I'm in a hostel in Guadalajara recovering from the bad food I had in Tequila the day before. I have been eating bread all day with some bottled water. I'm too exhausted to walk a block to 7-11 (YES they have 7-11's!!!!!!!!!) to get better food. I haven't really seen any sights yet. That evening, as I'm sitting around the table listening to other travellers shoot the shit, we discover that there was wrestling to be seen.
As you guys know, if you've been reading my blog, I went a couple times in El Salvador. Lucha libre, is what I'm talking about.
The next day, I'm feeling better and do manage to round up a few of the boys to come with.
Now, this Lucha Libre was not at all what I expected. This place, of all places, had class. Or, at least they dressed up as if they did. Imagine a Vegas high-profile boxing match where people got all dressed up. People were all dressed up. Vendors came around to sell freshly popped popcorn and salt and vinegar pork rinds. Not deep fried pork rinds, boiled pork rinds. Oh, believe you me, it was a treat indeed. Projectile vomiting and simultaneous diarrhea the day before did not deter me from trying a piece of this bad boy. Let's just say we added a lot of hot sauce to help it down.
I guess Mexico is pretty much the leader in this sport. The acrobatics had more finesse and the costumes were less tacky than the El Salvadorian one. And there was no pre-game show needed to rile up the audience. This was an indoor area with a proper ring in the middle. The cheap seats were waaaaaaaay up high in the back and a single, frail, granny, it seemed, spewed out all the profanity required to meet the quota of curses.
No flames or fancy-dancy circus clowns. Just good ol' Luchadors. I still had a blast and one of the wrestlers, who kinda reminded me of a mix between the lead singer from Red Hot Chili Peppers and the Latin guy from Black Eyed Peas, kept on glancing at me. Damn, I wish my Spanish was better... Could have gotten an autograph.
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