We stopped for lunch in Riaza, Castilla, north of Madrid.
The town bunting was up and the town’s people were in a holiday mood. As it turned out when we asked over our lunch of delicious fried squid and patatas the bullfighting festival was on with a big fight coming up next week.
Despite the history and depth of bullfighting in Spanish culture I, surprising myself, wouldn’t want to go. A younger, more naive, me would have. The perspective of a different nationality perhaps, but I just can’t link the glorification of death with a spectator sport.
And then it was back on the road