The Confessions of a Peruvian Bullfighter

Gaby Varela explores the fine art of bullfighting in Peru, and speaks with a torero about dancing in and out of the ring.

The band sounded a valiant note calling spectators to their seats for the opening procession of the last bullfight of the season at Plaza de Toros de Acho in Lima, Peru, the second oldest bullring in the world.

The matadors entered the arena, waving their hats to greet the crowd, followed by banderilleros whirling their magenta capes. Picadors galloped in on horseback circling the ring, wielding decorative lances reminiscent of the streamer-wrapped batons I used as a child to attack piñatas at my birthday parties.

It was the first week of December and the fighters, who have trained intensely from a young age, came out that afternoon to display their talent in support of the Breast Cancer Institute of Peru. Each class of fighters would compete until the final duel between the matador and the toro. They approached on an introductory loop around the ring and I met their eyes as they passed, and nodding a salute like a proud parent.

Despite being the second most popular spectator sport in Peru (soccer is first), it was difficult to find someone to join me at the match. Several people declined my invitation, deeming the event inhumane. I began to wonder what divides us, between those who see a beautiful dance translating a fight for honor and courage and those who see only brutality. My own enthusiasm comes from the artistic cliché of finding bullfighting darkly poetic and visually tantalizing. I was enamored by descriptions in Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, seduced by the violent application of ink and pigment in Francisco de Goya’sdepictions of matches. Studying these works made me eager for a chance to attend a fight. In the stands, my excitement swelled as the cuadrilla made one final bow in unison. Time to begin.

Taking the center of the field, the proud matadors welcomed their colossal competitors with chests in the air, the crowd roaring with anticipation. The toros, fierce and Herculean, stormed out of the gates. Nostrils flaring, they charged their pointed horns toward the fluttering red of themuleta; the red cape arcing in a fan as the matador recoiled. Man and beast tangoed around the dusty ring as we watched, biting our nails as we awaited the first blow.

A fellow spectator pointed out the precision with which the sword is thrust, the emphasis on placement and technique for an honorable kill.

Although some people may be disenchanted, bullfighting is a national tradition in Peru and is respected as a fine art similar to painting or music.

I left the stadium curious if the life of a matador was as elegant and heroic as I had imagined, as it appeared on the field that day.

Like confronting any great piece of art, I was inspired by its artist.

I wanted to know if there were lessons on how to live my life; facing threats barreling toward me, I too hoped to evade them in swift, elegant, calculated steps.

A few days later, I had the pleasure of meeting such a bold gentleman. The 24-year old torero Fernando Roca Rey (right) has earned international recognition for his mastery of the sport. He joined me to share a coffee and discuss a torero’s experience in the ring. Fernando explains: “The bull is your partner, like a dance. The bulls are not trained or prepared, their instincts are to attack. It is about understanding your partner, and his attitude quickly in order to perform together.”

So what makes a good bullfighter?

“Style and technique. Over the years, you master these to clearly express yourself during a performance. I was classically trained.

Brave.” Fernando grew up watching his grandfather compete and has been bullfighting since he was thirteen years old. One wouldn’t think they had to teach much bravery to a child so eager to face a bull. However, according to him, he did not feel confident in the ring until much later.

“When I passed and became a matador, I was standing in front of the bull not thinking it was going to get me or that it is his domain. It had become an equal fight.” For Fernando it is this relationship, the communication through gesture and poise, that makes for a good performance. You read the bull quickly and anticipate the type of fight that is going to take place, responding with control and style. While watching the fight I enjoyed this playful pushing of boundaries; the tension of coming so close to contact but pulling away just inches before.

Gaby Varela