No concelho de Belmonte, distrito de Castelo Branco, uma idosa foi abordada à porta de sua própria casa por um sujeito de boa figura, bem trajado e com um bom carro,  que se apresentou como representante de um empresa local. O sujeito inicia uma prosa com a idosa, no final da qual a senhora de 80 anos lhe passa para as mãos cerca de 17 mil euros. O dito representante pediu então à idosa que lhe facultasse uma factura da electricidade. Quando a senhora voltou, o salteador já não estava lá. O burlão enganou a idosa dizendo-lhe que o dinheiro que tinha em casa já nada valia e que teria dinheiro com ele para trocar. E foi assim que mais um bandoleiro enganou um idoso no nosso país. A culpa disto é muitas vezes dos familiares que deixam os idosos sozinhos e com avultadas quantias em dinheiro. Tome uma atitude, não seja a próxima vítima! Não permita que nenhum familiar o seja. E seja prudente! “Porque todo o cuidado é pouco!”

El grupo Kinbauri cerró un acuerdo con la multinacional Glen Eagle Resources Inc para iniciar la explotación de la mina asturiana de oro de El

Valle, en Belmonte, por la que esta última invertirá 19 millones de euros a cambio de una participación del 45% en Kinbauri España, que posee el

100% del yacimiento asturiano.

Con esta inversión, la compañía podrá acelerar la reapertura de las instalaciones y reanudar la actividad productora. La pretensión de los

propietarios de la mina es que, en el segundo trimestre de 2010, esta se convierta en la mayor instalación productora de oro de Europa Occidental.

El objetivo es el de obtener unas 145.000 onzas al año, tal y como ha quedado estipulado en el acuerdo entre ambas empresas. Para ello, Kinbauri

ha desarrollado un plan para reducir los gastos de capital de preproducción y acortar el tiempo para reiniciar la explotación de la mina. Este plan

minero será examinado en el próximo estudio de viabilidad.

Una vez reabierta la mina, y en pleno funcionamiento, la compañía prevé ampliar la plantilla hasta los 200 trabajadores. La inversión del grupo

canadiense en Asturias arrancó en 2007 con la compra de las minas de oro asturianas de Río Narcea Gold Mines por un importe de 3,5 millones

de euros.

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Aqui teneis el programa de las fiestas de San Antonio en Belmonte de Miranda 2009
VIERNES, 28

18:00 h. DISFRACES INFANTILES Y CHOCOLATADA EN EL PARQUE
19:00 h. GAITA Y TAMBOR.
20:00 h. PREGÓN A CARGO DE RAIMUNDO GONZÁLEZ CUENCO, ?Mundo?, presidente asociación montañeros veteranos del Principado de Asturias.
20:20 h. DESCARGA DEL VOLADORÓN DE INICIO DE LAS FIESTAS.
20:30 h. FIESTA DE LA SIDRA Y DEL QUESO AFUEGA´L PITU AMENIZADA CON GAITAS (DETRÁS DEL AYUNTAMIENTO).
23:00 h. FIESTA DEL ?MENEÍTO? CON DISCOTECA MÓVIL EN LA PLAZA DE LA IGLESIA.

SÁBADO, 29

12:00 h. GAITA Y TAMBOR por las calles de la Villa.
14:30 h. GRAN PARRILLADA DE ?CARNE ROXA, GOCHU ASTURIANO Y CRIOLLO? POSTRE ARROZ CON LECHE DE LA CENTRAL LECHERA ASTURIANA, EN EL POLIDEPORTIVO. (Venta de vales en los establecimientos)
17:00 h. ACTUACIÓN DEL TENOR ?JUAN ANTONIO BRAÑAS? ACOMPAÑADO POR EL GUITARRISTA ? SANTOS ALONSO? ÍNTIMO, EN CONCIERTO.
19:00 h. EL SHOW SUSANA (ACTUACÓN INFANTIL).
23:00 h. GRAN BAILE AMENIZADO POR LAS ORQUESTAS:
?LOS TROVADORES?. A CORUÑA
?DOMINÓ?
24:00 h. GRAN ESPECTÁCULO DE FUEGOS ARTIFICIALES, a cargo de PIROTECNIA REIRIZ

DOMINGO, 30

10:30 h. TREN INFANTIL.
12:00 h. MISA SOLEMNE EN HONOR A SAN ANTONIO Y POSTERIOR PROCESIÓN POR LA VILLA.
13:30 h. DEGUSTACIÓN DE VINO ESPAÑOL Y JAMÓN AL CORTE EN EL PARQUE.
17:30 h. CHARANGA POR LAS CALLES DE LA VILLA. ?EL FELECHU?
19:00 h. ACTUACIÓN INFANTIL EN EL PARQUE. ?EL MAGO LOCO?
22:30 h. GRAN BAILE AMENIZADO POR LA ORQUESTA: ?SONORA REAL?.
23:30 h. ACTUACIÓN ESPECIAL: ?KING ÁFRICA? EN CONCIERTO.

