Condor versus bull in Andean festival of blood One of the captured condors is displayed before it is tied to a bull and released into the bullring. Photo: Tomas Munita/The New York Times COYLLURQUI, Peru: It is not easy to tie a wild condor with a two-metre wingspan and a sharp beak to the back of an enraged 500-kilogram bull. "The bull and the condor are not animals that have, let's say, good relations," said Luis Bocangel, who helped oversee the temporary joining of the two species last week at the annual celebration of what is known here as Yawar Fiesta, or Blood Festival. "The bull is terrified of the condor," said Bocangel, a brother of the town's mayor. The condor is trying to peck at the bull's eyes. A bull with a condo­r tied to its back charg­es towar­d bullf­ighte­rs durin­g the festi­val. Once the two are lashed together, they are released into a bullring to do battle against each other and a group of bullfighters, while thousands of people watch. It is the high point of this uniquely Andean festival, held here each July 29, the day after Peru's Independence Day, in this small town and a few others high in the mountains. "The apu is the sacred bird of the Andes," said the mayor, Walter Bocangel, using a word that means god in Quechua, the indigenous language spoken here. Many here in this remote, impoverished town on a steep hillside around 3100 metres, where the bright sky seems especially close, believe that the condor, one of the world's largest birds, has divine status. Men try to restrain one the captured condors. "The juxtaposition of the condor and the bull represents the duality of the Andean world, between the celestial world and the earthly world," said Juan Ossio, a professor of anthropology at the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, in Lima. Ossio, a former culture minister, says the bullfight corresponds to an Andean vision of the duality of the world that dates to pre-Columbian times. Joining the two, the condor and the bull - heaven and earth - he says, is a ritual that recreates the wholeness of the community. Popular wisdom has it that the festival dates from the colonial period and was created as a way for the local indigenous people to express their anger at the Spanish conquerors: By placing the Andean condor on top of the Spanish bull they could, at least symbolically, subvert their subjugation. Others say that the festival is linked to Peru's independence struggle, culminating in 1824 with the Battle of Ayacucho. In celebration, the story goes, the quintessentially Peruvian condor was set like a living banderilla to torment the imperial bull. The festival began with a ceremony at a white-painted cross above the town, where a shaman poured aguardiente, a pungent cane liquor, onto the ground, part of a traditional "payment to the earth," an offering to the mountain gods. Then came the parade of the condors. This year, Coyllurqui caught two birds, using dead horses as bait to attract the carrion eaters in the high mountains. One was a large female with a white downy collar, black and white plumage, and red eyes with jet black pupils, set in a featherless head. The other was a young male, all gray, with a crested forehead and a habit of pecking at his handlers with his curved beak. The birds, caught a month earlier and fed on entrails, seemed by now used to their human surroundings but perhaps confused by the bustle and noise. The town had already been celebrating for several days in a yearly rite of food, dance and drinking. Custom called for the drinks to flow freely, including chicha, a slightly sour fermented corn concoction; sweet-smelling aguardiente; and beer. Arriving at the bullring, the condors were paraded around the arena, which was packed with thousands of people. Most were from Coyllurqui and nearby communities, but a few buses had made the long drive from Cuzco, nine hours or more on a windy dirt road, carrying Peruvian tourists. Many people went down into the ring to take mobile phone pictures or videos or have their photographs snapped alongside the birds. The mayor and other dignitaries, also wearing colourful capes, did a tripping circle dance in the tamped-down yellow grass in the ring, dotted with cow pies. Some fell down from alcohol or giddiness, or both. The birds were ushered out and a series of bullfights followed (the bulls are not killed here). In most years, the townspeople act as toreadors, sometimes with gory or even fatal results. Yawar means blood in Quechua, and many people say that the name of the festival comes from the blood spilled by the often drunken amateur bullfighters. Then came the main event. The female condor was brought out again, and her legs were bandaged and lashed to the back of a black bull. The bull set off bucking across the ring, the startled condor flapping her wings and pecking at the bull's back. The bull, racing helter-skelter under beating wings, looked as if it were flying. After a while, it settled down and a toreador tempted it into charging with his cape. At that point, the bird and bull seemed less like adversaries than reluctant allies, and it was easy to imagine the condor whispering instructions into the bull's ear about how to take on their human foe. After seven minutes, the bull was roped and the condor was cut loose. The second condor's turn came next. He had a feistier disposition and pecked repeatedly at the bull's ear (Luis Bocangel said he was reaching for the eyes), but if he drew blood it was not visible from the grandstand. In all, it was a largely bloodless Yawar Fiesta. On the final day of the festival the condors were set free. The birds drank from cups of chicha, were paraded through the streets again and then were taken to a steep hillside, where hundreds of people gathered. "Everyone in the community makes a wish, and the condor becomes the bearer of their wishes," Ossio said. After prayers and offerings, the ropes tied to the birds' legs were removed. Let them go! Let them go!" people shouted. It was a tense moment. Were the birds hurt in the bullfight? Had they been held captive too long? Could they fly? The birds stumbled down the slope, flapped their long wings, took off. Earthbound, they had seemed dusty, captive, sad creatures. In flight, they were majestic. Everyone watched as they became dots in the distance. A pick-up truck pulled up carrying a fresh batch of chicha, and women passed around brimming foam cups. The band played its free jazzlike tune. A red and white Peruvian flag beat against an azure Andean sky.