Friday, October 15, 2010

The Palenque



What, you may ask, exactly is the "Palenque?"

Well, this is another cultural icon of rural Mexico that stems from pre-Roman times, brought by the Spaniards, and once again a rather controversial spectacle:

THE COCKFIGHT.


This time I'll spare you all the philosophical prose and cut straight to the chase:  A buddy of mine who comes from Baltimore and has lived here for a year and a half now (our kids attend the same school) mentioned to me last February of hearing rumors of the possibility of attending a cockfight.  At that time we were unable to hook up and make it happen, and I was rather disappointed, feeling I'd missed out on some sort of extremely rare, cult-like gathering.  So when the local fair arrived a few weeks ago (fair as in carny rides, ballon-popping games, etc. - see a previous blog) and suddenly a large blue and white old circus tent appeared on the outside of the fair grounds fence, my buddy Sam sniffed out the situation and confirmed that the Palenque was back.  So we stuffed our pockets with meager amounts of pesos and I trudged along with my not-so-subtle camera gear in a shoulder bag, we grabbed a taxi, and we headed out there...
Warm up part 1: get another bird to peck your contestant.  This seemed
to be very effective - gets the birds rather fired up...
Warm up part 2: blow on the bird a bit.  Not sure what this was supposed to do.
Regardless, it didn't work.  Which was good for us.  We bet on the other bird.
 How can you NOT bet on this guy? We did... and won.  Don't mess with NY.


So, was it all a success?  Let's put it this way- after this one night, I was ready to double-mortgage the two bar/restaurants and the house in Chicago and put it all into a new and lucrative cockfighting career, as long as Sam placed the bets.. He simply couldn't lose.

Another winning ticket for Sam...
We, of course, attributed this success to our uncanny skill in sizing up the birds prior to the match and properly assertaining which creature had more fighting spirit.  Bottom line: we couldn't pick a loser no matter how many beers we had (or at least Sam couldn't - he placed all the bets).  In fact, the one time we decided to be against each other, just to liven things up after a lengthy streak of nothing but wins, the birds ended up fighting to a draw - the only draw of the entire night.  Our record for the evening:  8-1-1-6-3.  That's eight wins, one loss, one tie, six beers, & three shots of tequila.  The kind of record that wins national championships...

















So here's how the whole thing works:

The referee gives the signal to start...
The contestants square off...
... the battle ensues...
... the referee (in white) keeps a close eye on the action...
... things get heated rather quickly ...
... the loser gets carried off...

... and Sam scores another in the "W" column.
Somehow, we managed to spend about 5 hours watching this thing, over and over and over...  Yet it wasn't really boring at all, with all the action of bets flying, mid-bout raffles for prizes that generally were comprised of a big bag of assorted snacks and useless oddities, and just the general buzz of the crowd...

I really don't know what to say about this.  But they had ring-side seats.
And there clearly were many intricacies to this sport that I, for one, was just too much of a novice to grasp.  Sort of like baseball, or at least that's what I've been told.  I do know what it means to have the "infield in", but I have no idea what this guy's little trick is supposed to accomplish:

This bird was having a rough nite.  I'm guessing this technique is meant to
get the bird back on track, sort of like a bucket of water in a woozy boxer's face....
And this bird?  Just waiting his turn...
And what else draws one to a Palenque besides the thrilling action?  Well, the food, of course.  Not sure why they were serving so much chicken, but the tacos were delicious...

Hmmmmm.... These chicken tacos taste so fresh...
And the service was lovely, too.  Sam claims Lulu (the one on the far left) had taken a liking to me.  I suspected it was my $8 cowboy hat.  That or the fact that our pesos seemed to be multiplying faster than the flies hanging around the remains of the losing birds.  Clearly, we were some big time high rollers.

Our waitresses...  They were very patient and friendly...
... and talented singers, too!
Well, this was one wacky night.  Glad I didn't miss it...

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

alya at the bullfight

Alya, the girl who will save and set free any bug or animal in the most humane way possible, loves going to the bullfights for some reason.  She and Tom took in a few on their own.  By the last couple, she even had her outfit down.