LUNES, 31

12:00 h. GAITA Y TAMBOR por las calles de la Villa
15:00 h. GRAN PAELLADA, BOLLO PREÑAU y un cafetín de tizón. EN EL PARQUE, si llueve se dispone de carpa de detrás del Ayuntamiento. (Venta de vales en los establecimientos). )
19:00 h. GRAN BAILE FIN DE LAS FIESTAS.
AMENIZADO POR LA ORQUESTA VERSIÓN ORIGINAL, que durará hasta las doce de la noche.

Los principales monumentos de Petra, la legendaria ciudad de los nabateos en Jordania, están orientados hacia el solsticio y hacia Canopo, la estrella que guiaba a las caravanas por la península arábiga, al igual que sucede con la Kaaba, en La Meca, según el astrónomo del IAC Juan Antonio Belmonte.

Juan Antonio Belmonte. Foto: información.es

El investigador del Instituto de Astrofísica de Canarias (IAC) explica en una entrevista con Efe que, tras realizar trabajos de campo en la ciudad nabatea, considera a Petra “como un maravilloso taller para los estudios arqueoastronómicos y arqueotopográficos”. Para su estudio midió los principales monumentos de la ciudad nabatea -El Tesoro, el Monasterio y las tumbas reales, entre otros- y tras analizar los datos halló, para su sorpresa, que la astronomía y la topografía “sagrada” eran muy importantes para orientar las tumbas y los templos.

Los nabateos eran una tribu árabe que habitó el sudeste de Palestina y Siria, en la frontera con el mundo helénico, un par de siglos antes de Cristo, y fundaron un imperio que se extendía desde el Mar Rojo hasta Damasco y desde Gaza hasta los desiertos de Arabia central. Juan Antonio Belmonte tiene la hipótesis de que las principales deidades nabateas, Dushara, Al Lat, Al Uzza y Al Kutba, eran las manifestaciones de la Luna, el Sol y los planetas Venus y Mercurio.

El astrónomo encontró “sorpresas agradables” en Petra, como el que uno de sus monumentos más famosos, El Monasterio, está orientado a la puesta de Sol en el solsticio de invierno, un momento clave del ciclo anual. El Monasterio, excavado en roca en lo alto de una montaña, podría haber estado dedicado al rey Obodas o al dios Dushara, un dios lunar al que también se asociaba con el Sol, y el solsticio de invierno se relacionaba con el nacimiento de la divinidad.

Desde el otro gran monumento de Petra, El Tesoro, que encontraban las caravanas al final del desfiladero, es visible una porción de cielo y también está orientado hacia el solsticio.

Belmonte quiere verificar si además, a través de una pequeña ventana situada sobre la puerta principal del Tesoro, a unos 10 metros de altura, pueden entrar los rayos del Sol en el solsticio de verano. Pero el investigador halló además un dato “sugerente” sobre el emplazamiento de estos monumentos al detectar que tienen la misma orientación astronómica que la Kaaba antes de que fuera islamizada y convertida en el centro principal de peregrinación de los musulmanes, cuando era un santuario pagano en el que se creía que había unos 360 ídolos, destruidos por el profeta Mahoma tras conquistar la Meca.

“La Kaaba muestra los mismos alineamientos que Petra, ya que los nabateos al fin y al cabo eran una tribu árabe, y refuerza lo que los textos mencionan sobre otros monumentos preislámicos”, detalla Belmonte.

También otro templo principal, el de los Leones Alados, dedicado posiblemente a la diosa Al Uzza, está orientado hacia Canopo, la segunda estrella más brillante del cielo y que, al marcar el Sur con relativa precisión, era utilizada por las caravanas para orientarse desde Petra hacia La Meca y desde allí hacia los países del incienso y su destino final, Saba.

