¡Olé!

I've eaten plenty of jamón and went to a flamenco show, so the one major Spanish tradition I had left to experience was a bullfight. Despite the ethical problems and animal cruelty, I knew I had to see at least one during my year here, and I'll admit I was excited to go. Bullfighting here in Spain can be pretty controversial, since there are a lot of people who don't agree with it (it's even outlawed completely in the Canary Islands and Cataluña). I had always thought of it as a dying sport, but the almost packed stadium corrected that misconception.

The Plaza de Toros is an impressive building that really stands out against the many apartment complexes that surround it. There are always a group of six people, los toreros, who fight the bull: three assistants, two on horseback, and then the one who gives the final blow. Typically they'll go through six bulls in one afternoon, which seems to me like a lot to watch (I made it through three). The three assistants rile the bull up by basically teasing it, while the toreros on the horses stab it with these long spears. So at this point, the only creatures being hurt are the bull and the horses who have to bear his wrath. Then, the assistants take turns putting hooks into the bull's back, just to prepare him for the final part.

Honestly, it's not easy watching the poor bull get impaled by hooks, but what made it worst was the first bull didn't even want to be there. He seemed afraid of the toreros, and instead of fighting back with them was just trying to get away from their unprovoked attacks. That especially made it seem cruel, and by the time the final man came out, I was ready for him to just end the bull's suffering. Once that final sword is plunged through the back--and through the heart if it's done right--the bull just shrinks away while the torero continues to taunt it, like an annoying opponent who wins and then has to rub it in your face. If they have to kill it, can't they at least let these beautiful animals die with a little dignity?

Pre-gore

After the first show, it was obvious the bull was very unevenly matched. The torero's job is definitely dangerous, since they are literally inches away from this charging monster, but they can also cowardly run behind walls to get away. After the first show I was feeling more sympathetic toward the bull and was rooting for him, until he actually fought back. Watching the bulls suffer and bleed is difficult, but so is witnessing another human being thrown over the animal's horns and then trampled under his massive body. It was scary to watch, but he was apparently unscathed enough to get back up and continue the fight.

Before going, I was pro-bullfights. They may be barbaric, but it's a part of Spanish life that I can appreciate as cultural, since it really is considered an art more than anything by those who do it. Now I'm not sure how I feel about them. The bull dying wasn't even what really upset me, since I knew beforehand about that. But the humiliation of the bull that's involved and the prolonged torment is what I don't like, and I wish it could be more of a fair fight as if between two rivals. Whatever I feel, I don't see it going away completely any time soon. 

It's Istanbul, Not Constantinople

April was not a good blog month. Between traveling, lots of visitors, and getting the flu, there was just no time to sit and reflect about everything going on around me. It makes me sad, because this blog is really important to me, and the next few months are only going to be more hectic. I'm going to start with the most recent activities in my life and work back (hopefully quickly), as I don't want to forget any of it.

Our beautiful, springtime "death march"

To escape the spring showers of Madrid, Amanda, Kimiko, and myself made use of another one of the many Spanish holidays for a week-long excursion to Istanbul, the cultural and economic center of Turkey, and the only major city in the world to sit on two continents. But before arriving, we were able to make use of a 10 hour layover in Munich and experience a little bit of Germany. At the moment, Germany's economy is supporting the rest of Europe, and it's interesting that in my short time in just one city I could see how efficient everyone was. Just in the way their airport security works or how the metro is laid out, I got the impression that Germans are really on top of it. Of course, we didn't have time to see much in one day, but we were able to visit Dachau, the first concentration camp built by the Nazis. We traversed the same 4km path where SS Guards would march the new arrivals from the train to the camp gates--although I can't imagine it looking so green and floral 75 years ago. Dachau itself was haunting, but you really had
to stop and put yourself in the mind of a terrified, confused, powerless, even hopeful prisoner to fully grasp the gravity of such a heinous place.

Hagia Sofia, an ancient Byzantine cathedral turned
mosque by the Ottomans

After the most exciting layover of my life, we finally arrived late that night in Istanbul. I am definitely cursed when it comes to airport arrivals, and here we ended up missing the last train of the metro we had planned to take, so we were forced to figure out shuttle and taxi services while trying to make sure we weren't being ripped off (which we were). The next day, and every day in the city after, had the most perfect weather you could imagine: warm, bright, and sunny, but still cool enough to wear the required long pants and sleeves to enter the mosques without getting heat stroke. And there are plenty of mosques to see. Looking over the city skyline, you can see minarets popping out between almost every other building. In a predominantly Muslim city of over 13 million people, I guess a lot are necessary. We were able to see three of the most famous ones, one that is a museum now (Hagia Sofia) and two that still function as places of worship (Sultanahmet and Süleymaniye). All of them were incredible buildings, and there's no way words or pictures can do them justice. 


We had to do the touristy things, like visiting palaces, eating Turkish delight, and a bus tour of the city, which was all very nice (except the Turkish delight). The May Day demonstrations were definitely different from protests I've seen in Madrid. Here, you went through a metal detector and police search just to enter the main city square where speeches were being made. I hardly even notice police officers in Madrid during marches, but it was impossible to miss the fully-equipped riot police stationed at every corner, ready to enter a scene in a moment's notice. A four lira (less than 2€) ferry ride carried us to the nearby Prince Islands in the Sea of Marmara, where automobiles are prohibited and everyone gets around by foot, bike, or horse and carriage. We opted for the bikes, expecting a pleasant ride along the water but actually discovering uninterrupted hills that seemed to defy physics by always going up and never going down--the struggle definitely had me worried about returning to triathlons next fall. We were able to rest on our own little private beach though, which definitely made it worth all the trouble. 

Prince Islands Beach

Desperate for another beach day after living in a landlocked city for so long, we crossed the river over to Asia and took an hour and half bus ride to a beach town called Şile on the Black Sea. It reminded me a lot of Half Moon Bay in some ways: beach houses on the hills overlooking the water, quaint downtown area, and completely overcast. The sun had left us back in Istanbul, so we walked along the water instead of actually swimming in it. 


After visiting Morocco, it was nice to get another perspective of a Muslim country by visiting such a completely different location. In Istanbul, many women didn't cover their hair, we saw couples holding hands and kissing along the river (even a gay couple), and alcohol was readily available in almost any grocery or convenience store. Marrakech was almost the opposite in these regards, the same way most smaller towns in any part of the world are usually more conservative than a cosmopolitan city. Although in my opinion, Marrakech was cheaper and had better food. 

Flying out just at daybreak and watching the sun as its rays stretched over the sea to rouse the earth, I felt a pang of jealousy for the people below who are able to wake up every morning in this other world. I looked back once more at the smoggy city, and saw, as our new Turkish friend would say, Istanbul getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller.