Talk to me for an hour and you’ll probably catch on. I’m in love with love. Sometimes I yearn so strongly for that epic love story and my happily ever after. I feel as if I am bombarded with these tales of love and happily ever afters daily from movies, books, tv and the smiles on couples faces as they walk down the street hand in hand. Though I am no expert on the subject, I find it hard to believe that it could be that easy. That a knight-in-shining armor will come sweep me off my feet and everything will be complete. I meet lots of boys around the world, and every once in a while I cast them into the role of my prince charming but my life is never more complete for the encounter. Maybe I am looking in the wrong places for my happily ever after. I think instead that whether you choose to spend your life with a special someone or just alone you ultimately make your own happy ending. No other person can do it for you.
As friends settle down and take the next step I can’t help but wonder what I am missing out on. Some days I get lost in my yearning for a companion and focus so intently on finding this one specific love so much so that I become blinded to the love that surrounds me. As I walked the streets of Benavente this past week my heart was lightened as I soaked in the love of friendships that have formed over this year. The unconditional love that can survive long distance, survive long term or just provide the fleeting comfort in a moment of need. I realized as well how dearly I have come to love Benavente. The best part about falling for a place is that you’re never the one who gets left behind, you always leave on your own terms.
I have lived in Benavente for almost nine months now. I have come to love this calm, tranquil village-city dearly. Thus I was shocked when, for one week, Benavente transformed into an entirely new place. The streets filled with people and stayed full all night. The people no longer slept and life was put aside. It all began back in April. The people of Benavente congregated in the town center, flinging wine around like sprinklers. The mayor came out and they asked for a bull, chanting “toro, toro, toro!” “Yes!” He responds every year, and so it begins. Soon groups called “Peñas” began to form. These groups range in size, some having over 200 people. They are situated in warehouses transformed into party rooms. They make matching t-shirts, have dinners and serve drinks. During the week of the Toro these groups provide drinks, food and music to the lucky members, as well as passersby.
A Peña sign
Then June begins along with the fiesta. “I have never seen anything like this.” A fellow teacher responded as we walked into a 25-person class to find 3 seats full. Though it is not a holiday it seems universally accepted that students will not be attending classes. The young people often stay out for days, eating at the Peña, returning home only to shower.
The festival could not have taken place at a better time. A mere two weeks from saying farewell to Benavente this festival has been a culmination of my time here. I felt for once just how integrated I had become. I felt like the city had truly adopted me. Roaming the streets I couldn’t go far before running into a familiar face, be it student, friend or colleague. Although I was experiencing the “Toro” for the first time I didn’t feel like a tourist seeing “their” fiesta, I felt like this fiesta l was ours.
One of our favorite bar, El Ruedo
One afternoon, as I laid napping in my living room I was rudely awoken by the unofficial beginning of the fiesta. A loud BOOM sounded from the Plaza de Toros (bull ring), followed by several more announcing start of the bull fight. In Spain, as in any foreign culture, there are some traditions of which I’m not too fond. Bull fighting is one, thus I decided to pass up this experience.
The following day however was the bull competition. We arrived at the bull ring which was quickly filling with people. It felt oddly like a community baseball game. Families made their way down the bleaches with coolers of beer and umbrellas to block the sun. We all sat and stared at dirt for a while, waiting for the festivities to begin. Before too long the metal door was swung open and out charged a big brown bull. Men pole-vaulted and jumped over the bulls, dodged the bulls’ charges, cutting it as close as possible, and tried to touch the forehead. Though the bulls were not full grown they stood at about should height; enough to make me pee my pants if I had been inside the ring. I squealed when the bull charged, though the men made it out safe every time, jumping acrobatically over the walls of the bull ring. It was fascinating to watch and hard to judge. I mean I piss of cats and dogs all the time when we’re playing. This just seems far more balanced in the bull’s favor.
Bull Jumping
Monday was the official commencement; everyone gathered at the Plaza Mayor, the Peñas each in matching colors created a quilt-like pattern over the Plaza. Each Peña brought their band with them, each band lost in the cacophony. We stood at the outskirts to avoid the wine sprinklers. Friends walked past offering wine mixed with just about anything. Once the Mayor had announced the beginning of the 2010 Toro Enmaromado the Peñas filed out of the Plaza diffusing the party throughout the city.
Peñas at 3 am
Intoxicated by the energy of the people who filled the streets I managed to pull the typical Spanish all-nighter. Each Peña, armed with their personal band, paraded none stop throughout the city center all night, every night for the entire week. Though I was not a member of a Peña I was adopted by many, taking part in parades, learning the typical “toro songs” and dances. I felt in every way a part of Benavente.
Tuesday was the first bull run of many. Shaking in anticipation we made our way through the growing crowds. Courage was judged by your proximity to the gates; the farther the better. Crowds gathered in the middle of the street. Others packed tight in the corners, next to the gates but in the street, set up for a quick getaway. We sat this one out; trying in vain to see the bull through the rush of people that overtook the street as they ran from the bull. He was a big guy, weighing 480 k, but not very feisty. He was left free to run the track set up through the streets. A man was tossed down the street from us and people raced into the street to attract the bull. Whenever someone fell the people of Benavente made an amazing team. They began grabbing the tail, poking the bull, anything to distract it from the helpless man on the ground. After the one toss the bull moseyed more than ran. We studied the movements of the crowd. With every move the crowd surged forward and the streets were overcome with chaos until the runners realized that the bull has once again stopped. He stood on the corner for a while just sticking his tongue out at the people around him. Plan B for a slow bull is to send a heard of steers down the street for the bull to follow. And down they came.
