Hold On To Your Caballos...

Early in April, we heard about Uruguay's annual rodeo, or "rural". Coinciding with the Catholic Holy Week, the Semena Criolla, or Week of the Creole, combines everything expected of family fun at an outdoor fair: fabulous foods, mixtures of music, art, entertainment and, of course, some leathery chaps called gauchos--who are professionals at horsing around. So, we saddled up on the public bus, and rode off to Parque Prado. The place was packed. Two lines were coming around the bend--strangely one was shorter than the other. Not knowing the difference, I stood in the short line while Leandra went to investigate. Moments later, she returned holding two tickets--a sympathetic security officer let her in the front of the line! So, we were in...

Squeezing between the mobs bottle-necked by booths and stalls, we walked the grounds and found large buildings filled with arts and crafts, surrounded by smaller stands selling the familiar smelling fare of fairs. One treat, churros, are like the Uruguayan equivalent to the elephant ear--nothing but deep-fried doughy goodness.
But, our main goal was to find the gauchos and a good seat to gawk from. So, we began circling the stands searching for the entrance, but bleacher seats for the rodeo were sold out. So, disappointed but not defeated, we scoped out the rapidly disappearing spaces between stands where folks could get a free view. But, that meant hours of solid sun and no seats other than the dusty dirt. But, we did find the corrals and our first cowboy complete with the customary clothes.
However, there was an outdoor restaurant perfectly situated with a front row vantage. So, after a short wait, the host seated us at the ultimate spot; besides the best view, we had food and beverages too, and shade umbrellas to boot! The catch? A thirty dollar minimum purchase. But, so what? We had all day! "Moso, dos cervezas por favor!"

Dropping ice cubes in our cups, we waited for the rodeo show to start as the stands filled with excited fans. Some gauchos lugging gear strode across the field while others trotted out on their magnificent steeds--both man and beast were looking primped and impressive. Soon, a pair galloped out with the first untamed bronco. These riders, working in tandem twosomes that expertly operated their horses like deftly driven machines, would also assist in the mounting procedures, spot along with the brave riders, and, if he wasn't bucked to the ground, ride aside and remove the rider after the twelve second bell rings.
Three cement posts, spaced by twenty meters, formed the starting point. While excited calls from the announcer poured from pole-top speakers, telling us each rider's name and origin, teams of gauchos tie the blindfolded foal with a knot that comes loose with one pull. Then, they add the saddle and hold her steady for the bold gaucho who strides over, sizing up his mount. Since some wild horses are more ornery that others--throwing fits, refusing to stand, rolling on the ground, kicking and bucking despite being tied blind to the posts, anticipating what they want the least which is a person on their back, and they do everything they can to avoid it--having three being prepared simultaneously ensures that one will be ready, and the schedule maintained.

As one horse recieves his saddle...

Another sits in protest as gauchos try all their tricks to get it to stand.

If the ground team fails, the two mounted gauchos snap to action, using their amazing animals to force the colt into standing submission. These men do not give up. The horse will not win. It will be ridden.
Even if a horse can throw a freshly seated rider, it will be captured and returned to the starting post until the the rider gets a legitimate attempt.

And, as the crowd approaches awed silence as the announcer crescendos, the starting bell rings a double ding-ding, and one of the horses release in a fury of hate for domestication and the frustration of being tamed by a superior species.

Again and again, the spectacle repeats. Neighing and whinnying, whipping around in every imaginable motion--jumping on all fours, bucking their bodies, spinning in infinite circles, wrenching the reins, even rolling on their backs--the beasts are desperate to separate them and their oppressors, and regain their freedom.
Meanwhile, like veteran stuntmen riding backfiring motocycles on one wheel, the gauchos manage to make it look easy and usually last the entire twelve seconds. Often riding with one hand--whether it is for showmanship or tradition we do not know--they wave small hand held towels as they seem to mock the horses displeasure with focussed smiles of their own.





After each ride, successful or not, the assiting gauchos retireve the ridden horse, and return to the corrals as the next pair brings out a new wild stallion. The gaucho's horses are unbelievably gorgeous, graceful, intelligent and powerful. They are taller, stronger, and smarter than their uncultured cousins. Perhaps the diminutive stature of the gauchos augments the majesty of their steeds, but both rider and the ridden seem so smitten with their superiority over the inferior horses, that they look down on them like uneducated lesser-thans.

During the intermission, we ordered some sizzled beef to go with our chilled beer. Served on a built-in grill, this mound of meat was billed as "barbecue for two". Take a close look--each slice is like an entire steak!

And, knowing that we had a minimum spending limit to meet, we added a cinnamon treat for dessert.

Then, the gauchos returned. What happened next happened more than once, but it's still hard to imagine the skill and strength it must take. Horses, right after they were released by the bell, would attempt to dismount their riders by rolling on the turf.
But, more often than not, the gaucho would remain in the saddle.

The surprise of the horse and the shock of the audience caused an explosive applause--as the the rider truly tamed the savage, tackling the twelve ticking seconds and getting a thunderous ovation. Although this rider successfully stuck himself to the saddle and waved his bandera in victory, this is a dangerous sport, and other gauchos were not as fortunate.
Despite a clean release from the post followed by a torso turn to counter every twist and twirl of the bronco,
after eleven seconds of mastery, the steed flashed the angry whites of his eyes and had the last laugh, flopping to its back and pinning the leg of the man, before lurching up and galloping away, liberated, and free of the pest at last.
This would not be the only time that a gaucho rode in on four legs and out on four wheels. But, even as the gurney was lifted into the ambulance, the injured gaucho would raise his first and let the crowd know that he's alive and that he knows this is all part of the art of ranching and riding wild horses. The crowd responds with encore-worthy cheers of appreciation that can only give the rider added strength to have during his recuperation...

Finally, when they've run out of untamed horses and brave men, the rodeo show comes to a close. Fans stretch and head back into the fray of the surrounding fair to wander and wait for the evening's music concerts. Meanwhile, gauchos from every South American country that claims to have cattle land, united by their profession, carry packs and slap backs as they migrate back across the field.

A gaucho's son excitedly asks his uncle about a rider, or a horse, or asks if he saw this or that. The uncle calmly responds with the perfect response, and the father nods in agreement. Despite the differing depth of their experience and each man's corresponding countenance, all three have the same gleam in the eye--whether obvious in the illuminated look of a boy or hidden behind the leathery weathered smile of a veteran gaucho. And, the tradition lives on.