Spanish Flamenco Matadors (Seville)

Our first full day in Seville dawned bright and sunny and we headed off to our first pre-booked experience of life in the Andalusian capital. In our Spanish travels so far, we have wandered past a number of bull fighting arenas dear reader: Barcelona, Màlaga, Ronda... but we have not ventured inside one yet. Today, we were off to a self-guided tour of the arena in Seville where it is the last legal place to witness this controversial expression of Spanish culture. 

It would not be our cup of tea to actually attend one of these spectacles but they have been immortalised by writers such as Hemingway and, as the tour documented, the contests are steeped in tradition, built around honour for both the bravery of the matador and the power of the bull.

It seemed like a relatively straight forward path from our hotel to the arena but we allowed an additional 20 minutes so as to arrive the recommended 10 minutes before our booked time slot without having to rush. The aim was to observe what we found along the way to inform future planning for our time here.

Jayne continued to consult the street map as we walked, trying to locate street signs to confirm we were headed the right way. There were lots of grand buildings to look at and interesting things to see, including an entire platoon of soldiers, complete with automatic rifles who happened to be heading the opposite way along the footpath. We thought it best to give way to them since they outnumbered and out-gunned us.

The lack of street signage prompted us to confirm our position with Google. Instead on being closer to the  Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza,  we were in fact further away. Clearly we had taken a wrong turn so we headed across a park, now hurrying to make our 10am booking time.  

After 20 minutes of rushing past points of interest we would have to revisit later, we made it to the river that runs through Seville, where sadly there was a cruise ship docked. I thought we would be safe this far inland. Wrong. We turned towards the Plaza de Toros, arriving with a couple of minutes to spare.  Tickets presented and audioguide downloaded, we entered the inside corridors under the arena seating, to examine the various displays of artwork, posters and artefacts that chronicle the history of this Spanish iconic cultural phenomenon. 

There were no matador heads on display.

There were matadors outfits from famous contests as well as the taxidermied specimens of several revered bulls, some full bodies others were heads mounted on walls. I didn't any information regarding how many bulls won the contest. If any. 

An unnamed opponent.

Curiously, while all these were labelled and explained in the audioguide, nothing was written or said about the several displays of models human heads that were hanging from ropes amid the displays. Haven't read anywhere that human sacrifices were part of the process?

Flashy.

Further along, we saw the yards where the horses were prepared to be ridden out into the arena to commence the fights, the chapel where the matadors say their final prayers to calm themselves before entering the fray and then finally, we entered the arena itself. 

Horse feeding station.

Well almost. I wanted a shot of the passage into the arena. Sadly it was a day for the vapid and vacuous. Once the four ladies of a particular nationality who had taken 62 photos of each other and checked them carefully had moved to the side of the entrance, I had to contend with one last couple. 

Probably not worth the wait.

They were in the centre of the ring and continued to take still photos and then video of each other. Over and over and over. I managed to get the photos I wanted when they moved to the side of the ring. However, they dominated the ring for a full 30 minutes before moving to the stands where they continued to self-document their shallow lives. And she wasn't that good looking anyway. If medals were being awarded for this self-indulgent behaviour they would sweep the pool and be awarded gold, sliver and bronze.

You really had to be there.

The Plaza de Toros has a capacity of about 12,000 but today, it was virtually empty, except for a few groups of tourists most of whom were, it seemed, in total awe of where they were standing. You could always tell when a family group arrived because the kids all charged around the ring with their bull horn-fingers either side of their head. Most amusing.

The best seats are in the shade.

If you ever wondered about the authenticity of the bullfight, a quick look at the barriers that protect the matador from a raging bull would dispel any doubts. The barrier closest to the royal box was the one with the most damage because that is where the action would be centred.

Get behind the barrier.

Leaving the selfie crowd still taking photos of themselves, we thought breakfast might be a good idea. Down one side street and a couple of deft steps to get in front of a tour group and we found ourselves at the back of the Cathedral and outside a café. Time for espresso and tostados and to review the map to see where we were in relation to the hotel. 

Service, as appears to be the custom in Spain, is relaxed so it took a while to get served and even longer to get la cuenta. No worries, we weren't in a hurry and were able to watch the many tour groups being led around the Cathedral. This spectator sport also included several near deaths as the trams rattled down their tracks, stopping for no-one, especially stupid tourists listening to their guide at the exclusion of the rest of the world. Sadly the gene pool was not the winner today, but it was touch and go a couple of times.

We skirted around the Cathedral to observe the queue, hoping to gain entrance. It went around the corner. These were people queueing to buy entrance now and the line was barely moving. Toward the rear end of the Cathedral were two other queues, one for groups 😬 and the other for tickets purchased online. Again, neither were making any progress.

The front of the Cathedral.

Jayne spied a 'tourist information centre' which is code for, we sell you tours. In she went to enquire about the Cathedral. No deal. And the Palace? No deal. See, we might not have managed to be here for a major foot race (see Berlin, Barcelona) but we scored Spanish National Day and a long weekend. It is Christopher Columbus Day on Sunday and his remains are allegedly (it's disputed), in the Cathedral where there will no doubt be a huge mass (in both senses) in two days' time. Monday, is of course, a public holiday in lieu of Sunday. We haven't run across this many random closures since being in France in May - avoid it if you can.

The Cathedral, the largest Gothic Church in Europe, and the Palace have now been added to Alhambra as sites to pre-book for our next visitation to Spain. 

The tower at the rear of the Cathedral.

Suitably foiled, we walked back to the river to the Torre del Toro, or Golden Tower and checked out the required river crossing for tonight's Flamenco show. If ever a bridge was made for lovelocks it is this one and yet there was not a lock in sight. We turned back to the hotel and photographed some of the sites we had passed in our haste in the morning.

The Golden Tower.

It was beer time back at the hotel where we booked a sherry tasting for tomorrow and a tour of Córdoba. I mean we wouldn't want to miss out. We also checked out various tours to Alhambra from Seville and other places. Yes, we could have secured tickets but the prices were astronomical. The spectator sport in the hotel lobby, was watching some unrestrained children banging things on a table, screaming intermittently and smearing some sort of food stuff on the decorative mirrors. I mean you couldn't expect any of the six adults in the group to actually supervise them, could you?

Just after 6pm we left the hotel for the Baraka Flamenco Show. The tickets requested you to arrive 20 minutes early so you could be served your drink. Given Spanish pace of service, that made sense. We arrived at the appointed time and were seated next to a couple of Australians from Gladstone. The drinks were ready on the bar, well, jugs of Sangria were on the bar. I ordered two glasses of white wine.

The show was very up close and personal. The performance space was quite small and we were front row. There were three chairs behind the 'dance floor' one for the guitarist, one for the singer and one for one of the dancers, depending on what was happening. Flamenco is quite intense and extremely loud. My watch warned me several times that I was in a loud environment.

The facial expressions of the dancers, their movement and the plaintiff voice of the singer suggested the story was quite emotional. It was amazing to watch the dancers and the speed with which they could move their feet. The show lasted an hour and given the intensity, I doubt they could have continued much longer and there was a second show at 9pm.

At the conclusion, we bid farewell to our fellow Australians and crossed the river to walk back to the hotel. On the way we had to step aside to allow a marching band to pass. Totally normal. None of the restaurants peaked our interest on the way home so we opted for room service, after a day filled with Spanish culture and history.

The title today might be a bit obscure, but it suits the day. The Spanish Flamenco Matadors. Enjoy.

Until tomorrow.