring was a shocking sight to an eight yearpossible and weighing somewhere in the region of
old boy and had left me with mixed feelings about600kg. Straight away the giant animal crashed into
ever going to a bullfight. Part of me attracted by thethe wooden fencing surrounding the bullring, smashing
spectacle and what it symbolises in Spain's culturala hole and rendering itself unfit to fight on account of
heritage, and part of me reviled slightly as a youngit's injuries. A replacement bull was sent out and the
man with a fairly weak stomach for gore and blood.spectacle was underway at the second time of
Tickets were secured early in the afternoon for aasking. I sat back with my bag of sunflower seeds
surprisingly large price. I discovered prices variedand my beer (trying to look the part at least) to
massively depending on whether you're sitting in thewatch the drama unfold.