A group of adolescents watch the spectacle.

 

We were driving around on a balmy Saturday evening on the Nicaraguan Island of Ometepe. I’d been blabbing about nothing, I can’t even remember what. As we came around a bend in the concrete brick road, I started noticing an ever increasing amount of people on the peripheries, with the road revealing a huge one room church overflowing with souls. One bank of blinding fluorescent lights emanated from the church’s ceiling, casting ominous shadows from all the figures trying to get into the service. It was a focal point for the community for their Saturday night’s happenings. I didn’t seem to realize that I had never seen this church before on all of our prior trips back to our plantation hotel, Finca Magdalena. My ramblings and driving continued. Then the road stopped.

An abrupt transition of crushed rock and I realized that we were lost. I turned the ship around and had started backtracking when I noticed new bare light bulbs scaring away the night. It looked like a giant food festival, with vendors cooking and selling all varieties of food. We got out, exploring all of the various stands, and it didn’t quite register with me that there were so many stands, and there were only a few people milling about. Coming to the end, I turned around to a spectacle that made my heart skip- I finally realized what all of this was about.

The day prior hiking around the dormant volcano we were staying on, the local children had been playing with ropes, some chasing chickens with frayed strings in tow, and others lassoing any lazy dogs that would oblige. I hadn’t thought anything of it; kids were being kids.

For the residents of Balgüe, it was either church or the rodeo for Saturday night’s entertainment.

 

The memories came flooding back in front of this unwieldy structure. Ninety Cordobas ($3USD) and we were in: A jumble of rusting metal scaffolding and worn wooden planks arranged around a dirt arena, strung with bare light bulbs for light. A Monta Toro. It was the traveling bull riding rodeo. It seemed that anyone who was not at the church down the street was packed into the rickety stands.

Men work to restrain the bull to the post.

 

A ruckus came from the far side the arena, and two horse-mounted caballeros burst out of a holding pin. A giant twice lassoed bull in their collective grasp thrashed and leapt, kicking up the packed dirt ground. The pair fought to bring the bull to a huge pole on the opposite side. When they were close enough, a group of men and teen boys rushed to tie the animal to it.

 

Having done their job, the vaqueros retreat to safety.

The bull fought its restraints. Enormous muscles straining, it snorted and groaned in protest. I looked back over the stands, seeing people outside the arena pressed up against the gaps in the wood in an attempt at a glimpse of the action. With the animal restrained enough, there was a break in the action and a huddle of those who had worked to restrain the beast.

They were choosing who would ride it.

Uneasy determination clings to the young man’s face as he mounts the creature. One pull on the special knot holding everything together, and the creature is bucking away with an unbound ferociousness tearing across the arena. A small band up in the stands provides musical tension for the scene as the bull tries to throw the man off, his body a rag doll battered with every maneuver. Errant fireworks explode overhead, nearly breaching the stands. The crowd erupts with glee at the ferocity of the parade, and loses it as the man is nearly impaled by the bull’s horns mid-air while being thrown off. Friends rush to the man on the ground, dragging him to his feet as the beast dashes off, only to be taunted by others eager to assert their masculinity and test their fate.

A man goes for a gut-wrenching ride on top of the bull.

I was surprised with how engrossed I was with all of it. It was thrilling. There was an actual prospect of casualty. At the same time I couldn’t reconcile thoughts for the bull’s well being, though worth mentioning is that I didn’t see anyone actively trying to inflict bodily harm to the bulls.

Nicaraguans gather for the rodeo.

Interesting leaving the extravaganza, and driving past the church again. Two events so close together, yet so far apart.

A young man readies his caballo for the arena.

The next morning we were sharing about our rodeo encounter with our host, Nora. She lit up with excitement, and shared about the rest of the evening. Turns out we missed a man getting gored in the stomach after getting tossed off a bull.

I hope the children practice enough.