La Lucha Libre is Bolivia’s professional wrestling with a twist…the contenders are women who wear Cholita dress: a multilayered skirt, flat shoes, shawls and traditional bowler hat. The matches take place in El Alto, the poorest and toughest district above La Paz. For 25 bolivianos (about $3.50 US) you get a ringside seat, a drink, snack, souvenir, and two passes to the rest rooms across the street--and some of the best Sunday evening entertainment in La Paz. Lucha Libre is a lowbrow slice of Bolivian culture that few gringos get to experience.
I’m next to a Canadian father and son who heard about the Lucha Libre from a poster in their hostel; the father is having a blast; Son looks like he would rather be having a root canal. They’ve been trekking the Andes together for two months and will be heading back to Quebec soon before Son has to start university.
We try to get Son to embrace the moment; he can’t get past the tackiness of it all to have any fun. We give up and join in with the locals who emphatically throw the remains of their snacks at the characters in the ring; “good” cholitas and “bad” wrestle for cash prizes. I get chucked in the head with a rib bone and respond with an orange peel in the offending direction.
The food fight becomes a full fledged fracas when it becomes evident that the referee has been bribed by Juanita the Bad. The crowd emphatically hurls insults and the remainder of their lunches at the referee; I translate the swear words for the Canadians; Son perks up a bit. Finally, Rosa the Good slams the crooked ref into Juanita the Bad and the match is over.
Five more matches go on like this--sometimes it’s difficult to tell who is good and who is bad -- we side with the crowd to be safe.
The merriment continues until a pair of armed military police show up and order everyone out. I say adios to my Canadian friends and remind Son he’ll have some great stories and a whole new raft of dandy swear words to impress his Spanish teacher when he returns to University. He smiles for the first time that evening.
We all happily spill out into the winter Andean night, and tumble into the warmth of our waiting micros that take us back to our hotel.
