Blood Sports in Teposcolula

We came to Teposcolula for its famous church and arrived propitiously on its patron-saint Holiday. In Mexico, this is a town's biggest fiesta, when food, dance, prayer, and fireworks, are always present.  We heard that cock-fights are also on the agenda, and decided to stay.

A narrow cobbled street led away from the crowds in the Plaza towards the school, where the event was held.  A growing number of spectators waited on the bleachers surrounding the cockpit, eating, chatting, and watching the roosters being weighed.  Two men entered the ring, the birds nestled in their arms like babies.  Despite the affectionate gesture, they displayed no signs of the drama that I felt.  With the aid of an assistant, they concentrated on the complicated process of tying a shiny curved blade to their rooster's foot.  Meanwhile,  a well endowed woman circled the pit collecting bets.  A practice rooster was brought in to confront each of the contestants. When both were sufficiently agitated, the fighting began.

The two birds flung themselves at each other, claws aiming at the opponent's throat.  In less than a minute, one was seriously hurt.  The cocks, both bleeding profusely, were placed facing each other for another round.  After more frantic scrambles, the loser stopped moving, and the referee ended the fight.   The owners gingerly picked up the wounded birds, and carried them out.  The young owner was not distraught.  The rooster he nourished and trained for weeks, lay dead in a garbage bin, yet he had more cocks ready to fight tonight, and a win will net him several hundred dollars.  Feathers and blood were swept from the floor in preparation for the next fight.  We headed for the church.

When the Dominican monks, utilizing local slave labor, constructed this magnificent structure, they expected thousands of worshipers.  To accommodate the huge crowd, they added a large (Mexico's largest) open-air chapel.  Unfortunately, within a few years, the indigenous population was almost wiped out by European germs.  We joined several dozen solemn believers praying inside.  After mass, the Jesus image was lowered from the wall, and carried outside for a candle-lit procession.  As the procession was leaving, I noticed that a smaller group stayed behind and formed a queue.  Facing them, stood a middle aged woman, who, in turn, held the first in line, and swiped a red cloth over his entire body.
"She is a famous curadora (healer)."  explained one women in a reverent voice, "She is cleansing the people of their sickness and bad luck".
Even though my knees could use a small miracle, I did not join the line.

The only hotel in Teposcolula was fully booked by the curadora's followers, and I had to endure the dark winding road to its bigger neighbor.  After a good night's sleep and a luxurious breakfast, we watched another local sport.  In this ball game, the defeated team forfeits their hearts, as nourishment for the Gods.  I saw enough blood for one weekend, and was glad that this tradition disappeared with the arrival of the Spaniards.  What remained, is a game that resembles volleyball, without a net.  Nowadays, the losers of the Pelota Mixteca sacrifice only a few hundred pesos.

On the way home, a few vigorous laps in the clear water of a spring-fed pool, washed away my last thoughts of blood.