Otro dato “curioso” es que los dos grandes obeliscos de más de seis metros, excavados en la montaña en una muestra de la habilidad de los escultores nabateos, están orientados Este-Oeste de manera que al amanecer y al atardecer, y en el equinoccio, ambos están perfectamente alineados y su sombra “se toca, lo que seguramente implicaba algo en la mente de sus constructores”.

De hecho, Belmonte explica que los obeliscos están construidos en una época en la que los calendarios se organizaban por el equinoccio, que marcaba el principio de la cuenta de los meses. Además, el astrónomo constató que algunas de las impresionantes tumbas reales, que acogían los restos de los monarcas nabateos, están orientadas hacia la montaña conocida como “La madre de las cisternas”, pues en su cumbre estaba la principal fuente de aprovisionamiento de agua de sus habitantes.

Fuente: eldia.es

Apartamentos Andrea, después de hacer algunos masajes de prueba al aire libre y tras la gran aceptación por parte del cliente, a partir de ahora será un masaje mas en la carta.

Podrá disfrutar de los sonidos de la naturaleza, del ruido del río, el canto de los pájaros y de la brisa agradable del verano, mietras disfruta de un placentero masaje…. !!!! Un placer para los sentidos!!!

A partir de agosto, Apartamentos Andrea pone al servicio de sus clientes la opción de desayunar o cenar al aire libre en sus nuevas instalaciones.

Apartamentos Andrea acaba de inagurar sus nuevas instalaciones donde podrá disfrutar de su nueva cabina de masajes , un pequeño gimnasio y una zona de relax y descanso a orillas del río Pigüeña donde se puede tomar el sol, leer, disfrutar de una agradable charla con sus acompañantes, tomarse un botella de sidra o preparar su propia barbacoa. Tambien contamos con una pequeña huerta en la que puede participar activamente de su cultivo.

Se tiene constancia de la búsqueda del metal en estas tierras desde la época castreña de los Astures hasta nuestros días, en los que mucha gente nos visita para probar suerte en los cauces de nuestros ríos. Sin embargo, el asentamiento del Imperio Romano, es quien nos permite conocer el valle tal y como lo conocemos ahora.

Los romanos construyeron varias minas para extraer de ellas oro, y para ello se movieron millones de toneladas de roca y tierra que eran lavadas con las aguas de los arroyos y de los ríos que desviaban expresamente para este fin.

Feria de Caballo, Jerez de la Frontera (Photo: Author)

The town of Jerez de la Frontera, once the frontier between the lands of the Moors and those of the Christian Kings, and from where sherry takes its name – and from where the vast majority still comes – is a far less grand affair than that Seville. There are fewer inhabitants and those inhabitants are poorer. This is reflected in the feel of the streets, even in the quality of the paving stones themselves, glossy and overly patterned, without the dignity of dirt nor the charm of stone. And yet it is still richer than Sanlucar de Barrameda down the road, and consequently looks down on it, while Sanlucar looks upon its marginally richer, marginally bigger brother as lacking in authenticity and machismo.

This is not to say that Jerez doesn’t have lovely parts to it, little idylls of unreconstructed Spain. They just don’t seem to be the parts I find myself in, either this time or the last time I visited, somewhere around the turn of the millennium.

I arrive by train – the train networks of Spain being having that continental comfort and efficiency that much richer Britain seems unable to provide. On the journey I call my friend, the journalist Giles Coren whom I know will be in town on a press junket for The Times of London.

I drop my bags at his hotel and stroll in the heat with my body moistly rebelling against jacket and tie into the heart of the Feria de Caballos, the festival of horses. The feria resembles Seville but on a far smaller scale. The great sherry houses – Tio Pepe, Gonzalez y Byas, Domecq, Osborne – all have grand casettas, but the average is a far loucher, rougher. However, the quality of the horses in the streets is notably superior. Sherry and horses are main exports here.

There is something affecting in the sight of horses riding up and down pedestrian thoroughfares. It conjures up strange images and associations: period dramas, a sense of history, nobility, but also inequality and the backward. Of course, the illusion of a previous era is broken by the frequency of tourists stopping to photograph the men in their trajes cortos and wide-brimmed hats, sometimes with a girl in a vivid flamenco dress on the saddle behind them, sometimes with one riding side-saddle on her own horse, in her own skirted traje corto next to him.

