We paid 10 soles, and entered an arena. The center ring where the fighting would take place had a dirt floor and was enclosed with chicken wire. Spectators sat in surrounding chairs.

We walked down an aisle, carefully avoiding droplets of fresh blood on the cement floor and settled into seats near the stage in the 5th row. The audience was primarily male, locals. Although there were some sharply dressed middle-aged women and younger females in their twenties casually dressed, most were young teens to middle-aged men in jeans. No other tourists were in sight. We definitely felt like outsiders and endured lots of stares.

Bids were placed before each round in an excited noisy frenzy. Men in tan shirts ran around the arena yelling "Hod it!" encouraging people to place bets. After each round, you pay up if your rooster loses or get paid immediately if you win. I only placed a bet one time–for 10 soles–but won!

After a few minutes, the show began. Two men brought handsome roosters into the ring and held them close to each other on the floor. Instantly they ruffled up their feathers and pecked at each other wickedly. Then the owners left the ring, a bell sounded, and the fight began. Poof! Mere seconds into the first round they were both dead.

I was surprised at how quickly the round was over, and wondered how they both died so quickly. The weapon? A 3" razor blade tied to the leg of each rooster. Imminent death results when either their beak or razor blade sinks into the opposing flesh. The round is over when the first cock dies and drops his head onto the floor. A bell sounds and the other is declared the winner.

The owners did their part to help get roosters riled up before they fled the coop to escape the flurry of flying feathers and bloodied frenzy. It worked. They attacked each other with shocking vehemence! They lunged beaks at each other's necks, flapped their wings and kicked wildly. Occasionally one lived after a round, but most of the time both died.

This was a sport?

After each round, the roosters were taken from the ring and carried down the aisle beside my chair. Blood was leaking out of the stab wounds profusely–gross and revolting–and I had to lean away to avoid getting splattered. Even Joe, an Australian sitting next to me, repeatedly noticed bloody feathers stuck to his beer bottle.

People really got into it. It was a crazy scene with feathers flying, people yelling, cheering and exchanging money. At 11:30pm it was over. Although curiously morbid, I enjoyed the opportunity to see a slice of Peruvian life not many tourists get to see.