Daredevils Are For Whom the Bulls Troll in Colombia

Jaime Lenis was a lucky man. The bull got his shoe and sock--which were left dangling from the beast’s horn--but he did keep most of his foot.

Lenis is not a professional bullfighter. He’s just one of the thousands of amateurs who jump in the ring with 1,000-pound bulls for fun in Colombia’s bizarre bull festivals.

Unlike traditional bullfights with their skilled matadors, these affairs almost never see a bull killed. But the human competitors often don’t fare so well--and the crowd wouldn’t have it any other way.

“If nobody gets killed, it’s boring,” said Carlos Perez, head of the committee that organized this year’s five-day contest in Betulia. “It’s man against bull, and it’s only fun when the bull wins.”

No one died in Betulia’s festival, but many were injured. Lenis needed stitches in his foot. Another man was gored in the head. One lost his genitals to a bull’s horn. Dozens suffered gashes or lesser cuts.

The festivals--called corralejas, from corral--take place between August and January in towns in Colombia’s northern plains like Betulia, 330 miles northwest of the capital, Bogota.

It is a tough, dusty region, where cattle ranching dominates and leftist guerrillas compete with right-wing paramilitaries for political control.

In the Betulia corraleja, bulls charged into a temporary wooden stadium one at a time to be met by a throng of about a thousand people shouting and waving red capes, sticks, umbrellas, banners and spikes.

About 20,000 spectators, from teething infants to the town’s oldest cowboys, watched from makeshift stands. Rock and salsa music blared at ear-splitting volume from outdoor bars and restaurants around the stadium.

The festivals usually last four or five days, with at least 35 bulls competing each day.

A few dozen experienced bullfighters make a living competing in the festivals, betting wealthy cattle owners that they can perform dangerous tricks like sticking the bulls with banderillas--multicolored spikes--or jumping over charging bulls.

Bets range from 10,000 pesos ($10) to 1 million pesos ($1,000).

But most people in the bullring were amateurs spurred on by alcohol and youthful bravado. After one bull took his shot at the crowd, it was coaxed out of the ring and another charged in.

Wealthy ranchers in the stands, who help bankroll the event, throw candy and sometimes cash into the ring to encourage people to get closer to the bulls.

Each successful lunge by a bull elicited screams and applause from the crowd. But the expert fighters weren’t impressed.

“There’s no honor in what the townsfolk do. It’s just one bull against a thousand morons,” said Luis Cuadrado, 39, who has made a living fighting bulls at corralejas for 25 years and boasts of being gored 28 times.

Cuadrado, known as the best professional in the region, sits on the ground until the bull is nearly upon him, then quickly plunges banderillas into the beast’s neck and scurries away.

“I don’t know fear. It’s safer that way because the bull attacks fear,” he said.

Besides the obvious weight advantage, bulls are a lot faster than their inebriated competitors, most of whom have been partying for days. Most young men have finished a bottle of aguardiente--the local licorice-flavored liquor--by the time they enter the ring.

Each time someone is gored, he is carried to a small emergency room down the road to be patched up by doctors hired by the festival organizers.

“The truth is that terror is fun. The atmosphere and the music are great, but the injuries can be brutal,” said Dr. Gustavo Montes as he worked on his tenth patient of the day.

A roar and gasp rose from the crowd, and Montes shrugged his shoulders and reached for his surgical gloves.

“That can only mean one thing,” he said, smiling. “Looks like we’ve got some more work.”