Bullfighter

One of them better parts of visiting Braşov this past weekend was the opportunity to meet people from all over the world. Transylvania is apparently a hub of crazy party-goers during Halloween, as demonstrated by the fact that there were literally no beds in the entire town of Braşov. Regardless, there is a certain amount of comraderie among people traveling in the same places, and I got to know a lot of people.

I met one group of men after flagging down the bus on the way to Bran Castle. Five men from Spain. Five Spanish men, in all their glory. Four of them were really friendly and talkative, and we chatted about traveling and life for most of the journey. The fifth Spainard was a really big guy, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, hat pulled down over his eyes and sleeping. He was dressed (as they all were) like a typical Spainard.

One of the men leaned in and said (in the most amazing Spanish accent) "You know bullfight?" I kinda giggled and said "What?"
"You know what I mean when I say bullfight?"
"Yes."
"You come to Spain and I show you bullfight."
"Um, okay?"
"You know how I show you bullfight?"
"No, how?"
He gestures to the sleeping man, and says "This man. This man is bullfighter."
"Really??"

The sleeping man, with all the drama that a movie director would infuse into the scene, raises his hat, revealing eyes that could blow Antonio Banderas out of the water, says in a deep grovely voice "I AM BULLFIGHTER."

Seconds later he was sleeping again, and I was trying desperately not to laugh.