I saw my first bull fight about 25 years ago in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It was also my last. I enjoyed the pageantry and the showmanship, but it wasn’t an experience I wanted to relive. Mike, Mikayla and the Huffords, on the other hand, were keen to observe the tradition before it declines further. I headed to the Urribe Botanical Garden, named after the previous president of Colombia. They headed to the Plaza de Toros La Macarena where six bulls fell eventually at the hands of three matadors and a handful of picadors.
After getting caught in a downpour at the garden, I sought refuge under the canopy of a large public bathroom. The spot was recommended by a Colombian man with whom I carried on a conversation in my halting espagnol. When I explained where my family was spending the afternoon, he said of bullfighting that it is “una faille de humanite,” a failure of humanity.