CAPEA

I was invited to a capea recently and my first thought was, I'm not really a fan of bull fights. After second thought, and Alena insisting that in capeas the bulls don't die, I thought, what the hell, and went. I am never one to shy away from trying something I have never done before (This is how I end up eating cow brains in México or on an island in Belize that is inhabited by a drug cartel). To preface this, a capea is to Spain what a weekend bbq and pickup baseball game is in to us in the States. You get a bunch of people on a greyhound bus and take them outside of the city, start the bbq (grocery store burgers on baguette bread, of course), open the free bar, and let out the bulls. It becomes a free for all of guys showing off their masculinity, but dressed in nice jeans, button-up shirts and loafers. I guess if you get knocked around by the bull you might as well look nice.

After a break of hamburgers and more sangría, Chio and I headed into the ring to check it out. We met Jaime, from Córdoba, who had been in there with the capote (the pink and yellow cape) from the beginning. He taught me how to hold the capote and how you drag it on the ground in front of the bull so he doesn't see your feet. Then they brought the cows out for a second round (since they were tired and were a lot tamer) and I decided to try my hand at it. Being one of the only Americans at the capea (there were five of us out of about 50 people) this brought on a ton of attention from everyone watching and chants of "la americana" followed suit, along with every guy in the ring telling me I have "cojones". In the end, Chio and I stayed there after the bus left to hang out with some of the people we met and for my valiant efforts in the ring they gave me a Spanish flag to take home. All in all it was definitely a cultural experience, and I found myself saying "only in Spain..." more than a few times during the course of the day.