On seeing a bull fight more than 25 years ago in Mexico, we were repulsed to the same magnitude as fascination.  After reading "Mexico," by James Michener, we understood, and we saw through and beyond our inbred disgust.  

For the record (and we cannot now put a performance with a name), we saw Alejandro Gaviria, David Fandila El Fandi, Jose Mari Manzanares, Jr., Monica Serrano, Enrique Ponce, Morante De La Puebla and Joselillo de Colombia, world class matadors performing to their highest skills, in a complete classical ceremony, known to Americans as "a fight," but to loyalists as "la corrida," or, "the run."  On reading this list, you ask, 'who is Monica?'  She is the elegant, skilled horsewoman who performed Rejoneadora, a modified corrida.  The horns of the bull were dulled to harmlessness by cutting off the tips, this to protect the four different horses she rode.  As skilled and dignified as any thoroughbred, and directed with supreme skill, these horses move in precisely the correct directions, with exact speeds, to keep their hind quarters inches from the bull's snout as it chased them around the ring.  As always, her goal was to kill the bull, accomplished by first placing banderillas in the neck, and concluding with insertion of a sword, all done from the rider's normal position on a horse.  Exciting.  Thrilling.  Beautiful.  

(I use the word "thoroughbred," to refer to horses raced in The United States.  Monica's horses were described to us as "thoroughbreds" too, because of careful breeding and clean ancestry.  In addition to their natural attributes, they are magnificently trained both to move in all direction, including side ways, with instant responses to the rider's commands.  They also perform a short high step on entering the ring during the opening parade, and occasionally in front of a docile bull, a somewhat humorous image to the crowd.)

To our left in the stands were members of The Chicago Bull Fight Association.  Believe it.  It is true.  They travel the world to see bull fights, and have done so for years.  Seated in a front row below us was a woman from Chicago, an expert, who took copious notes, the basis for her reports back to the association's news letter.

This is not sport.  It is art, with a long tradition and steady following.  Susan, a cruiser and artist on "Pacifico," plans to memorialize her experience her by painting.  She appreciated what she saw.  Chichi, too, was in to it.  Twice she threw her hat into the ring as the matador walked by, with ears in his hands, to receive accolades.  (Her hat came back by a return throw, once by the matador, once by his associate.)

Our host was as Leland Miles, "Mister Emerald," an ex pat married to a Colombian, she the daughter of a founder of El Club de Pesca.  He, too, appreciates La Corrida, attending every January when Cartagena hosts its Fiesta Brava.

Two hours prior to La Corrida, John nearly lost it.  On disembarking, his new Crocs fell into the water, surfacing no closer than two inches from my extended hand.  As I went prone and over to attempt to get them, the bull fight tickets went into the water, and started to sink.  The only possible action was to strip to under pants, jump in, and grab them.  As far as we know, the only person to see me in this condition, that is dressed only in wet, see through under pants, was Chichi, who happened to be returning from a shower.  First seeing this figure of a man from a distance, she wondered, "what jerk would appear like this?"  She has not yet fully shared any subsequent thoughts.

We returned Friday from a wonderful and intense holiday season with our family and friends.  We are immensely thankful that we have people at home to take care of us and to vicariously join in our adventures.