Fuengirola

[ff-when-HE-roll-uh].   

This past Sunday I went to Fuengirola with about eight friends to see a bull fight.  That's right, a bull fight.  It was incredibly sad, I cried, and I'll never go again, but it was something that I felt like I needed to see while in Spain and I'm glad I got it over with. 

Fuengirola was a 50 minute train ride from Málaga and before the plaza de toros we have a snack at a little restaurant inside a park. I had a bocadillo de queso y jamón and it is probably one of my favorite things to eat, ever.  The bocadillo is a toasted sandwich with a bit of olive oil, a layer of cheese, and then a layer (or two, if I'm lucky!) of delicious jamón (salted, dry-cured ham that is similar to prosciutto).  But enough about ham!

The plaza de toros (bull ring) was right around the corner and we sat at the very top and in the hot, hot sun, because the seats in the shade are more expensive.  I won't go into details about the actual fight, because I'd rather not think about it, but I was surprised to see that part of the show was actually with a man on a horse instead of on his feet with a cape.  I was thoroughly impressed to see his skill in controlling the horse and the trust the horses had in their rider.  He had the horses dance, walk sideways, and other awesome things to attract the bull, since he didn't have the red cape to use.