Each year E and I love to celebrate Easter by heading to a bloody cockfight on a desolate, dusty, dimly lit road in rural Mexico. Not really, but this year we did and let me tell you...it was an experience.
After getting the hell out of Acapulco-or what I like to call the Orlando Florida of Mexico (side note - Acapulco is quite lovely it's just that we happened to be there during Easter weekend when every family in Mexico was visiting and every woman getting their hair braided) we decided to hop on a bus called "Big Blue" and head towards an area on the coast a friend recommended called Pie de la Cuesta. The drive was fairly quick and made for cool people watching out the window. There was a sailor that boarded the semi-empty bus and I so badly wanted to spy shoot him but the end result was a picture of my left ear, hair and the roof of the bus instead.
As we came around the bend and looked down on the stunning view of the Pacific Ocean and miles of white sand, palm trees and palapas-little thatched roofs throughout the beach-I knew we had made a great choice. Then again, we were on vacation in beautiful Mexico. What was a bad choice really?
The bus stopped briefly on a dusty road (the public buses in Acapulco come to a rolling stop and one has to sort of jump off) and we were greeted by a local that said to E, “Pie de la cuesta, amigo?” It's true we did look a little confused. In fact I was overdressed and wearing a white short-sleeved blouse for some bizarre reason and also carrying a rolling suitcase. E had his, "I got this backback when I graduated college" gear and with all the rural chaos-kids, townspeople, chickens running around and us standing in the middle-it resembled the makings of a bad action/adventure/comedy starring Goldie Hawn and Adam Sandler.
Luckily a perfectly normal Mexican teenager with a scar on his cheek who I immediately assumed being white and uptight was going to beat us up-kindly pointed to the road where all the hotels were and we found a wonderful place right on the beach to stay the night.
The place was great, family run and steps from the ocean. Our room was painted bright aqua blue and you could hear the waves crashing. There was only one roach spotting but who cares. E (no offense honey) made a lame attempt to kill the roach by first “fanning” it from the room with the frilly orange fan I’d bought from a little girl on the beach earlier. After that didn’t work I did my best to be patient but E was just short of giving the roach a beer and cigarette in hopes that it would one day die of lung cancer until I finally lost my cool and yelled, “KILL IT!!!!!” and threw my sandal at him which he used and the deed was done.
After the world's BEST fresh fish empanada dinner (YUM!) made by the grandmother of the place and many cervezas we took a walk. It was dark and quiet and then soon we came across the sound of chickens squawking and a tiny white wooden barnish place and what do you know...a cockfight arena. After overcoming my fear that we might be killed (again-always with the killing) E convinced me to peek in. Sure enough it was a little arena-seats with fans watching-men in white cowboy hats and bottles of tequila, an MC, the two guys with their birds -stroking and petting their cocks-they were! I swear! And even blowing in the faces of the birds to get them angry before letting them free to attack one another.
I couldn't watch the actual fight. The sounds resembling a cat fight with it's painful decibels was enough. All I know is it was all over in like...30 seconds. One bird winner. One bird dead. The owner of the loser picked up the dead bird, scrunched it in his hands like it was a dirty paper towel and that was that.
E: "Happy Easter honey."
K: "Yeah...thanks. You too."