Speaking of outfits...

Monday, October 11, 2010

The Bullfight. Part 1.


Bullfight.  The word alone is troubling for most people.  Yet this is a fairly recent phenomena.  Very recent, in fact.  The bullfight has been one of the most enduring of all human created spectacles, celebrated in the earliest days of our most ancient cultures and across many continents, both as a religious right and as a celebration of the now long-forgotten triumph of our taming of what were once very wild & dangerous beasts.

Allow me to get a bit philosophical.  The intense spectacle of a bullfight seems to demand it...  So I'm going to expound on the controversy of this subject with photos interspersed that hopefully capture some of the drama, excitement, and a combination of both the inherent revulsion and beauty that are part of the bullfight...

The presentation of the Matador.
("Matar" = "to kill" in Spanish, and "Matador" = "the killer" or "the one who kills").
Let me start by saying that I am, of course, against senseless cruelty to animals.  And I certainly understand that if someone dislikes the concept of the bullfight that he or she should refuse to attend.  

However, for those many out there who believe bullfighting should be banned, I can say that I think they probably have no idea what bullfighting truly and actually is.  I know I didn't until I attended two bullfights recently, and still really can't say I completely do, but there is no question that having attended them has altered my preconceptions.  And I am fairly certain that the loudest voices proposing the banning of bullfights have almost certainly never attended one.  While we are all entitled to our opinions, calling for the banning of bullfights without ever witnessing one (or two or more) is not at all unlike burning books you've never read or of which you've only read the liner notes.

It takes obvious skill & courage to face this 2,000 lb plus monster with horns...
Eventually, the two foes come face to face.  An opposable thumb and large frontal lobe has obvious advantages...
The obvious crux of the issue clearly boils down to one's interpretation of what is "cruel".  For it can only be on the basis of whether or not this spectacle is "needlessly cruel" that one can argue for or against its termination.  This should be obvious to anyone trying to intellectually grapple with the issue, but a more subtle and important element is the recognition that there is no more an objective measure of "cruelty" than there is of beauty or any other quality:  cruelty is indeed in mind of the beholder, and beauty in the eye.  Some see one or the other; I see a bit of both...

Delivering the coupe de grace Pt. 1:  Get the bull to lunge with head down and thrust toward the beast...
Pt. 2: Drive the tip of the blade just off the spine and aim for the heart...
Pt. 3: Finish the job with a thrust to the hilt...
... and in this case, enlist the aid of fellow Toreros to tire the bull until it accepts the inevitable.
It should also come as no surprise, despite the obvious irony, that "cruelty" is indeed more beholden by those that live in a less cruel environment.  For those who live where life itself, both human and animal, is more tenuous and risky, life and death and cruelty and compassion are not so mutually exclusive nor such strange bedfellows.  And Mexico is certainly such a place by all measures and statistics.  I think those who live safer, more sanitary and prosperous lives are undeniably more fearful of the demons we call death, cruelty, disease, etc., for we all fear most that which we know the least.  For those who have only seen the flesh of their daily meals neatly wrapped in plastic, washed clean of all traces of blood, bones, feathers, fur & fins, and presented on a shiny white shelf in an air conditioned super store, how else could they feel towards a deadly contest between a man and a bull and its untidy melange of grunts and snorts and blood and dust, other than with a sense of dread, fear and even disgust?  And how else to describe this spectacle of man and beast, and all the participants themselves, in any other term than as "cruel"?

Yet it should come as no surprise that for those who don't live in a society of sparkling clean corporate chain stores and who witness death more frequently and on a more personal level, the word "cruel" comes up much less frequently when describing the happenings in the bull ring.  And perhaps for those in the stands, the beauty of the movement and the artistry of the dance stand out in stark contrast to the mundane circumstances of suffering & death...

Taunting the bull to bring it on...
... and earning a well-deserved "olé!" from the fans.
No question here as to who's mastering whom...
... with poise, style, & grace that can't be denied ...
... and even on one knee!





