A Day At The Races
Forget Pamplona with its cobbled streets and centuries old culture of fine wines and sausages. This is Negara, Bali, where the running of these bulls is as raw and close to the earth as the farms they plough. A place where the smell of animal and man clings to the air and invades the nostrils with a sickly sweet cloud of respect and desperation. A desperation to win and prove the virility of rider and beast at all costs. BY RACHEL GREAVES
The rough narrow racetrack through the rice fields was lined with thousands of people. Dangdut music was blaring over a battered old tannoy and I had just narrowly escaped being trampled to death by a pair of magnificently decorated, highly-charged, horned buffaloes. It was nine o'clock on a Sunday morning and I was standing in a dirt racetrack in Negara in West Bali. We had jostled and pushed our way through dozens of food stalls selling bakso, nasi jingo and Fanta, past a man with a bicycle festooned with birdcages, and what, judging by the shouting crowds of men, appeared to be the bookmaker. We took our place beside the track where the pungent scent of sweat mingled with the pleasant smells of grilled sweet corn, charred meat and smoke.
Within seconds, a loud jingling of bells pulled the mass's attention to something big and furious approaching from the right. This was it! I leapt down from the bank, camera in hand to grab a prime position for what would be the money shot but before I knew what was happening, I was dragged out of the path of two raging pink-coloured water buffaloes that were hurtling towards me in a cloud of dust and
thundering hooves. My saviours and the spectators found my distress wildly amusing, and were quick to point and shove me in the direction
of a safer vantage point where I would not get in the way. This new spot had a more impressive but altogether less exciting view of the second wave of beasts: a pair of impressive brown buffalo, harnessed together and pulling a wildly painted wooden chariot marked by a green flag. On it stood a precariously balanced jockey in a green shirt brandishing a stick. Just a few metres behind him and in hot pursuit was his opponent in red, both drenched in sweat and both very hungry for a shot at the finish line and victory.
For over two long hours we watched the bulls race, surrounded by the sounds of excitement that only comes when money is furiously and furtively changing hands. The exhilaration and laughter increased exponentially to an even higher pitch each time an unfortunate, whiphappy jockey was catapulted out of his cart and into the dirt, breaking maybe an arm, but definitely wounding his pride as he fell. If only we could have understood the rules!
As the races came to an end the harnessing area where the buffaloes were kept was filled with people milling around admiring their bovine heroes. The animals stood feeding and resting after their exertions and we stroked their gentle faces as we watched them being unyoked and coaxed into large open trucks for their journeys home.
True to the double nature of the sport, one so very close to the plough and the land, we watched in silence as one farmer loaded his wife and three children into one of the chariots and led his triumphant team home on foot, back to the farm that they work every day. Today he had won and taken the accolades and admiration of his peers. Tomorrow he would be back out in the fields at the break of dawn tilling his land, but this time with the sweet smile of victory on his lips. A fine reward for any man.
A worthy purse
The races, known as the Makepung, take place in the villages of Banyubiru and Delod Brawah near Negara every other Sunday from July to November. Get there early, they start between 7 and 8am and it’s all over by midday.
The sport is said to have its origins as a simple ploughing contest, and was introduced into Bali by migrants from the island of Madura. It is staged every year between July and November in Negara just after the rice harvest. Set against a backdrop of West Bali’s rugged mountains, the contest features Bali’s sleekest, most handsome water buffaloes. Teams are divided into two clubs -one red one green- from the eastern and western sides of the Ijo Gading River. As many as two hundred buffalo take part and each race sees two pairs of bulls pitched against each other on an erratic two-kilometre track, reaching speeds of up to 60 kilometres per hour, due perhaps in part to the chilli paste that is applied to each animal’s anus at the start of a race.
In the days leading up to the races, the bulls are fed up to 50 eggs per day, given herbal potions to build strength, and massaged and sung to sleep. Festooned with strings of bells, silks and decorative harnesses, every winning team gains a point for its club, with the most stylish contenders picking up bonus points for the splendour of their presentation. It is said that the faster and stronger animals plough the hardest and so the winning bulls stand to win the ultimate prize, that of going out to stud.
