We had bought tickets to the Bullfight two days earlier and had been assured, in halting English, that they were very good seats. We discovered just how good they were when we were ushered in and found ourselves right behind the matadors' pit with a bird's eye view of the whole arena and very close to the action.

Armed with the leather cushions we had been persuaded to rent to shield our backsides from the stone steps everyone except the President has to sit on, we settled down to satisfy our curiosity about this revered national custom which is a cornerstone of Spanish culture - indeed as Spanish as paella (pronounced pa-ye-la), sangria and flamenco all rolled into one!

The home of bull fighting in Spain and arguably the world, is the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas or more popularly just plain Las Ventas, as the Metro stop closest to it is called. With a capacity of 25,000 and an impressive 60 metres in diameter, it is the largest bullring in Spain and the 3rd largest in the world. It reminds us of the Roman Gladiator arenas in our son's Asterix comics. The famous bullring is today packed full of die-hard fans; judging from the crowd participation, and probably includes several curious (Funke Aboyade says bloodthirsty!) tourists like us. Certainly the couple next to us - photography freaks from Germany, fall into this latter group judging from the number of photographs they took - at least a hundred; including a couple of Yomi and I!

The bullfighting season runs throughout the summer and ends in October each year, so we were lucky to catch one of the last fights of the season on October 11th. Bullfights, called corridas are held only on Sundays from 5 pm and last for roughly 2 hours. Just as we were wondering how we were going to get through the next 2 hours without any explanations whatsoever; given the average Spaniard's aversion to English, a friendly neighbour decided to give us a much appreciated insight and in very passable English too!

The bullfight is full of pomp and pageantry. It was clear to us that this is a ceremonial tradition with a set of rules and regulations that are strictly adhered to. For instance, if you arrive after a fight has started, you must wait in the foyer and watch the fight on a TV screen till it ends. The doors are only opened in between fights so as not to distract either the bull or, more importantly, the matador (which, literally translated, means killer).

Every bullfight is attended by the President or his representative, who conducts the corrida. This time it was a representative. He sat in the covered Presidential Box decorated with the Spanish flag and waved a white handkerchief on the dot of 5 pm to signal the start of the corrida. The music (yes music!) started up and the toreros marched in, in perfect harmony. The toreros are comprised of the matadors and their 6 assistants - 2 picadors (lancers) mounted on horseback; 3 banderilleros who are flag men and a sword page called a mozo de espada. The sword page hands the matador his swords in the final stage. There were 4 matadors with 6 assistants each on this particular day so you can imagine the procession. They were all ceremonially dressed in gold braided jackets over sparking white shirts and trousers that look like riding breeches, with funny looking caps that reminded me of the French army under Napoleon Bonaparte. The suit is called a traje de luces (suit of lights) and the matadors' suits (of course) were the most flamboyant. They all marched towards the Presidential box and bowed before proceeding to the pit.

Depending on their performance at the last bullfight, the matadors are either wildly applauded or heavily heckled and booed, to the appreciation of the people around them who dissolved into hysterical laughter. We were lucky to have at least one previous bad performer marching in, so we observed the booing at close range. "It must have been a really bad fight," we commented in amusement. "Yes it was", replied our "guide" with a smile, who told us he had not missed a fight this season! Talk about die-hard.

Anyway, the first fight started with the banderilleros taking their positions at various spots around the arena holding bright pink capes. The band started to play and all eyes turned to the gate of the pen where the carefully selected bulls are kept. Contrary to the popular opinion that this is meant to enrage the bull, these manoeuvres are apparently used to observe the bull's condition and reactions to determine whether he is fit to fight. One of the banderilleros stepped forward to receive the bull and this signalled the start of the 1st stage of the fight. The flag men stood close to wooden boards dotted around the arena which are like shelters. After they move into the centre of the ring to goad the bull into charging towards them by a combination of flag waving and taunting sounds, they run towards the board and hide behind it when the bull charges. Then another banderillero calls for the bull's attention and he charges in a different direction.

By this time Yomi's anticipation was high. I was more nervous than anything else. Don't ask me what I was doing there if I was going to get nervous so early in the day. "I hope none of these flag men fall down before they get to the shelter o," I nervously commented to Yomi. "Ah, won ti di suya ni yen!" he gleefully responded. Luckily no one fell, although there were some rather tense, albeit hilarious moments. One banderillero, having come thisclose to the bull and failing to stab it, had to make a mad dash for it when the bull charged for him. In his desperation he threw down his sword and literally ran for dear life, scaling the perimeter fence and landing on the first row of the spectators' seats in the process, much to the amusement of the hardened fans. To his credit though, he went back in immediately, although he never really summoned up the courage to approach the bull again. It was a reminder that bullfighting is indeed a dangerous sport.

