Post from Tim:
Paul was an opportunist. Two days ago he knocked on our door and sold us a dolphin tour. Today he returned with a rooster under one arm and invited us to a cockfight. He extended the invitation in a friendly way, like asking a friend out to dinner. But under the act, I felt him looking at me like a human ATM. When he mentioned the 10,000 rupiah entry fee we would have to pay him, I knew he was lying. But I didn't mind shelling out $1.20 US for a guide to an event that I couldn't attend normally.
We collected three other travelers, walked inland for about twenty minutes, and arrived to a dusty clearing. Past the rows of motorcycles lay the main attraction: a 20 x 20 foot bamboo square staked into the ground like a two foot high boxing ring. Men gathered in clusters around the ring talking, their bouts of laughter occasionally breaking the mummer of light conversation. Only five women were present, but three were tourists in our party and two were selling drinks.
Paul handed his chicken to a shriveled old man who ran the event. The old man worked quickly, attaching sharp knives to the rooster's feet with endless loops of thin red string. As Paul's rooster was a three-time winner, the old man tied the knives closer to the center of the feet to give the opponent an advantage.
Bets were completed and the match began. The old man placed the cocks in the center of the ring and riled them up. The roosters went after each other in a clucking frenzy, pecking at each other, ripping out feathers, and drawing blood. The crowd howled and feathers flew.
The old man paused the match and placed both chickens in a woven overturned basket, where the fight continued in a confined space. Paul's chicken jumped and slashed the challenger's leg. The old man lifted the basket so the fight could continue in open space, but the challenger slumped to the ground. Blood covered both roosters, but Paul's rooster won the match.
Michelle winced and looked away when an assistant slit the throat of the loser and handed the body to Paul to keep. He held it up, joking about having chicken soup for dinner. The loser's previous owner looked at Michelle and sadly mouthed, "I lost."
By this time the crowd had grown to over 80 people. A freshly erected gambling area sat adjacent to the ring, and drew the cockfight spectators over. I didn't understand the rules of the game, but it involved cards, numbers, and lots of money.
We didn't stick around for a second match, but plenty of other events kept our attention. A man slashed three of his fingers with a poisoned knife used in the fight and immediately passed out. Amazingly, a group of men carried him to a motorcycle, sandwiched his limp body between two people, and drove him over dirt roads to a doctor.
As a vegetarian, I found the cockfight somewhat gruesome. Nevertheless, I'm glad I had the opportunity to go. Most importantly, I enjoyed asking Michelle what kind of chicken dish she wanted for lunch as we left the dusty clearing.
I think she may be one step closer to becoming a vegetarian herself.
We collected three other travelers, walked inland for about twenty minutes, and arrived to a dusty clearing. Past the rows of motorcycles lay the main attraction: a 20 x 20 foot bamboo square staked into the ground like a two foot high boxing ring. Men gathered in clusters around the ring talking, their bouts of laughter occasionally breaking the mummer of light conversation. Only five women were present, but three were tourists in our party and two were selling drinks.
Paul handed his chicken to a shriveled old man who ran the event. The old man worked quickly, attaching sharp knives to the rooster's feet with endless loops of thin red string. As Paul's rooster was a three-time winner, the old man tied the knives closer to the center of the feet to give the opponent an advantage.
Bets were completed and the match began. The old man placed the cocks in the center of the ring and riled them up. The roosters went after each other in a clucking frenzy, pecking at each other, ripping out feathers, and drawing blood. The crowd howled and feathers flew.
The old man paused the match and placed both chickens in a woven overturned basket, where the fight continued in a confined space. Paul's chicken jumped and slashed the challenger's leg. The old man lifted the basket so the fight could continue in open space, but the challenger slumped to the ground. Blood covered both roosters, but Paul's rooster won the match.
Michelle winced and looked away when an assistant slit the throat of the loser and handed the body to Paul to keep. He held it up, joking about having chicken soup for dinner. The loser's previous owner looked at Michelle and sadly mouthed, "I lost."
By this time the crowd had grown to over 80 people. A freshly erected gambling area sat adjacent to the ring, and drew the cockfight spectators over. I didn't understand the rules of the game, but it involved cards, numbers, and lots of money.
We didn't stick around for a second match, but plenty of other events kept our attention. A man slashed three of his fingers with a poisoned knife used in the fight and immediately passed out. Amazingly, a group of men carried him to a motorcycle, sandwiched his limp body between two people, and drove him over dirt roads to a doctor.
As a vegetarian, I found the cockfight somewhat gruesome. Nevertheless, I'm glad I had the opportunity to go. Most importantly, I enjoyed asking Michelle what kind of chicken dish she wanted for lunch as we left the dusty clearing.
I think she may be one step closer to becoming a vegetarian herself.
Photos From This Location
