Farewell, Lion: The Last Farewell to Iván Fandiño in Orduña

I don’t think any of us who travelled together could fully grasp where the 375 kilometres separating us from Amurrio would lead when we set off at dawn yesterday. Not until we came across the sign that read “AMURRIO 10”.

Crossing the Ayala Valley, with the Virgin of Orduña on the horizon, our nervous chatter and laughter faded away. In their place came deep breaths, distant stares, and gentle pats of encouragement before stepping out of the car to face reality at the funeral home.

The weekend’s nightmare exploded before us. Our Néstor, his other half, companion through every battle and pillar of strength, enduring stoically the endless procession of grief. My dear Sergio, standing tall in the hardest moment of his life; a devastated cuadrilla; and Rober, his banderillero, reliving a torment. The family —that large, close family with his parents Paco and Txaro, his sister Itziar and his wife Cayetana— broken yet somehow finding strength. Friends and colleagues with shattered expressions… And the image of little Mara in everyone’s minds. Heartbreaking. The sorrow had flooded those mournful rooms, filled with wreaths and flowers arriving one after another.

How hard and endless those hours felt. How difficult it was to utter a single word of comfort. Anecdotes from an incredibly intense life filled the spaces between tears —between the wake, the cremation in Llodio, and the meal before heading to Orduña. With glassy eyes, his closest friends shared stories and memories that, in some way, nourished our souls too.

And together we made the final paseíllo towards the church. A packed church that roared, as he so often did, with a final, overwhelming round of applause. The Agur Jaunak, played with txistu and drum, shook us to the core —a farewell that was sincere, humble, deep, powerful, and austere; so very northern. Just as Iván had been all his life.

When we left Santa María de Orduña, the sky was heavy with rage, and we departed the town that had seen him born under the thunder of dark clouds and a storm of sorrow.

The final tribute of the day came at the end of that dreadful journey —a stop at McDonald’s to celebrate, in our own way, his last Puerta Grande: this time, the one of heaven and glory.

Today, I feel proud to have followed, admired, and believed in him since the moment I discovered this late passion. Even prouder that his people are now part of my life —people who, like him, carry truth and courage as their banner. They are, without a doubt, among the greatest gifts this often-complicated world of bullfighting has given me.

His courage, generosity, purity, unyielding spirit (together with Néstor, “to win the war, kill or die”) and his fight for freedom in a system that often works the wrong way —these are the legacy of his life. A life he lost in the ring, doing what he loved, what we love; yet one that will live on forever. His loved ones will make sure of it, ensuring that his two-year-old daughter grows up knowing that her father was a figure of bullfighting —a man who faced an uphill road and reached the top on shoulders. A hero of our time, in a society so desperately in need of them.

I couldn’t end these lines without remembering all the Fandiñistas, especially Tamara, and our shared grief.

And I want to thank Íñigo, Javier, Josemi, Maribel, and Charo for their company and affection.

You have left us, but you will always remain among us.

Agur, Iban. Farewell, Lion.

—Miren Iruña