Charrería – The Mexican Rodeo

"East L.A.?" says the writer’s wife, "Ugh" and she makes a sound like she suddenly noticed a large banana slug on her dinner plate. "What are you going THERE for?"
 
"Rodeo," I say. "Mexican Rodeo. They invited me and I can barely hold my water till it starts."
 
"I dunno," she says, and looks at me suspiciously, like I’m not quite right. "East L.A. Hmph."
 
Eighteen hours on I-5 gets me to Riverside, near the Pico Rivera Sports Arena without once having a "friendly" TSA agent fondle my junk. It also gets my entire cargo of camera gear there without handling by anyone but me. It’s 78 degrees and clear. I don’t miss Vashon at all.
 
My friend Toby De La Torre, the CEO of Charros Foundation USA, meets me in the parking lot and begins an enthusiastic introduction to the world of Charrería that lasts until we part for the evening. Saturday is a practice day so we can visit and I can learn. Tomorrow is the real thing and I am on my own. I grab one camera and fit a zoom lens, but I’m so excited and frazzled I forget to install the battery.
 
We walk toward the entrance, which is shared by pedestrians and charros on horseback. The charros are Mexican cowboys and they are dressed in boots with spurs, fancy tooled-leather chaps, colorful tight-fitting shirts with bright fan-shaped bow ties and large sombreros made from rabbit fur felt and adorned with all manner of fancy engraved leather and colorful embroidery.
 
The horses are excited and skitterish so pedestrians must step carefully since the entrance is crowded and narrow. The charros are part of the action but civilians must pay, and today there is live Norteño music from several well-known local bands so the cover is $20. I reach for my wallet, but Toby tells me I’m a guest of the management – they won’t take my money.
 
Inside is a swirl of people divided by a low fence that separates the crowded bleachers from the dirt lane where the charros line up to await their turn at the colas. The bands are amplified and sport brass instruments including huge tubas and electric accordions. The ancestors of both instruments were introduced into Mexico before the Texas War of Independence at a time when Mexico encouraged whole German villages to move to Texas, thinking to get them and the Tennesseans to wipe out the Comanches. That did happen eventually, in 1871, but by that time Texas was part of the United States again so the dream of a Texas populated by Mexicans was never realized. Mexico didn’t get to keep Texas, but Mexicans DID get the accordion and the tuba. Either instrument is capable of causing substantial hearing loss at a distance of 100 meters. I am ten feet away from both.
 
The sweet scent of fresh horse manure mixes with the delicious aroma of steaming fresh tacos from the little hole-in-the-wall taqueria. There’s a belly-to-back queue but it moves fast and the server soon piles my paper plate with delicious beef and chicken tacos, about 4 inches across, on soft corn tortillas and sprinkled with onions and cilantro. The combination of painfully-loud Norteño music, homey barnyard smells, bright colors and delicious tastes brings back the happiest moments of my childhood and I feel a warm glow of intense, ineffable pleasure. The charros are on horses in the lane and their wives and kids are watching from the bleachers as one steer after another is released from the chute and one charro after another tries for the best score. Conversations switch back and forth between unaccented English and unaccented Spanish: this is L.A. after all. Teenagers are texting and girls are giggling. The bar serves an inexhaustible supply of Tecate to men in cowboy hats, western shirts and jeans. For once, I am dressed appropriately.
 
After I retrieve my camera battery I make a few portraits, including several of Don Leonardo Lopez, the dueño of the Pico Rivera Sports Arena and four of his sons. Toby is my liaison, but it is with the gracious permission of Don Leonardo that I will be allowed to photograph this beautiful event. The next day I show up loaded for bear. It is Sunday and the full charreada starts at 10:00 AM. I carry a big lens in a backpack, a huge tripod and another camera on my shoulder. I take my place in the stands since the arena floor offers no escape to pedestrians and there are often five or six horses in the relatively small space, including desperate wild ones.
 
Charrería is the sport, and a charreada is an instance of it, a tournament. It is the national sport of Mexico and it’s different from our American rodeo in many respects. Some events are similar but many would be new to a rodeo fan. One key difference is in the approach, charrería is a team sport and there’s no prize money. The charros ride their own horses, as our team ropers do, for instance. Teams practice for years, traveling to competitions winning or losing, but paying their own expenses and getting nothing more than the reaction of the crowd and their own personal satisfaction in return. Often a team includes three generations of one family – granddad, dad and grandson, and those three perform specific roles together. The standard of success is excellent horsemanship.
 
All ranching in North, Central and South America and almost all of western equestrian technique and tradition derives from 16th century Spain. The language of the cowboys is derived from Spanish: buckaroo (vaquero), lariat (la reata), stampede (estampida), wrangler (caballonango) and even the very word "ranch" (rancho) all come from the mother of ranching culture, Spain. Watching the elaborate dance and traditional movements of the charros I see my home planet through a different window, from an angle I never quite caught. And it is beautiful.
 
If you want to know more about the charreada, check my Facebook page: facebook.com/BiffleFrenchPhotography. There’s a lot of new photography and other resources related to the Mexican rodeo as well as past and upcoming American rodeo events.