I remember how much my girlfriend loved the beautifully-made flamenco dress Cristina Ybarra lent her for the Seville Feria, but when I asked her whether she would want to ride behind me in it next year, she immediately opted for her own horse, short jacket and hat. To ride behind a man seems to imply ownership, an imbalance between the sexes and the classes as well: your gipsy lover may ride behind you, but your well-bred wife has her own horse. Either way, though, there are few sights more appealing than a family of horsemen in their Sunday best riding up to a casettta to hail some friend, who strolls out cheerfully with a bottle of chilled sherry and glasses for all so they can drink and chat from the saddle with passers-by. Or perhaps they will hitch their horses to a post and come inside, boots sounding hard in the wooden floors with the ching of a spur-chain, sometimes becoming louder should they decide to dance a sevillana or two, flamenco’s formalised and calmer cousin.

At the grand Gonzalez y Byas tent I see Giles and the other journalists, tipsily effervescent in the sun and definitely sartorially out of place. Giles was one of my brother’s two best friends in the years before he died in a skiing accident aged eighteen, an event recently described by Giles in the pages of The Times (to be found here). Since Giles has been commissioned to follow up his article on his friend who died skiing with a longer one on why I have taken up an even more dangerous and death-based pursuit, I won’t steal his material by putting all our interactions here, but I should say that Giles was a vaguely familiar presence from my childhood whom I have seen only once in twenty-one years when he took me out to lunch around ten years ago. Following his article on my brother I got in touch again to convey my family’s thanks and we agreed to meet up here, on my turf as it were.

Giles Coren & friend, 1987 (Photo: Author's brother)

This time Giles appears not to have aged, although his neat features are roughened by a hangover and perma-stubble. He seems to look like the slightly shabbier brother of the man in the photo that accompanies his articles, especially in his jeans and a paisley shirt amongst the groomed and suited Spaniards of the feria. Next to him is the explosively eloquent Tom Parker Bowles, a vague acquaintance from my schooldays, who is there for Condé Nast’s GQ magazine. The two of them are on such ribald form, combined with a deep curiosity about what the hell I am doing in Spain, that I don’t really get a chance to meet the three other journalists and two pretty British PR girls shepherding them on their well-lubricated culinary tour of Jerez. Stories are swapped about the night before which are unrepeatable, and our hosts’ formidable reserves of sherry are well tested. I introduce them to various local personalities whom I have met in Seville, and slope off at some point to reintroduce myself to Maria Del Rio y Oriol, a tall young cousin of Alvaro whose prettiness is well-laced with alternating anger and sadness, and who also runs the Tio Pepe family’s hotel where I am supposed to be staying that night.

It is somewhere around this point that recollections become hazy. Giles, Tom and I, having entered into the sort of competitive drunken anecdote-exchange which can be such fun for oneself and such a pain to surrounding tables, are soon rounded up by the PR girls to attend the bullfight. I remember a hilarious walk and Tom insisting on buying everyone cushions to sit on in the ring. They had all been supplied tickets by their hosts where I had my own so we separated and I went to sit on my own for which I was clearly not in the mood, judging by the game of text-message tennis I enterred into with Giles providing a running commentary on the corrida. At various points we run into one another at the bar and decide the best place to watch is right next to the barrera of the ring, standing on the steps, gin-and-tonics in hand.

The fact that I remember nothing of the fight whatsoever is to be expected, although it remains embarrassing as the bulls of Fernando Domecq from his ganaderia Zalduendo are notable, although they were poor at the Seville Feria. Also, El Juli and Cayetano are fine matadors – it being the first time I have seen Cayetano – and Miguel Ángel Perera is truly the man of the moment and one whom I slightly know (the description of our meeting is to be found here). However, meeting your dead brother’s best friend for lunch was always going to overwhelm the day.

We return to their hotel for further drinks, and then they are marched off for a formal dinner to sample the local wares further whilst I decide to return to the feria for a while to see which of my Spanish friends are in town. There I meet Tilda Nuñez (of the smiling eyes and daughter of the house of Nuñez del Cuvillo), the immaculately turned out, omnipresent Álvaro del Rio y Gordon, cousin of Maria, arranger of Hotels and all round Spanish gentleman, along with various others.

At some point I decide enough Spanish is enough, and take up residence in Tom Parker Bowles’ hotel awaiting their return. However, my energy soon flags (I hear that Giles actually went to sleep at the dinner with a napkin over his face much to the shock of his hosts), and I get in a taxi and head out of town to my own hotel, the Viña de Alcantara sometime after midnight.