So ultimately, my interpretation, as biased as any other, and perhaps the least meaningful of all (what credentials do I have, after all?), is simply this:  Is the bullfight cruel?  Of course.  As cruel as life itself.  As cruel as the bull itself.  As cruel as the gods we worship.  Without cruelty, the gods, the bulls, and life itself all become impotent.  The bull itself has for many millenia been a symbol at once of banality & cruelty and also of the godhead itself.  Perhaps this duel unto death with a bull in a ring is necessary, for at its deepest psychological roots, this fatal contest may represent our sole oppotunity to defy death, and it may even offer us mortals that rare chance to slay the cruelty of death itself, to slay the terrible god himself, and even perhaps even to slay the cruelty within our own selves in one defiant, triumphant act.  When you sit in the ring and watch, gasping at times, cheering at others, the contest becomes more and more charged, the stakes get higher with each sortie, and the climax is one nothing short of supreme elation and triumph that we, being one with the matador, are able to stand in front of this magnificent, mysterious, dangerous beast as it chokes on its own blood and gasps its last shuddering breath at our feet.
Following an exceptional performance, the ring master presents the matador with the victim's ears...
... and a member of the crowd presents him with a well earned draught from a boda bag.
The Matador pays his respects to his fallen foe with a respectful pat on the thigh...
Having witnessed this spectacle with its complex & contradictory emotional threads, it becomes crystal clear that for one to claim that this is all done solely for sadistic self aggrandizement or to satisfy some sort of perverse blood lust is to have completely missed the point.  Bullfighting is not Rambo.

James Jones, in his novel The Thin Red Line, which was based upon his personal experiences as a US Marine rifleman in the bloody battle of Guadacanal in WWII, perhaps sums up the entire philosophical & psychological quandary of the bullfight with one of my favorite quotes of all time:

"One man looks at a dying bird and thinks there's nothing but unanswered pain.  That death's got the final word, it's laughing at him. Another man sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels something smiling through it."
Perhaps this best explains why a man steps into a ring, armed with only a brightly colored cape and a flimsy little sword, and stares into the eyes of a 2,000 lb+ angry beast.  And maybe it also explains why the rest of us watch, captivated, unsure of which side to really cheer for...

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

The Tuesday Market ... again

Since Janan posted the last bit about the famous Tuesday Market here in San Miguel, I thought I should add my own two cents (about the price of many of the items for sale here).

The place is huge, comprised of three separate covered areas, each a full football field in size.  And every Tuesday, someone (or many someones) set up and take down this entire market.  It's incredible until you realize how cheap labor is down here, and then it seems quite credible.  What is hard to fathom is the sheer variety of what you can buy here.  Check this out:

Now, if you look closely at this photo, you can see that in this tiny corner of the market alone, you could reach out and purchase a phone or many phone accessories from the booth to the left, a used air conditioner or electric heater just beyond on the ground, numerous items of clothing for yourself or your kids (including an entire colorful assortment of cotton belts with bootlegged brand names, shoes, slippers, undies, etc.) or, if you fancy some groceries, a variety of tasty fruits and vegetables.  And if you're not a big shopper like me, you might be overwhelmed when you add in the ubiquitous, loud, dueling sounds of live wandering mariachi bands with the electronic thumpings emanating from numerous booths selling bootleg CDs.  So you'd probably do what I usually do:  heave a sigh and sit at a table like the one to the right and order a beer and some fried fish or tacos.

Today's venture, however, was not a waste.  These funky, tasty little morsels pictured below are something I'd been hoping to find at the market all the previous times I'd been here, and I was elated to finally strike gold:


Corn fungus gold, that is.  Huitlacoche (pronounced "wheat-la-coe-chay") to be more precise.  This ugly little member of the mold and mushroom family grows only during a brief season and is highly prized as the "Mexican truffle."  Some I know can't stand the stuff, but I also know that Rick Bayless buys it from an Illinois farmer whom he has convinced to inoculate his perfectly good midwestern USA corn with the spores of this nasty looking fungi.  Apparently Rick harvests it and freezes it so he can use it all year long.  If it's good enough for him, I for one am buying a kilo of this stuff.  I'll report back after eating it.

