Dispatches - 27 April 2025 - El Torero y La Dama

It has been a slow week. That's been the case since I finished writing and editing my book. I've spent a lot of time sitting around watching Hulu and YouTube. I hate being lazy like that, but I'm also keeping an eye on my daily budget. I have plans for the future that require some extra money. That's not a complaint; it is just the reality of the situation.

I ordered ten more advance copies of my book to Tulum. The first few went fast, and several people have expressed interest in buying them down here. I'm going to lose a couple of dollars each for the price I'm selling them for here in Mexico, but it is worth it to get them into circulation. Besides, I've already got plans for the ones I don't sell that will at least let me break even, if not end up net positive, so it's not a big deal. They're hung up in customs (again). That's not a problem with Mexican authorities; FedEx hasn't done their part for customs clearance, despite me submitting all the required documentation four times.

Those updates out of the way, let's get to some of my deeper thoughts from the week: el toreo. That won't surprise anyone. I'm starting to feel the same way I did this time last year, when I was in Thailand, about the bullfights. I can't wait to watch them live, and I've started watching documentaries and reading books on them in preparation for La Fiesta de San Fermin in July.

I've seriously considered learning to torear after my next expedition. Granted, that is twenty months away, but the thought of working the bulls with the cape has been on my mind for some time. Could I become an American torero at the age of 35? It would be an uphill road, that's for sure. I'd probably have to start in Mexico before trying to make it in Spain. Just learning would be a months-long commitment, maybe even years, and building a career would be even more. Granted, if I'm able to make it in Spain, it pays really well, and could set me up for future endeavours. I'm not one of those guys that needs a big house or fancy car.

Why is all of this on my mind? It's hard to explain. The bullfight isn't a masculine display of man's dominion over nature. It's more the masculine counterpart of the flamenco dance. The chemistry, choreography, emotion, and flowing capes stir something romantic in me, something I find difficult to put into words.

I watched a movie this week, The Bullfighter and the Lady. The gist is that an American man learns to torear in Mexico, falls in love with a Mexican woman, and experiences the tragedy, heartbreak, and duende such a dangerous profession brings. He starts as a wide-eyed amateur, entranced by masculine bravery before the deadly toros bravos. But as he learns and sees more of the toreo, he becomes a matador de toros, respected by a public that once scorned him and honouring a culture that is not his. He develops stature, as the film says, a compliment earned through his final performance as he honours the bullfighting tradition.

Could I be this man?

Maybe.

Will I?

Vamos a ver.