here, there, everywhere

I never thought I'd voluntarily watch a bullfight, but when these (non-killing) ones were announced as part of the celebrations for Ollanta's town anniversary festivities, Iain and I figured, why not? It turns out bullfights in Ollanta go something like this: you show up at the town's tiny bullfighting ring at the what everyone said was the right time, and wait an hour before a marching band heralds the arrival of a random crowd of people who jog through the stadium and then leave: 

At least they were having a good time? 

A few minutes after them come the matadors (in pink socks!) and also a clown.

And then we all wait another fifteen minutes for the bull to show up, while the matadors pose for pictures and yawn, and vendors ply the crowd with yet more of the same ice cream, cotton candy and beer they've been selling for the past hour.

Finally, the first bull is eventually coerced into the ring. Waving of colored flags commences. 

The matadors do in fact wear very tight pants, were you curious.

Eventually the bull is lasso'd and dragged back out of the ring, much to (I'm assuming) its relief. Iain and I stayed for two fights, and then left; it turns out we missed some drunk guys jumping in from the crowd and one even getting mildly gored and then fighting with the police - something I think I'm okay with having missed.

So that was my first, and most likely my last, bullfight. I'm glad I saw it - and am extra glad that it was of the non-bull-killing variety - but mostly we just felt bad for the bulls and a bit freaked out by the idea of random people drunkenly hopping in the ring. Next time, I think I'm happy just to sit under the cork tree and smell the flowers.