Not quite gladiators
It’s fall in Switzerland – you know what that means, right? Time for the farmers to start entertaining themselves (and others) with their cows. Not to be outdone by last year’s desalpes, this past weekend we headed west to watch Cows Fighting in Martigny.
What’s that, you say? You’re not familiar with cow fighting? Well then, allow me to explain a little. Keep in mind that this whole event transpired in French (and not just any kind of French, but Swiss Farmer French), so I’m still a little hazy on some of the details. But I can tell you about what I saw.
We arrived at the Roman amphitheater around noon, bought our CHF 30 tickets, a couple of beers, and some roasted chestnuts, and went to find our seats. We were just in time for the semi-final rounds, which consisted of the following: 8-10 farmers each led a cow into the ring; at the announcer’s ‘go’, said farmers unbridled their cows and retreated to the sidelines (from which they cheered on their bovines while intently watching the action); the cows would randomly strike up battles with each other, butting heads and locking horns until one cow got intimidated/scared/bored and backed down; the announcer occasionally called out for either (a) two particular cows to be brought together and encouraged to fight or (b) a particular cow to be bridled and led off the field (similar to a couple receiving a shoulder tap during a dance competition, I imagine). Eventually it was determined which cows would advance to the finals, and then the next group would come in.
The finals resembled the semi-finals except that the last 5 remaining cows in each category (naturally, the competitors were separated by weight class) received prize bells and had official pictures taken by a horde of photographers. Plus the winner got a classy red ribbon tied around her body. And, of course, bragging rights.
Luckily we were provided with programs, so we knew not only the names of the fighting cows, but also the names of their trainers, er, farmers. In one round we watched Picatchu (one of two Picatchus, actually) battle to victory. In another, Papillon stole it from the early favorite, Bataille. On a pretty regular basis, a cow or two would decide she wanted no part in the fighting, and would barrel out of the ring, with five or six farmers clinging to her, trying in vain to direct her trajectory. We were pretty amazed that we didn’t see any major injuries (although one battle was forfeited based on a cow’s bloody nose). More photos here.
I thought we did strange things to kill time.
