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A bullfighting where no one sheds blood

Bloodless and humane, Portuguese-style bullfighting in Canada is a thrilling spectacle steeped in tradition. Erik Heinrich travels to Ontario to catch the action

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" yells 20-year-old Andreia Oliveira. She's riding a purebred Lusitano stallion and wants to grab the attention of an angry 600-pound bull with menacing horns. Andreia is a cavaleira, or mounted matador from the Santarém region of Portugal. Her satin coat is embroidered in gold thread and shines like a mirror on a scorching hot July day of 35 degree Celsius in southern Ontario.
The three-year-old Mexican bull, black like a coal mine, is a bit winded but as defiant as ever after repeated charges at Andreia and Ernesto, her partner in this mano-a-mano combat. Ernesto is a traditional matador working on foot with a large fuchsia cape. So far both fighters have managed to avoid any scrapes or bruises, but there is an ambulance on standby in case anyone should get seriously hurt.
When Andreia has the bull's attention, she pauses for a quick silent prayer to her patron saint Beatriz da Silva. Then, she raises a short green and white javelin, known as a bandarilha, high above her head as a scorpion might lift his lethal tail before stinging its prey.
She presses boot heels into the haunches of her white mount, who springs in action at a gallop just as the bull begins his charge from the opposite end of the ring. Just before he can run her into the arena sand, Andreia makes an expert half-turn inches away from bull's deadly horns and finds the soft flesh just behind his shoulder blade where she strikes with her bandarilha.
The mesmerising action all happens in a handful of seconds and the assembled crowd of more than 1,000 spectators, mostly of Portuguese origin from the Azores islands of the North Atlantic, roars in approval. A full brass band called the Banda EcosTaurinos launches into a few rousing bars of Pasodoble y Ole. Several bandarilhas are already hanging from the bull's sweat-soaked back, but there is no blood and no harm has come to the animal.
That's because this is Canada, not Portugal where the bulls are still killed as they were more than 2,000 years ago when arena bullfighting first started in what was then a Roman province. Here, the bulls are fitted with a Velcro pad to which the corresponding Velcro hook of the bandarilha attaches. No more harm comes to the sporting beasts than a bucking bronc or roped steer at the Calgary Stampede, the world's biggest rodeo.
The Praça de Toiros, or Portuguese-style bullfighting, in Ontario, is not a fight to the death, which is good news for the bulls and serves to broaden the activity's appeal beyond the old boys club to include the Twitter and Instagram generation. Nevertheless, it's a spectacle that has all the excitement and pageantry that made American writer Ernest Hemingway a lifelong aficionado of the sport.
"You need a horse with the right temper for the bullring or this won't work," explains Elio Leal, event organiser and owner of Ganadaria Sol e Toiros, a ranch in Grey County, Ontario, that breeds Mexican fighting bulls and pedigree Lusitanos. By this he means a horse that is fearless under pressure and with an instinct for showmanship.
Of course, you also need teams of cavaleiros and matadors, who must be flown in from Portugal, Spain or Mexico at considerable expense during a short season that runs from June to August. The tourada, or arena bullfight, is not a hobby for Elio, who immigrated to Canada from his native Terceira in the Azores as a teenager in the 1970s. It's been a lifelong passion for him and his wife Louisa, who have pioneered humane, bloodless bullfighting in Canada for 20 years. "I've never made a penny on this," says Elio, who finances his labour of love by operating a successful high-rise restoration company.
In a Praça de Toiros, three cavaleiros - or matador horsemen - fight two bulls each for a total of six contests. On this day, it's three cavaleiras, or horsewomen, from Portugal, who are the stars of the show. "There's long tradition for women fighting bulls in Portugal, it's nothing new," Andreia tells me as she prepares for the tourada in her dressing room an hour earlier, adjusting gold buttons on a shiny white vest decorated with lace. At one point, she crosses herself before a small, portable shrine with votive candles, then turning to me says, "I'm just hoping for a good fight."
In addition to Sol e Toiros' arena bullfighting, an Azores-style running of the bulls is practised humanely in nearby Wellington County, Ontario. "It's in my blood," says Fernando Marques, owner of the Ole Toiro ranch, "I want to keep the traditions I grew up with alive so the younger generations don't forget where they came from." He and his wife Anna have been organising about 20 tourada à corda, or bullfights, on a rope, each summer for the past 15 years.
Hundreds of families show up for the event, which includes parades to honour important Catholic saints and culinary specialties from the Azores such as spicy pork stewed in massa de pimentão pepper sauce, then served on a soft, floury roll. The main event is the tourada à corda, in which a series of five bulls are released into a narrow corridor resembling a long street in Angra do Heroísmo, the historical capital of the Azores where rope fighting has been a popular pastime for 600 years. The runners use colourful umbrellas to initiate charges, before diving to safety atop wheels of hay to boisterous shouts from the crowd.
Back in the ring at Dundalk, the last bull of this tourada is a moaning grey panther with hoofs and wicked horns who Andreia has tagged with four Velcro-tipped bandarilhas to cries of "Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!" Portuguese arena bullfighting follows a different script from the more familiar Spanish version, and now it's time for the second and final act called a pega. The participants wear pomegranate red blazers and knee-high white stockings that would look at home at the 16th century court of Portuguese King Sebastião I. A team of eight men known as a forcado must subdue this Canadian-bred Minotaur with their bare hands. It's why the forcado, named after the Portuguese word for pitchfork, is often referred to as the suicide squad. It was traditionally how young men proved their courage and valour in Portugal and attracted attention of the prettiest girls.
The suicide squad forms a line in the centre of the ring, knowing fully well that someone will be trampled or worse. Most likely the front man, whose job is to be the spears of this human fork. He must absorb the raging bull's charge by performing a pega de caras or face catch. If he can stay on his feet and get his arms around the bull's horns, the others will grab the slippery beast's flanks and pin him in a standing position.
João places a long green and red toque on his head to catch the bull's eye, and defiantly steps forward with hands on hips. "Toiro! Toiro!" he shouts, inviting a head-on collision. The menacing grey shadow turns and runs the big man down in half a second like a cargo van on the highway. João limps away with the assistance of two fellow bull wrestlers, who help him to a waiting ambulance. His injuries are not too serious, but need to be checked out in a hospital.
The second man of the human pitchfork performs a successful face catch and the others work to immobilise bull, who eventually gives up the fight. A great sigh of relief fills the arena, followed by wild cheering as the brass band launches into another fiery pasodoble. This would normally signal an end to the thrills, but Andreia, that cavaleira with unmistakable charisma and bravery, has written a surprise ending to the afternoon's proceedings. In the centre of the ring and before the gathered crowd, she bends on one knee and proposes to her boyfriend and manager, who accepts to more enthusiastic applause.
This is probably the most important day of Andreia's life. But before she could pop the question she had to murder two bulls in the summer heat of Dundalk - figuratively speaking.
wknd@khaleejtimes.com