By admin | October 8, 2007
Dr. Robbins hereâ€¦We hit the road for
We had the cabbie drop us off at the Drive Through Liquor store so that we could pre-funk with a few beers before entering the Bull Fight.Â We quaffed a few in the drive through lane and watched scores of drunk drivers roll up with empties between their legs.Â They would pass their finished beers to the attendant and would leave with fresh beers in hand.Â The store workers would open the road sodas for customers trading in, so drivers did not have to dangerously take their eyes off the road while drunk and trying to open their next beer in traffic.Â Safety is always first in Mexicoâ€¦
Once in the Plaza Del Toros (Bullfighting Arena), we grabbed seats in the shaded section and watched the abattoir also known as a â€œBull Fightâ€.Â There were six fights in total and like Eric said, it was like watching a bad movie over and over again.Â Two different methods were used that both ended in the death of the bull.Â
The first method involves a horseman who wears out the bull by running it ragged and stabbing it with colorful swords.Â Then, after thoroughly wearing the beast out, a group of 10 Forcados line up on foot, in colorful clothing, and the bull charges them.Â The first bull we saw dug deep and charged the Farcodos with surprising speed.Â He flung the first guy into the air and then trampled him while everyone in the crowd freaked out.Â After getting trampled, he was covered in blood, barely conscious and ushered out for Medical attention.Â The horseman returns after the Forcados get flung around by the bull for a while. The lone horseman then stabs the bull with a larger sword and a rodeo clown runs out eventually to finish the downed bull with a dagger between the skull and vertebrae.Â All in all, cruel, unfair and really not that entertaining; a slaughter more than a fight!Â
The next type of bullfight involves a traditional Spanish Matador.Â These showmen, who are very charismatic and well practiced, use red or purple â€œtoroâ€ capes to taunt the bull into a charge.Â When the bull charges the cape, the Matador side steps the charge and stabs the bull with a sword in the shoulder blades.Â Midway through, a rider with a large spear on an armored horse enters the arena.Â The rider stabs the bull with the spear, boring a hole in its back, like sinking a fencepost deep into soft soil. Â After this, the Matador returns with a large sword to deal the final blow that ends the bullâ€™s life.Â The Matador must stab the bull between the shoulder blade and neck in order to make it fall.Â A good Matador only needs one try to kill the bull.Â The Matadors we saw needed several.Â After watching six of these â€œfights,â€ we had quenched any bloodlust that was latent in our minds.Â By the end, we were all hoping the bulls would mangle some of the Farcados or Matadors.Â Personally, I would have been much happier drinking Mai Tais in a Speedo on the beach than watching this cruel demonstration of Spanish chauvinism.
That night was Mexican Independence Day, which celebrated almost 200 years of freedom from Spanish Rule.Â People packed the streets of Old Mazatlan, bands blared, and at midnight, everyone screamed for a solid 15 minutes (the famous Grito) after the municipal president yelled â€˜Viva Mexicoâ€™.Â Humid and overcrowded, we were sweating like Elvis in a cheese shop.Â Luckily, we left the A/C on high in our hotel room all day.Â For the first time in weeks, we all slept with our heads on cool pillows and our bodies under covers.Â
Out front of the hotel the next day, our truck wouldnâ€™t start for the 5th time. We hailed a jump from one of the locals and headed south for some solitude and surf.Â On the way south, I was sitting shotgun and nearing the end of my 500 page Clive Cussler novel.Â Out of nowhere, a hornet the size of a hummingbird landed on my neck.Â I freaked out and started gyrating, swatting at the thing and screaming like a twelve year old girl.Â I finally managed to smack the behemoth of a bug with my book sending the insect out the window along with my book, leaving nothing but the question of whether the Japanese mobsters were going to nuke the US and find the billions in gold buried in a Vietnamese cave or not.Â We laughed into a small village called Santa Cruz, located between Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta.Â We set up camp next to a restaurant on the beach and directly in front of a long left point breaking over cobblestone rocks.Â After surfing, night rolled in with storm clouds in tow.Â A torrential downpour ensued and we decided to get out the shampoo and Camp Suds for a little cleanup.Â We showered in the warm rain that felt like a pressure washer being shot down on us from the clouds.
We spent a few days in Santa Cruz and then drove to the town of San Blas.Â We walked in to the local elementary school armed with childrenâ€™s books about keeping the environment clean, Zinka stickers, and our wits.Â Chuck Menzel, from Wetsand.com, has been more than generous in getting the books translated and stocking us up.Â The principal was happy to let us give demonstrations to his classes, so we developed a loose strategy for keeping order and dove in.Â We hit up the fourth graders, and they were great.Â They loved the book, and they all wanted to know how much it cost.Â When we told them that we were giving a few to the school as a gift from Wetsand.com, they were overjoyed.Â They slapped their Zinka stickers on their chests, hooted, hollered, and ran amuck, bowling over the teacher, and giving high fives to the four of us.Â We went from class to class, talking to the children and giving out stickers.Â It was, hands down, our best day so far.
Topics: Mexico |
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