Oaxaca Rodeo

On Sunday, the sky was clear. The rains that caused death and destruction during the previous weeks, finally abated. It was a good day to visit Tlalixtac, an indigenous town at the outskirts of Oaxaca. As part of the celebrations honoring the town's patron saint, a free jaripeo was scheduled for the afternoon. Having missed the Calgary Stampede during our Canada trip, this would be an opportunity for Adi to attend her first rodeo.

We arrived at the jaripeo site a bit early, only to find it almost empty. Above the bleachers someone was hooking thick cables to a set of gigantic speakers. He told us that the jaripeo is at least an hour away. We strolled the street leading to the town center. The late afternoon sun enhanced the rich primary colors of the painted walls, giving the town a Technicolor hue. The street was dramatically empty and silent; even the dogs were taking a siesta. I felt like Clint Eastwood striding through a terrorized Mexican town. In the town square, toiled a lonely technician, lubricating the wheels of the idle amusement rides, and in the church, a fifteen year old girl dressed in a pink evening gown, obediently sat and listened to the priest conducting a subdued coming-of-age ceremony. Two identical pastry stalls, like English palace guards, lined both sides of the church gate. Both displayed a wide variety of sweets arranged in a neat tapestry of shapes and colors. I was not hungry, yet the spicy vegetable, mushroom, and cheese omelet that I prepared for brunch demanded a fitting dessert, and I chose a sugar coated, custard filled roll.

At the jaripeo, there were still only few spectators, but the grounds were teeming with activity. Snack and beverage vendors were setting up their stalls, and a continuous procession of muddy trucks arrived to deliver the stars of the event. The drivers, local farmers and their sons, unloaded the bulls, and pulling on a rope tied to the animal's nose, led them inside the corral. Adi and I stuffed our ears with tissue paper, as protection against the deafening music, and joined the boys that were gathered around the corral. The boys explained that bull riding is the only event in a jaripeo. Observing the bulls, it was obvious that we are not at the Calgary Stampede. These were not the fire breathing, wild bucking monsters one would encounter there, but rather ordinary farm bulls which seemed more afraid than angry. There was a large diversity of animals inside. While some were full sized, with large impressive horns, others were much younger and smaller. The purpose of the diversity became clear to us during the event itself, which more than two hours after our arrival, was about to start.

We sat as far as possible from the speakers, with a good view of the starting gate. By now the place was full. Next to us sat an indigenous woman, wrapped in scarves and breast feeding a baby. Also with her were her young son and daughter. Accompanied by the energetic music of the local boy's band the first rider, a professional cowboy, provided an exciting display of riding skill. Then the fun began. It was the local youth that were the invited riders. The event organizers matched the bull size to the participant age, and let them on. We watched as riders of all ages lowered themselves gingerly onto the back of a bull crammed in the starting gate, grab the two-handled grips tied around the bull, and then, as the gate flung open, try to stay on top of the bucking animal. Just as I was thinking of Ofer, who as a boy would not miss this opportunity (maybe not even as an adult), I saw our neighbor's son, who could not have been more than six years old, climb the starting gate, and ride the bull for several long seconds. He hit the ground, barely missed being trampled, dusted himself off, and widely grinning limped out of the arena. Throughout this time, his mother's expression did not change. Neither did she react when he came to collect his jacket and went off to play with his friends. She is definitely not a Jewish Mother. Like the boy, it seemed that for all riders, a heroic limp was a required injury. Even on the one occasion where the ambulance crew went into action, the rider eventually limped back.

We had fun, but as night fell, we left. We came unprepared for the cold front that drove away the rains, and had to escape to the warmth of our home.