After the bull passed the crowd filed into the streets to await the next round of bulls, though smaller there were multiple. Encouraged by the slow pace of the first bull my friend and I decide to stand in the street for these guys. He went down the street so that he could run. I joined the crowd in the corner and set myself just right for a quick getaway. Looking around me there were women nicely dressed, others in sandals. Yeah, I could do this. Suddenly the street broke into chaos once more. The atmosphere became immediately charged as a wave of people ran toward me. In the chaos I turned for the gate, now packed with the others standing around me, but I had only one thought, get through that gate. Panicked I pushed and shoved my way through, stuck my camera high in the air and start clicking hoping to catch my friend. These bulls were much faster than the first, they didn’t stop. Runs like this continued all week. Every bull with a mind of its own, some fast some slow.
The next round of bulls was the “tied-up” bulls. They come in two sizes, the big bull for adults and the small yet equally terrifying bulls for children. They have a long rope tied around their horns so that they can be led through the streets since the gates are not put up for this run. To be touching the rope is a great test of courage. In the morning we braved the small bull; joining families, and children to run through town with a small and somewhat harmless bull. As harmless as a bull can be. We even ventured forward to touch the rope. Filled with courage I began to inch closer for a better photo, closer and closer, feeling safe as long as there were people between me and the bull. Suddenly he made a quick movement and the crowd backed up. I found myself front and center, not where I wanted to be. I lost all thought of photos and I shimmied back into the crowd. Little bull or not he was still a bull. After this fright you’d think that I had learned my lesson.
For the next “children’s” bull I went along with a local friend. He has this down to an art. Having lived here his whole life he knows where to stand and how to read which direction the bull will head. “I don’t run” he stated matter of factly. This I would soon discover was a lie. It turns out he does run when the bull is charging at him. Smart guy. As the bombs began to sound warning the release of the bull my heart raced. We were standing right outside the door. “Don’t worry” he said, “it usually doesn’t come this way.” “But it could” his friend chimed in. I felt no better. As the bull exploded into the street I let the crowd pull me back with it, but my friend called to me to come closer. I inched warily towards him and sure enough the bull passed right in front of us, and not an inch closer.
The Bull
I followed him to the next spot, standing back towards the wall. This time I felt out in the open. We were on a street void of doorways to run into or fences to climb. My heart raced at the thought, if the bull comes down our side of the street there was nowhere to go. I stood with the other Americans. We were curious. I was feigning bravery. The rope appeared, on our side of the streets, normally a good indication of where the bull will head. The crowd surged towards us, my heart was racing, the bull turned and sure enough, as Victor had guessed, he passed close but far enough away.
We all felt brave after this last encounter. My friend sure knew what he was doing. We headed to our last spot. Emboldened by our last safe encounters we headed up the narrow street. By this point the bull was tired and the movement was more stop and go. As the crowd surged forward I no longer felt the intense panic I had felt before. We watched as the runners approached, trying the catch it on video. Suddenly mere feet from where we stood the bull bowed his head and took someone out, while he ran straight for us. I turned to Victor and he was motioning us to run, and run we did. Our videos of the moment shake in chaos, forgotten as we ran for safety. Once safely tucked away the cameras turn back to the street as the bull walks in front of us. As the adrenaline raced through our veins we headed for the next round of bulls, the small loose bulls. I decided to stay behind the large metal bars this time.
The big event of the week is the big bull, THE toro Enamaromado, the bull for adults. His name was Madriledo, he weighed 580 k. Madriledo was escorted into town like a king, followed by a long line of honking cars. Wednesday night was his big night. It was his chance to cause a ruckus in the streets of Benavente.
Madriledo
Not being crazy this time, I stood safely on a balcony, far away from the massive creature. I was lucky to have access to a balcony in the center of the city where he is tied to a metal ring so that he can relax. The most damage he did in my sight was to ram the metal gates, making the people standing behind them scatter. The next day the paper would report two serious injuries and several minor injuries. This does not deter the festivities. It is an accepted part of the experience for the people here.
The Sparkler Gun
Having seen how crazy the people of Benavente could be, we thought we had seen it all. Little did we know that we were in for a big surprise. At midnight I headed into town center with my fellow Americans. We dressed, as we had been told, in thick clothing for the fire show. Though we were unable to fathom what that meant. We filled with anticipation as we saw smoke and lights in the distance. The music approached us slowly and the plaza we were standing in light up with embers from what can best be described as a giant sparkler guns. Men ran through the packed crowds shooting sparks at people. The crowd danced around under the falling embers, holding umbrellas and cardboard for protection. We stood awestruck trying to fathom how playing under a rain of hot embers could be so amusing. The plaza surrounds a centuries-old church which was strategically rigged with fireworks. The night was alight as adults and children danced around.
My students
Though the party picks up around 3 am, this is a party for all ages. As I walked home at 4 am, which is quite early for Spaniards, I saw 5-year olds dancing in the street and hung my head in shame. Aside from the children’s bulls in the mornings the children also had the toros de fuego or “fire bulls”. Intrigued by the name I went to see for myself just what a fire bull could be. It’s a man with a fake bull on his head made from a barrel and rigged with fireworks. Parents encouraged their children to go play in the embers as he ran around the plaza. I stood far back from the flames, once again awestruck.
As the fiesta winds down the circles under the eyes of Benavente grow dark. The end of the week was marked by a giant picnic. The city served us a typical Spanish rice dish called paella. This was special however, since it had to feed hundreds of people it was a GIANT paella.
Giant Paella
Benavente slowly returned to its normal state. The people who had come out for the party trickled out of town. The streets have become tranquil once again and I no longer have to worry about coming across a bull as I walk through the town center. The end of the party is bitter sweet as it marks the beginning of the end for my time here is Benavente. I can only hope that Benavente will miss me as much as I will miss it. My love for Benavente may not be the epic tale I yearn for, but it is certainly a lead character in my series of short stories on love. And for now that is perfect.
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