 And here to our left is Janan sampling a variety of fruits just prior to fitting me up with a multi-kilo load of tasty items.  Now I know what the burros feel like around here.

But I'm not complaining - the fruits and vegetables down here are amazing.  The large halved fruit under her hand is called "che-chah-moe-tay" if I recall correctly, and it tasted like honey and vanilla and sweet pear all combined with a crisp acidity to keep it feeling clean rather than cloying.  So a few of those got stuffed into my shoulder bag too, along with the black berries, huitlacoche, and a few other things I can't recall...


Anyway, while I didn't end up buying a new phone, an air conditioner, a Converse All-Star belt, or a bright orange pair of pants, I did manage to stuff my shoulder bag and a few other plastic bags to the bursting limit with fruits and vegetables prior to leaving, and all for a total of about 220 pesos (around $18.50, which included the rather tasty and filling lunch Janan and I both had).  So Janan packed it all up in the car while I wandered around for an extra hour or more, wondering if I really needed to purchase one of the limitless other useful items being sold at rather rediculously low prices, such as large plastic blue tarps, batteries in every size, used tools and knives, crucifixes and numerous other items of religious paraphenalia, CDs from latino artists I'd never heard, bootlegged movies (poorly overdubbed in Spanish, of course), saddles or other horse riding gear, heavily used paperback novels and/or shoes, toy guns (not like the real ones available all over Texas - down here, a real gun gets you several years in the slammer regardless of who you know, including Jesus), every conceivable type of tool ever invented by man (including tools made of stone, wood, and leather), and, of course, a plethora of delicious smelling pork products.  




And of course, a cup of either cumquats or pomegranate seeds to much on while wandering thru the market is a good idea, especially after the fried fish tacos.  At least I think those are cumquats.  Not sure.

So if you get down here, you have to join for me a tour of the Tuesday market.  It's phenomenal.  And unlike back home, most of the fabricated items are not from China (most are from Mexico, believe it or not), and the food actually comes from farms close by (still a foreign concept, understandably, in big cities like Chicago where "local" means from within a 500 mile radius).  And don't worry about Moctezuma's revenge.  Janan is correct, I had an "issue" a day and a half after my first visit to the market when we just arrived in mid August (I once again ignored my better instincts and ate all the salad that came with my fried fish).  But another thing I absolutely love about Mexico:  should you, too, have this "issue," I'll take you to see the Señora at the local Pharmacy and explain in broken Spanish that your Gringo stomach is adjusting to the exuberant tango that thrives in the local street cuisine, and for under $40 US you'll walk equipped with antibiotics and flow remedies that will have you back on the dance floor in half a day.  No doctor visit or American drug companies involved, which saves you roughly six hours of precious time and $200-$300 US.  And that buys you alot of cervecas and tacos down here, my friend!

So, having been here over 6 weeks, I indulged on that delicious fried fish and cabbage salad that I suspected gave me a bit of trouble when I first arrived, and fearlessly had my fill of the market and strolled home rather peacefully in mind and spirit.  Hard not to, when your walk home from the busy commercial center looks like this:


I honestly can't remember the last time I walked 2 miles home, but I wish I did it more frequently.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Tuesday market




The tianguis del martes, or Tuesday market, happens all day every Tuesday.  Here you can get anything from a pet turtle to a new (well maybe not new) cable for your radio.  Fresh produce, juices, bootlegged movies (my favorite so far is "Está Lloviendo Hamburguesas" which translates to "It's Raining Hamburgers" and actually was "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs"), shoes, furniture, face cream, clothes pins, school supplies, etc.   It's sort of like Target, only everything seems slightly used and there are no returns.

When I first visited, I felt a sort of sensory overload paralysis.  I think it takes a few visits before you can actually do some shopping.  However, eating at the market seems not only possible right away, but highly recommended.  The smells and sights of the food vendors will either make you starving or nauseous.  For us it has been the former (the latter, nausea, usually hits Tom about 12 hours later.)



fried whole fish

fried fish fillets, with lettuce or cabbage (most likely the source for Tom's troubles later)



and more!