Lucha Libre

A couple random days in Mexico City.

We already had plans to go to the Lucha Libre (wrestling) match that night, so when we went to the park in the afternoon and spotted a autograph signing going on at a wrestler owned torta restaurant, how could we resist?

Before we went to see this we had to sit the kids down for a little chat about the violence they were about to witness. They’ve never actually seen wrestling so they had assumed it was the real deal.

For some unknown reason they do not allow cameras into the stadium. Phones are okay, though. A policy which may have made some kind of sense in 1995, but may have outlived its usefulness now. Since we don’t have a phone it took a little criminal activity to get a camera in. Which we then used to take a bunch of blurry pictures while trying not to let security see us.

Front row seats for about ten bucks. Even better, there are runners who go off and get you beer, popcorn, ice cream, and pizza, for just a few bucks tip at the end of the night when you settle up your bill for everything all at once.

Wrestling is not something we’d be even remotely interested in seeing in the States, but in Mexico, Lucha Libre is a way of life.

Pretty intense for a five-year-old. But man, we were all laughing ourselves silly half the time.

On our way out I finally said screw it, and pulled the camera out for an overall shot without hiding it. Within five seconds a burly guy was in my face. I got the feeling that if I weren’t a gringo playing ignorant, I may have lost my camera.

MĂ­stica and Sin Cara, leaving the ring.

The inevitable outcome of bringing your kids to a wrestling match.

Churros—another Mexican way of life.

Gotta love going to the Post Office. Reminds me so much of the post office in my suburban Minnesota hometown.

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