Un adorno de Morante de la Puebla (Photo: Author)

I woke up the next day in a pitch darkness with a sense of dislocation so complete I could not have said my own name. I am moving too much, too often, and probably doing the same vis-á-vis alcohol as well. Getting out of bed I made out the cracks of light around the window and opened the shutters onto an strikingly beautiful sunlit garden. Now lit, the room matched it well with the French chateaux decor and high ceilings, and I called for a breakfast which was delivered in equally sumptuous style. I’m not sure I have ever been in such restorative surroundings, and this was further complimented by the deft and helpful attentions of Hugo, a member of staff originally from Bolivia. Hugo takes me out into the exquisite gardens – a combination of close-cut lawns and free flowing woods – and then further out into the vineyards belonging to the family which run Tio Pepe: handpicked grapes for brandy to the right, machine-picked rows of vines for wine to the left; sherry being a combination of the two. After a half bottle of Tio Pepe, I feel sufficiently fortified myself to return to the bullring.

The ticket that night is the bulls of Juan Pedro Domecq facing Morante de la Puebla, El Fandi and José María Manzanares. I agree with the bullfight critic of the Spanish national newspaper ABC, who said the bulls were “without soul; in attack: vacuous and limp, very limp.” Despite this, and because of the exuberance of the crowd in their feria, the matadors would end up awarded five ears between them.

The cartel began with the Sevillano Morante (which translates suitably as ‘You Die’), whose capote de brega, the large pink and yellow cape with which the matador faces the bull fresh from the gate, is truly something to behold, although this is the scene within the first act of the drama which is too often cut short to move onto the mounted picadors with their lances. However, with bulls which so quickly lost their spirit, and Morante’s lack of finish with the muleta, the smaller red cape used at the end, the audience was left unmoved despite the collectively high blood-alcohol levels. He also showed a liking for what aficionados of the bullfight call adornos, unnnecessary ornamentation to a bullfight like touching the bulls head at the end (as seen above), something which lowers the dignity of the bull, and thus the matador who does it. It neither suits Morante’s style nor shows his true skills.

Next came El Fandi, who was something of a surprise to me. I realised on seeing him that I had seen Fandi fight before when he was a novice. It was the very first bullfight I ever saw in 1999 in Seville, a fight which left both my parents and me in awe of his athleticism and courage for performing the larga cambiada de portagayola – the long exchange of the cage-door when the matador kneels before the gates of fear before the bull has even come out to receive its horns at head height.

El capote de El Fandi (Photo: Author)

What struck me this time was his gifts with the banderillas, the spiked sticks, being the only matador other than my friend Padilla I had seen place them himself this season. Fandi’s footwork and body are lighter – he fights the regular bulls, not the heavy ones of the corridas duras, the hard fights – and it gives a prettier picture but also a lessened sense of danger. Fandi postures more as well.

El Fandi con sus banderillas (Photo: Author)

Despite this, there can be great elegance in his lighter feet as seen in the photo below. For all this finesse, though, the lack of beauty in his capework diminishes the initial interest he can inspire in the spectator. There is nothing profound in his torear.

Las banderillas de El Fandi (Photo: Author)

After Fandi came José María Manzanares, a tall good-looking matador who is proficient with cape and muleta, and yet one who I cannot bring myself to like nor understand where this dislike comes from. He is perfectly good, and his broad shoulders and placement of arms and legs actually give him a certain swaggering piratical elegance, but his intensity does not fit him as though its source were misplaced. Perhaps it is fear; of the audience, of the bull – I don’t know. I just know that in fifty photos of the day’s corrida, I did not take a single photo of him, despite him earning an ear with this bull.

Next came Morante’s second bull, and here one truly saw the ‘divine cape’ which has made him so notable this season to aficionado and critic alike.

