On The Trail Of The Shadow of The Serpent, or
On The Road To Ruins In QuintRoo (Continued)

The way this works is Kukulcán, the feathered serpent of the ancient Mayans, appears at the temple that is located in the center of the ruins. The temple, known in Spanish as El Castillo, is about 82 feet high and is shaped like a pyramid. There is a pair of snake’s heads made by huge stone at the north bottom of it. Beginning about 4:30 p.m. the rays of the setting sun shine across the stepped northwestern corner of the temple casting a zigzag shadow along the handrail of the northern staircase. Within an hour, alternating triangles of light and shadow stretch from top to bottom - it’s as if the serpent is moving its way down the stairs - finally illuminating the snake head at the bottom and forming the giant sunlit serpent.

At about 4 p.m., the snake figure started to appear gradually. Everyone raised their hands to feel the power from the feathered serpent. It wasn’t like a normal festival that you would imagine, but more of a solemn ritual . . . in 100 + degree weather. Quite awesome to see, even with 50,000 of my closest friends, you had to wonder about the knowledge of the skies that the ancient Mayans must have had to plan and build such a spectacular spectacle.

Though there was a special light show planned for the evening, Angel proclaimed it tacky and we headed back to Cancun a bit before 6 PM, never having seen Mike or Rita. Ended up sending the night partying with Angel and some of his friends (yeah, rich Americans are loved the world over . . . rich meaning you’re willing to pick up the tab, not that you have big bucks back at home!) And ran across Mike and his wife the next morning (OK, early afternoon, which qualifies as morning for me). I was jazzed and began telling them about the great seats we had and how awesome the whole trip had been, but noticed they were not sharing in my enthusiasm. Turns out their tour failed to take into account the crowds and the bus parked far away from the ruins. Since they had to be back on board by 5:00, they had to leave just as the serpent made its appearance. Lesson here, as it seems to be everywhere is to avoid organized tours and strike out on your own. You’ll have a much better time and might even get to see a mythical serpent crawl about some old rocks . . .

Cockfighting In Bali, Or
Why Chicken Satay Is So Cheap In Kuta

The clue to the true spirit of the Balinese people can be found in one of their most beloved pastimes, cockfighting. Now the guidebooks will all go to great lengths to portray cockfighting in Bali as a religious event and will even claim the fights only occur during festivals and/or at temples. Well, I missed the temples on Poppies Lane in Kuta, and the only festival happening there is the parade of stoned Aussie surfers and their Bo Derek wannabe girlfriends with their pale white scalps glistening through their freshly corn rowed hair. But what is hard to miss, on any weekday afternoon, is the mass of men gathered, bird and rupiah in hand, for the day’s battle. The men really enjoy a chance to get together, gamble a little, and watch two birds tear each other’s heart out. We have TV . . . they have cockfights.

Oh, and you thought from the heading a pun on 'cockfighting' was going to result in a tale set in Hulu’s Cafe, Bali’s premier gay bar . . . .

To attend a cockfight is to witness a mass hysteria of betting, friendly arguing, and organized pandemonium. To attend as a rooster, really sucks! Feathers pricked, tormented and taught to be pissed off all the time, you’re sized up beside your opponent and then it’s kill time, unless you want to be in the dinner pot tonight. Men from all over bring in their prized fighters set in bamboo cages. On a busy fight day, there can be as many as 30 roosters waiting for their chance to kill or die.

Cockfighting is a developed, well thought out sport. Patrons bring their local food dishes to sell outside the arena. The old Indonesian men cook up chicken satay on a 6 inch wide, 1 foot long grill, the old women have whole roasted pigs, and let’s not forget about the different fruit delicacies. It’s all here at the cockfighting stadium. How do people eat with so much killing going on? The blood itself is enough to make you vomit.

The fighting goes down with an assortment of birds measured by height, weight, and wing span to make for an even battle. When two birds match, they’re fitted for a razor sharp blade that is tightly tied around one foot, with the blade sticking out the back. The birds are held face to face as their feathers are pricked to stimulate aggression. A fury of money changes hands as bets are accepted. The roosters are taken to their respective corners and released.

For one, maybe two minutes, roosters fly in the air and that’s it. The loser backs off, slowly collapsing to the ground. Their legs are then sliced off or the throat is cut. The losing bird is scooped up and skinned right outside the stadium to get ready for the dinner pot. The winning rooster will be heading there as well, as most times their injuries are just as bad. The money is paid and the next fight begins. A good rooster will make a poor Indonesian farmer wealthy. A bad one . . . well, at least the family will have meat for dinner.

Greed, avarice, and gambling; a bit of blood, easy death; and a bit of pseudo-religion. That’s a Balinese cockfight. It also sums up the nature of the Balinese you’ll encounter on a holiday there. Keep that in mind when you exchange money and you won’t end up being someone meal ticket for the night!

Ramble On . . .

Mosey On Back . . .

Entrance To The Rabbit Hole . . .

SIGHTS OF:

Bali