31.07.08 Cock and bull story

The next morning I felt a little jaded after a long night drinking whisky. There was nearly a nasty incident when I visited the indigenous dancers in the cultural centre. It was sticky - the hottest part of the day - drums were pounding and I nearly passed out on the bone-strewn floor among the other casualties from last night and the cows. Instead, I stumbled back and had a siesta.

Feeling only relatively refreshed, we went out to the bull fighting. A richety wooden stadium had been constructed. It was packed and to find a seat we wobbled up a makeshift ladder to the seventh tier. Given the likelihood of slipping and falling or the entire construction collapsing, it seemed much safer to be in with the bull than sat in the stands.

Behind me (the seats were just planks), bands thumped and five groups of costumed dancers assembled. A black head loomed between my thighs and a woman appeared. Looking for balance she reached and grabbed the least stable handful she could find. Once she had let go and found her footing in her four-inch heels, she complained my shoes had made her white leisure suit dirty.

There was none of the operatic grandeur that I had seen at bullfights before. This was rather more bucolic: dozens of impressively drunk cowboys with their shirts off tried to annoy the bull into running at them. The spectacle was enlivened when the machismo overflowed into fights or when one of the cowboys rode the bull.

Of everyone there, only the bull was in absolutely no danger. However, despite the casual attitude of many of the drunks taking part (one took a nap on the stadium floor), there was real potential for catastrophe. One man was flung in the air by the bull, he landed badly and died two days later of a brain injury leaving a 15-year-old wife.

Once we had had our fill of the bulls, Patricio and I went to the cockfighting. It was held under a thatched roof, where tiers of men drinking whisky stared intensely into a pit. Their shouts of encouragement and bargaining over bets accompanied the band as the two cocks with sharpened spurs fought in the intense humidity. As they pecked, kicked and jabbed trying to kill each other, men outside lovingly stroked their birds in anticipation of their turn to fight.