El capote de Morante de la Puebla (Photo: Author)

The work with the cape, being at the very beginning of the fight before the bull has been made tired and bloody by lance or banderillas, is both the hardest to perform and the hardest to perceive because it is done at such speed. Which is perhaps where the visual force comes from in these photos: the apparent conflict between the slow, steady control of the matador’s two hands and the rampaging speed of the bull’s two horns. All capework is based upon the veronica in which the bull is slowed by having the cape pass over his head so that he will seek for the too solid flesh within the floating fabric (Veronica was the Saint from the Stations of the Cross – now rejected by the Catholic Church as fictional – who wiped the face of Christ with a cloth). The true art of it lies in making the bull seek the lowest point of the cape, stretching his neck down, which slows him further so he does not trip nor catch his horns in the sand of the arena, and then drawing him slowly round. On reflection, its visual power lies in the illusion of causation: it seems as though the matador is leading the bull, making him attain and then maintain the speed the matador dictates with the suppleness – not the strength – of his wrists. As can be seen from both these photos, it is not entirely an illusion, the plumes of sand behind the bulls hooves showing its deceleration so that its horns can better strike its insubstantial target.

El divino capote de Morante de la Puebla (Photo: Author)

As can be seen with the same bull (at a remarkably similar angle), the basis of the muleta is the naturale (at its most classical with the left hand, here seen with the right), and although the stationary photo does not show it, after the fatigue of ten minutes charging in the sun and the damage of the pic and the sticks, the appearance is far more of the matador dragging the great beast round his body, another sort of conflict which transmits another emotion altogether, and one no less strong. Morante was quite rightly awarded the ear for this.

La muleta de Morante de la Puebla (Photo: Author)

Fandi then performed some quite impressive acrobatics and embellishments in the ring, including caping on his knees as seen below in a manner which did not move me at all after Morante’s purity (a contrast which I had not noticed before but was to witness the next day in extremis). He was awarded two ears which shows exactly what the crowd wants on the Friday night of a boozy feria, and it went further downhill after that with Manzanares.

Muleta de El Fandi (Photo: Author)

I left the arena with what I thought was a plan to meet up with Juan José Padilla as part of an interview I wanted to write for him for the Sunday Times. Actually, I know more than enough about Juan to write a standard interview without bothering him, but since it is for the column for the magazine entitled ‘A Life In The Day’, I thought I had best get my facts about what he eats for breakfast and when he goes to bed completely straight and so also meet up with the hostess of my hotel Maria Del Rio y Oriol and her cousin Leandro Domecq y Del Rio for translation back-up. Leandro is a young: well-dressed on a well-covered frame and a man of excitable charm and unquenchable thirst. As it turns out I have misunderstood Padilla’s message – he actually wanted to meet the next night for dinner after his fight of the feria – although Leandro quickly puts it down to the prima donna-ish behaviour of matadors. We take a quick gin and tonic at a bar across the road whilst trying to phone Padilla (who sensibly has his phone switched off the night before a fight), and then stroll through the night air towards another bar where they say they “have family”.

En route, we encounter the heavy figure of Álvaro Domecq y Romero (whom I first encountered at a tentadero at his house described here) who seems far more genial and kindly on meeting me with his young nephew and niece – and after some sherry and a bullfight – and we watch smiling as he compresses his stout body into the tiny car he has brought with him and winds off down the deceptively straight road from the ring. Then we walk onwards through the streets to a small bar packed with men dressed in unusually well-cut suits for Jerez. I see my friend Álvaro Del Rio y Gordon in the throng, and am soon introduced to the first round of Domecqs of the evening : Álvaro’s brothers – and fellow breeders, Juan Pedro and Fernando and some others whose name I forget.

Soon the sherry begins to turn sour in our mouths and hunger is the overwhelming urge, so we move onto to the grand Gonzalez y Byass casetta in the feria, where we are joined by Maria’s brother, Gonzalo, a wild thing revelling in his youth with vicious pleasure, and an entire round of Domecqs whose first names I cannot remember save Fernando Domecq’s exquisite daughter Maria who invites me out to her father’s ranch.

However, singularly the most interesting conversationalist there in a mixture of his bad English and my bad Spanish is the grandson of the greatest matador of all time, Juan Belmonte. We become immersed in a long argument about the virtues of stillness in the bullfight – an innovation of his grandfather taken to its logical and near-lethal conclusion by José Tomas whom I had still yet to see at that point in time. We speak late into the night about the various conflicts inherent in the bullfight and what feelings they transmit to the audience – stillness versus speed, force versus object, strength versus skill – and I note that no one has talked to me in far too long about the bull and what he feels. I make a note that it is time I started to talk to some biologically-trained – or even animal welfare supporting - friends again soon. I feel myself slipping into the taurine Spanish night. I end it by dancing what I think is flamenco is a small casetta accompanied by the clapping hands of my new friends.

Alexander Fiske-Harrison - 3,316 words