Fontvieille was a wonderful surprise. We had just motored down the twisty road from the highlands at Roussillon, still high on the pleasurable time we'd had looking around and reading the posted lore. The road came out at the bottom into a main drag with small businesses. Ahead on our right there was a carnival in a park lined with old Plane trees. Lots of kids having fun on the small rides of a tramp carnival. Then we heard music from loudspeakers on the other side of a high white wall trimmed with red. We noticed an entrance and a ticket taker. I can't recall how much it cost, but it was close to nothing.
We found seats easily. First, because we were on the sunnyside and it was sunny; and, second, because everyone who'd come early or had relatives who were involved had filled the beautiful shaded bleachers across from us. Didn't matter. We were clueless and we were in for a treat.
This is more like bull teasing. The bull has the advantage and it's possible--maybe even likely--that one of the team members will get horned (not gored because the horns have a protective ball on them). It's tag. The bull has ribbons tied to him and those are the coup that's counted. Two teams of eight conspire to distract the bull or get it to charge in a predictable way so that someone can get a ribbon and get away. This is all quite exciting when the player with the ribbon is leaping for the bleachers with the bull right behind. Death, perhaps, if he misses and the bull pummels him against the arena wall.
It was exciting. The bulls lived. So did the young men who made up the teams. A bit of culture lived on, and here it is.
