BSE takes fizz out of fiesta

By ELIZABETH NASH Herald correspondent

VALDEMORILLO - The choice between seats in "sol" or "sombra" was irrelevant at Spain's first bullfight of the season, where the immediate concern was to dodge the winds from the sierra that chilled your fingers in what should be a sun-soaked fiesta.

But the burly breeders, managers and matadors' agents huddled to supervise six fighting bulls being unloaded from the lorry into ringside pens were preoccupied by more serious worries. They fear mad-cow disease will ruin their livelihood.

Tiny, unprepossessing Valdemorillo, 30km northwest of Madrid, enjoys a brief burst of fame every February when a makeshift iron bullring is rigged up for the opening event of the bullfighting calendar. It is an important occasion, eagerly awaited, but this year it was steeped in gloom tinged with panic.

Maximino Perez, organiser of the week's festivities, was devastated to learn, shortly before the first beast of the afternoon was let into the ring, that the health authorities had decided all the bulls must be taken away for incineration after they were killed by the matador's sword.

"It's terrible news, couldn't be worse. And on top of it we weren't told officially until today. It's a huge problem and the authorities were afraid to take a decision that'll cause enormous damage to the bullfighting world. I feel terrible, it's torn me in half."

Bulls are traditionally sold as butcher's meat after they are dragged from the arena, providing prime steaks, chops and the more picturesque delicacies of ear stew, tail and testicles.

The the entire bullfighting world has been shaken by European Union rules dictating that the meat from animals more than 30 months old must be tested for bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE) or else be destroyed.

Fighting bulls are 6 years old and the industry says it is impossible to test the 39,000 to be fought this season.

"I've lost all the money from selling the carcasses, and I have to pay the transport and incineration costs. I'm ruined, and they've offered no compensation," Perez mourned.

But the bulls were not up to much, according to my benchmates Pedro and Ramon who had bussed in from Burgos to support local matador Jose Ignacio Ramos.

"Feeble, no class," they grumbled, as bull after bull ambled about and occasionally stumbled muzzle first into the sand. One had to be hauled to its hoofs by the tail.

This was day one, and BSE was already making its contribution to the rich repertoire of taurine insults. "That one's got 'vaca loca' [mad-cow]" Ramon shouted, in half-homage to a Ricky Martin song.

Steam snorted from the bulls' nostrils as they laboured in the wintry air, but there was little excitement, despite squeals of encouragement from small children thrilled at the gore and the howling trumpets.

Joaquin Vidal, Spain's top bulls commentator, sat in the high back row of the little ring which he reckons is the best spot. "I always thought the bulls were drugged, but the taurine world is very corrupt and closed and no-one speaks openly. We must analyse the animals to find out what's wrong. But now with incineration we'll never know whether they're drugged, ill, have shaved horns or anything. It's a rotten business."

Afterwards we all strolled down the hill to the tombola stalls blaring cheesy music in the twilight.

A dour Asturian sold grilled blood sausage and cups of arguardiente, and wondered how much longer the corrida, Spain's national fiesta, would last.