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The Blazing Bull Fiesta

Victor Val Mas (Informative writing)

One town in the center of Spain lies asleep 360 days of the year. Deserted, its streets are inhabited by a mere dozen elderly ladies who still wash their clothes by hand at the public fountain, scrubbing relentlessly until every last speck of dirt has vanished. These aeon old ladies are of my blood, my second aunts. My journey starts here, in Rubielos de Mora, a medieval town in the region of Aragon, Spain. It is on a large plateau and adjacent to Spain's Cordillera Central mountains. Rubielos lies at an altitude of one thousand eighty meters. This creates a fairly cool and arid climate. In order to get there, I had to drive past Valencia and then take a brand new four lane interstate highway into the interior of Spain. The trip from Valencia took me a little less than two hours, crossing Spain's most productive agricultural area, famous for its lush vineyards. The landscape that cross is also where Europes most productive orange fruit farms lie. During the summer harvest season, a large immigrant workforce comes to help harvest the produce, which is then sold to stores all over Europe. I am always positively surprised by the modern facilities that we drive past; one can clearly see the opulence of Valencia on display. I arrive at Rubielos very quickly indeed; my parents park the car under olive trees to shield the car from the heat. We descend from our vehicle and stretch our legs. This old olive plantation is located just outside the walled town and is now the only car park in the perimeter. My joyful uncle greets us and hammers us the families most recent news, as unimportant as it may be.He runs a pig farm that exports cured ham to the rest of Spain. The meat curing plant lies on the hill next to the town. This creates an odor that spreads over the entire area like a fog that never disperses. My journey is at all times influenced by the unique scents that one can only distinguish after many trips to this area. The town starts awakening on Friday. My relatives from every part of Spain flood to Rubielos to celebrate the Fiesta del Carmen which celebrates the beginning of the summer holidays. My family and I head to the fountain of La Glorieta which is a metal statue of a dark skinned lady holding a jar. This is where in days gone by my father and the rest of the town would come to fill their jars with drinking water to carry home for cooking. At La Glorieta we meet my cousins and later head for a walk around town. Rubielos itself is rather small, with only one entrance and the rest enclosed by an ancient wall from medieval times. The fortification was built by the King of Aragon and was made in order to protect one of his daughters who lived in Rubielos. We walk past the old school, which was built by my greatgrandfather. Its stone walls still stand proud; a symbol of the emphasis the town gave to education. During the Spanish civil war, Rubielos was one of the few rural towns where children were encouraged to neglected the fields and instead attend school. Passing the old school building causes a time-warping effect. I can imagine the broad smile my ancestors must have, knowing that their family, my family, is still together and strong.

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The afternoon is spent talking to relatives and running around from one house to another. In most of Spains small towns, it is very typical for elders to place a chair out on the cobbles in front of their house and chat to everyone that walks past their way. Visiting any town with fewer than 500 inhabitants requires a lengthy talk with the local elderly residents, only this, in my opinion, will make the trip complete. You will be informed and entertained to say the least. I later watched some residents flock to the bar and play spontaneous games of dominoes. This pastime is not one of my favorites and boredom often overpowers me while I play. When visiting Rubielos, a highlight of my trip is to visit the Muslim influences in the area. This part of Spain was occupied by Muslims for several centuries. The Muslim architecture can be appreciated in the town of Teruel, the provincial capital that lies 30 minutes from Rubielos. The peculiar bell towers and rounded domes are seen as far as the eye can see. This part of my trip causes thought provoking thoughts as I become emerged in Spains fascinating past. Near Rubielos is the Don Juan Jimenez Castle; this impressive medieval fortification can be visited in the summer holidays. The castle is composed of four colossal towers made of huge stones that not even mortar was able to penetrate. The courtyard also boasts a magnificent Muslim mosaic, with the sun and the moon depicted on it. The hills and valleys of Rubielos are dotted with both medieval and Muslim influences that are unknown to the ordinary tourist. For me, it provides a chance to learn a bit about my countries history. The last Saturday of July is for Rubielos is what New Years Eve is for New York City. The day starts early with the last of the relatives arriving in town. Now we are over 130 family members present; consequently preparations for the big family lunch begin. Plates and plates of food are prepared at the hotel. The favorite dish prepared is a rabbit roast, made with oranges and a thick and syrupy indigenous prune called Pomeln. The smell of onions, stews, roasts and grilling meat envelop the whole town in a tantalizing aroma. It is a tradition in Spain to eat a very large meal for lunch. This idea is taken to extremes on this Saturday, when we easily spend four hours feasting around the table. This tradition comes from the time when there was great poverty in Spain, during their Civil War (1936-1939). My grandfather, my grandmother and almost all the people that lived through that terrible time remember gnawing hunger. The last Saturday of July was one of the few times of the year when their stomach wasnt completely empty. The feast begins with a speech at midday and ends at five after all the food has been devoured. The excitement will now begin. My whole family passionately marches down the main street, walking behind a band playing Spanish folk music. We arrive at the house where my eight great aunts and uncles once lived. La Casa De Las Cuatro Esquinas, the house of the four corners, is what the whole town calls it. There, like a modern tribe, we sing songs and celebrate who we are, remembering the past but enjoying the present. The family scatters and goes to rest. It is common in Spain to have a siesta, a nap, between six and seven. At eight, the town is packed with people from all over the province. Everyone is waiting for the

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most significant event of the year. El Toro Embolao , The Blazing Bull. This tradition has been held in Rubielos ever since humans have walked its streets. Assistants from the region begin placing metal fences over all the doors and street intersections. The metal fences have vertical beams large enough for a person to squeeze through. The result is a circuit in the form of a rectangle. There are two dirt plazas at each end, connecting them along the side are two streets, both steep and slippery. This is where people will run, hiding and chasing the bull at the same time. At ten tensions are high, for good reason: The Blazing Bull Fiesta is about to begin. My family and I place ourselves in the crowd at the top plaza, feigning calmness but effervescing with excitement inside. In the center of the plaza there is a wooden pole, about the size of a refrigerator. Tied to it with a rope is a bull weighing over half a ton. Its deep dark eyes glare defiantly at us, and its horns are sharp and curved. A man then attaches two torches onto the bulls horns. He steps back, lights the torches and watches as the kerosene ignites. Almost immediately the daring man cuts the rope. The bull is loose and starts jumping wildly! There is commotion as everyone screams and runs for cover. I can taste tension and excitement in the air. I duck and slam myself behind the bars. The bull comes crashing right behind me. Sparks fly and the horns slam into the iron bars, shaking me. I feel the oppressive heat of the torch and see the sheer ferocity of the beast. My heart is thrashing, beating with excitement as is all Rubielos de Mora on the last Saturday in July. My journey is coming to an end. Yet, the sense of community, family and pride that Rubielos de Mora bestow me will stay with me all year. With this, I end my journey; a journey that has taken me back to my past and endowed me with renewed energy for the future.