The 1st stage went on for about 10 minutes, with the banderilleros darting here and there and the bulls charging in all the directions it was being goaded into. All this while the matador was standing by the sidelines, observing and studying his "opponent". Suddenly the music changed and this heralded the entrance of the 2 picadores- the horseback lancers. Apparently this happens when the President waves his white handkerchief again to signal the end of the 1st stage and the beginning of the second.

The appearance of the picadors was a spectacle in itself. They can only be described as knights in shining armour. The picador has to come close to the bull to use his long lance to weaken the bull's neck muscles, making the bull lower its head to reduce the potency of its charges. Because of the proximity, the horses also wear a heavy armour to protect them from the bull's deadly horns. Prior to its introduction in 1930 a corrida would normally end with more dead horses than bulls and watching the bulls attack the picadors, it was easy to see how. The bulls are so strong that each charge practically lifts the horse and its rider off its feet. The horses are also blindfolded, presumably to prevent them from seeing the danger coming. This stage takes about 5 minutes, after which the lancers ride back out again.

By this time it was obvious that the bull was tiring and we didn't need to be told that the end was near. The music changed and the matador entered the centre of the ring for a final face off with his most able opponent. This is where the skill of the matador must come into play as he manoeuvres the bull around his body with panache, brandishing his cape with a flourish as the crowd responds with a shout for each successful move. All this while the matador was within touching distance of the bull and I couldn't really understand the psychology of it. "How can he be this close and the bull is not taking advantage?" I wondered. I could see that one wrong move could result in the matador being gored. But the antics of the matador were a sight to behold. It seemed to me to be as much a science as it is an art. Here also the matador's personal traits come into play and contribute to his popularity. One matador in particular was more daring than the others, frequently turning his back on the bull to demonstrate his mastery over it and eliciting enthusiastic applause from the crowd. His every move was flamboyant and exaggerated and punctuated with arrogant tosses of the head. Yomi, cynical as ever, remarked "Eh, sakara oloje. On s'ako n siyin. To ba gun e n 'di wa mo " (Literally meaning, you're playing to the gallery now, if it gores you in the backside, you will know!) Our guide wanted to know what that meant; Yomi said he was admiring the matador, which of course elicited peals of laughter from me.

Prior to the final stage the banderilleros ran around the bull trying to stab short brightly- coloured barb sticks into its back. Remember when I said the banderillero ran for dear life? This was the time. The bull has to receive 3 of these before the matador makes the final approach. After facing the Presidential box and signalling for permission to kill the bull, the matador exchanged his cape for his sword and as the band struck up another type of music, he thrust it in between the bull's shoulder blades and into its aorta, finally killing it. This is the most dangerous part for the matador and not all of them are able to achieve it. The other 2 matadors had varying degrees of success, some killing in 2 strokes while 1 had to be finished off by the assistants. The final blow should be dealt in 1 stroke and the sword has to be buried to its hilt. It is only then that the matador can be said to have conquered the bull and "won" the fight. 2 strokes are barely acceptable and anything more is a loss. If the matador doesn't kill the bull with his sword the 1st time, he has to use another type of sword a descabello, which kills the bull quickly so it doesn't have to endure a slow death.

There were 8 fights in all - each matador fought 2 bulls each and predictably, our "sakara" guy remained the crowd's favourite, judging from the number of handkerchiefs that were waved when he stepped out to take his final bow before they all processed back out. He had apparently done well in previous fights also. It was interesting to note that the entire corrida was directed from the Presidential Box. Different coloured handkerchiefs were used to signal various things like the beginning, end or extension of a particular stage and also to issue warnings, particularly when the killing of the bull was taking too long. The Orchestra also took their cues from the Presidential Box, changing the music according to the activity taking place. For those who know, the music is an indication of the stage of the fight and what is going on in the arena; kind of like a talking drum, if you understand the lingo.

In a sense, a bullfight is like an aesthetic ritual rather than a competitive sport and the bulls are treated with a lot of respect by bullfighters and spectators alike. Whilst the outcome is rarely in doubt, the bull is perceived as a worthy adversary rather than a sacrificial victim and therefore deserving of respect. Bulls, apparently, should never be underestimated as they learn very fast. A matador must therefore conquer his foe before it begins to thrust its horns at him, rather than the cape.

Gory? Yes. Barbaric? Maybe. Exciting? Absolutely. Will we do it again? Probably not. We just wanted experience a Spanish bullfight before it's finally banned. Bullfighting is (perhaps justifiably?) criticised by many as a cruel, barbaric blood sport in which the bull suffers a slow tortuous death. Spanish animal cruelty laws have abolished most blood sports and though they specifically exempt bullfighting, many believe it's only a matter of time. It is difficult to gauge how many people in the audience were tourists like us and how many were local aficionados. But if public opinion continues to worsen and tourists stop attending, the number of bullfights may begin to diminish. As for us we strolled out of Las Ventas happy in the knowledge that we'd "been there; done that not going back!"