A Bullfight in Madrid: Pageant or Macabre?
Kimberley Lovato2026-05-12T14:50:50-07:00
Margaret Wagner
20th Annual Solas Awards Gold Winner in the Travel & Sports category
The bull fell to his front knees, then struggled and stood up, shaking his head. I exhaled a soft “oh no.” The animal panted, quivering the banderillas, the two-and-a-half-foot red and white sticks tipped with two-inch barbed hooks which had been stabbed into his back. Wet bands glistened from the top of his spine down hefty flanks, blood darkening mahogany hair. I groaned; my stomach flip-flopped. When I was in a tween in the 1970s, my family visited Spain. We saw flamenco dances in the evening, and no bullfights. Now, in 2025, I was attending one in Madrid, Spain as part of my mission to retrace the seven-month European trip that my mother had taken in 1951. Read full story