Mexican wrestling = Dwarfs, Drag and Gymnast HAMS -- Puebla, Mexico

Mexican wrestling.

To this lady, you appear to be a hysterical combination of acro yoga and stage combat performed on an excessively loud floor.

Minus spotters.

Plus referee (who comes off as just as much of the act as the wrestlers themselves).

Acro yogis slap butts and do their best to fly calmly. Serenely, even.

Mexican wrestlers thwack floors to create rattling sound-effects and ham up the pain of fake kicks like no one's business.

This could totally be an acro yoga move.  

Mexican wrestling -- Lucha Libre -- was developed by Enrique Ugartechea in 1863 and was inspired by Greco-Roman wrestling.

I'm guessing that it was far more serious in 1863 than it is today.

'Cos today, Lucha Libre is a choreographed dance of acrobats creatively jumping all over each other, hurling insults, thwacking floors and falling into audience members.

And there's nothing remotely serious about it.

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

 Jonas had told me I'd enjoy the show. A lot.

The closer we got to the city center, the more excited he got.

His enthusiasm started to rub off on me.

"I have a feeling that this is going to be a cultural experience similar to attending druid moon ceremonies in Ireland. Something so unique and fun that I never forget it."

This sentiment was true. Very, very true.

We grabbed some street food from just outside the arena and then moseyed down the stairs to find our seats.

And the hilarity began shortly thereafter.

"Pendejo!" shouts the man behind me.

"Chinga tu madre!" bellows the woman across the aisle.

"Puto!" scream the spectators on the other side of the ring.

Jonas chuckles and sips his beer.

I keel over in hysterics. Practically choking to death on my cup of corn, mayonnaise, cheese and pepper.

Every other sport is gonna be so boring to watch after this...

Photo by Jonas

Tourists are few and far between in Puebla, but all of them seemed to emerge from their hotels/couchsurfing homes to don masks and hurl Spanish insults at Puebla's Monday night performance of "free wrestling". 

Masks.

Originated with the Aztecs.

Masks.

Started off simple and were used as a way to identify wrestlers.

But we've moved beyond that these days.

Well beyond.

Now masks are blazing with color and are often designed with heroes, animals or gods in mind.

Photo by Jonas

In each match, there are the good guys and the bad guys.

The tecnicos and the rudos. 

This is yet another reason why Mexican wrestling feels like a theatrical physical comedy to me. 

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

The night held four groups of performers.

I can't remember a time I've laughed so hard, so long, and in such utter bewilderment. 

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" 

Photo by Jonas

Competitors pounded floors and pretended to smash heads into knees. They leapt at each other, wrapped legs around necks and then flew under legs to miss the floor by a quarter of an inch. They bounced off of rubber railings and sailed into the audience (with the occasional backflip), spilling beer and potato chips on Mexican grandfathers and tourists and munchkins alike. 

Photo by Jonas

The violence was so clearly fake (as I prefer violence to be). 

Photo by Jonas

And everyone was having such a good time that it was impossible to not giggle my way through the entire evening. 

Photo by Jonas

As someone trained in stage combat, I appreciated their ability to sell a pansy chest slap as a ruinous blow (RUINOUS, I say). 

As someone trained in theatre, I appreciated how well they hammed it up (remarkable hamming. Truly. If hamming were an olympic sport, these blokes would have the gold medal in the bag). 

As someone trained in acro yoga, I appreciated their timing, communication and playfulness. 

(although I will never trade in my spotter for a hard, unforgiving floor. And I general prefer someone to catch me after they throw me. Just personal preference, of course)

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

I didn't quite know what to think when they brought out the dwarf...

But it's Mexico. Not America. People are more relaxed and less politically correct here. 

Which can be extremely refreshing. 

But I still didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to be offended on his behalf and the other part of me wanted to cool my politically correct jets and just let Mexico be Mexico. 

Photo by Jonas

It is also traditional to introduce the "exotico" character near the end of the show. The exotico is a flamboyant man dressed in drag. 

Dwarfs and drag. 

Hello, Mexican wrestling. You are even more bizarre, disturbing and wonderful than Nacho Libre made you out to be. 

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas

Photo by Jonas -- the exotico

"Jonas," I panted as we left the arena. "That was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. If you catch me giggling out of the blue during the next week, you know why. Goodness. Thanks SO much for taking me," I bear hugged my friend and felt extraordinarily lucky. For the eight hundredth time this week.

"I'm glad I got to share Mexican wrestling with someone. And I'm glad it's not just me who thinks it's so awesome."

"No. No, that was something pretty special... Jesus. That's gonna go on my list of hilarious/unreal things I've done in different countries. Right next to flying in a private plane over the Atlas Mountains."