When we first started researching for our trip to Madrid, there were two big items that we knew we wanted to do while we were there: check out the impressive art museums and watch a live bullfight. Oddly enough, we checked both of those off our itinerary within a few hours of each other, which made for a very stereotypical "Spanish" day on...
Day 4
Madrid, Spain
Highlights: Museo Nacional del Prado, Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Las Ventas
The third attraction we booked through Julia Travel was a guided tour through the Prado, a massive art museum with the greatest collection of works by the Spanish masters. Although the tour started much earlier than we would have liked (right when the museum opened!), we made our way via the metro and arrived in plenty of time. However, upon arrival, we could not find the meeting point for the tour and wandered around aimlessly for at least 30 minutes, asking clueless security guards and other guides for directions.
Eventually, the start time for our tour came and went as I threw a temper tantrum on a nearby bench and Wheat frantically ran around the museum looking for the guide. Just as we were about to leave, an older gentleman approached us and asked in heavily accented English if we were the Hotchkiss family. I nearly cried as he explained that he was our guide and the rest of the group (except for another straggler he had tracked down) was already inside.
After waiting in a long line for security (in which we encountered a man dressed as a dog) and several embarrassed apologies to the rest of our group, we began the tour. When I say the Prado is massive, I mean it. Over the course of the next hour and a half, we did a fast and furious blitz of the highlights of the museum that caused my parents to fizzle out halfway through and another person to pass out. Hardcore for an art museum, eh?
The museum itself was overwhelming. I don't claim to be an art connoisseur, but thanks to my Spanish studies, I was familiar with many of the highlighted artists and even some of the artwork. I've learned about the museum's crown jewel, "Las Meninas" by Diego Velázquez, since my junior year of high school, so it was pretty surreal to finally see it outside of a textbook. Unfortunately, photography wasn't allowed in the museum, but other highlights included:
- "The Garden of Earthly Delights," a triptych by Hieronymous Bosch
- "Second of May, 1808" and "Third of May, 1808," wartime paintings by Francisco Goya
- "Bearded Woman" by Jusepe de Ribera
- "Nobleman with his Hand on his Chest" by El Greco
By this point, my parents were absolutely whooped, but Wheat and I still had another painting to cross off our artwork bucket list. (That's not a real thing. We don't actually have one of those.) Fortunately for us, the Reina Sofía art museum, which specializes in 20th century works, was not only open that day, but also offering free admission. While my parents waited at a nearby outdoor cafe, Wheat and I waited in a line that stretched around the building. Once inside, we booked it straight for the museum's pièce de résistance and the reason we wanted to go, Pablo Picasso's "Guernica."
Of course, the museum doesn't allow you to take photos of it, but "Guernica" was absolutely worth the wait. The sheer size of the painting (11 feet tall and 25 feet wide) was staggering and we spent quite some time pointing out various details in the mural that revealed the violence and suffering that Picasso hoped to convey. Once we'd had our fill, we did a quick pass through some of the other exhibits in the museum, including a room of Salvador Dalí works, before going outside to meet my parents.
After a couple hours of rest in the apartment, we anxiously set out for Las Ventas, the famous bullring in Madrid. I say "we," but it was likely just me and my mom who felt nervous for the impending bloodbath. The metro conveniently dropped us off immediately outside of the imposing circular building and we ventured inside to find our seats in the shaded (thus more expensive) section of the ring.
I have to preface this with a few words: I've spent most of my life learning about the Spanish language and culture, including bullfights. When I booked our flight to Spain, I knew that I wanted to attend a bullfight, if only to have a firsthand look at the polarizing tradition. How else can you form your own opinion? However, after having witnessed the violence, I can easily say that I'm glad I went, but I'll never go again.
Contrary to popular belief, a bullfight is actually multiple bullfights. In fact, we saw three different matadors fight two bulls each...for a grand total of six dead bulls. And I can tell you - I was more than ready to go after the first one. I actually felt nauseous as I sat in the stands with tears streaming down my face. My mom and I found ways to distract each other with conversation rather than focus on the heartbreaking spectacle in front of us.
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| You can tell by my face it hadn't started yet. |
I will admit that the pomp and circumstance surrounding the bullfight was impressive. It started with a parade of the matadors, their helpers, and the picadores set to the sound of bugles. Each fight followed the same pattern: The bull is released into the ring, then taunted by the matador's helpers. The matador uses a cape to distract and lead the bull to certain areas of the ring while picadores on horseback use lances to stab the bull's neck and shoulders. This weakens the animal as it rams into the blindfolded, clueless, and armored horse. Bandilleros (without capes) stick poles with pointed tips and colorful flags into the bull's back as it continues to charge. The matador faces off one-on-one with the bull, using his iconic red cape to entice the bleeding animal to come dangerously close. The matador uses a long sword to stab the bull through the heart and kill him instantly as he makes his final charge.
Except that didn't happen. In fact, it took all of the matadors several horrendous attempts to finally kill the bulls. Most of the time, the sword would go in crooked or the bull would simply collapse to the ground in agony. The matador would then use a small knife to sever its spinal cord before a team of horses dragged the carcass out of the ring.
It was heartbreaking.
...and as I sat there crying, I was completely blown away by the cultural disparity between my family and the Madrileños in the crowd. They sipped beer, cheered raucously, shouted "Olé," and gave a standing ovation while waving white flags for one matador who supposedly performed well. Apparently, when the crowd responds that way and the president of the ring grants permission, the matador gets to cut off and keep the bull's ear as a memento.
Yeah, it was horrifying, but I also found myself wondering about the sports we value in America and the carnage it can do to athletes. Of course, athletes in America are willing participants in their sport, not helpless animals forced into their own slaughter. Fittingly, this happens every Sunday in Madrid.
Ultimately, I'm glad I went. Now, I can definitively say, with an informed opinion, that I don't support them. I understand that bullfights hold a deep, cultural importance in Spain (and parts of Latin America) that Americans can't grasp, but I saw more than enough to make up my mind.
...and my dad ordering an eel sandwich for dinner later that night did nothing to help assuage my nausea. Thank goodness for late-night hot tub soaks to reset the psyche.
So jealous you got to see "Las Meninas!" Have you seen Picasso's study of it in Barcelona?
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