Camel Wrestling

Cultures are celebrated in every corner of the world with varying degrees of pomp and pandemonium; some honor sacred customs, and some are just beyond bizarre.  Most intriguing is Turkey’s must-see annual camel wrestling event, which combines all the elements of ancient tradition with carnival flair, and rates as one of the most spectacular cultural experiences I have had in Turkey. 

I was not at all prepared for the onslaught of sights, sounds and smells as I approached the outdoor arena on that brisk February morning in Tire, Turkey.   The persistent percussion of drums and the sharp, piercing melody of the zurna (Turkish flute) hastened the flow of blood in my veins as the rhythmic singsong of the cazgir’s voice rolled over the expanse of the massive crowds; his spirited syllables raised the tension and anticipation of the thousands present with talk of the upcoming camel wrestling competition. 

I was quickly immersed in the sea of jostling spectators and shrieking street vendors who sold food, drinks, and memorabilia from their stands situated around the field. Splashes of effervescent color gave the grounds a festive carnival flair: the vibrant orange and yellow camel wrestling scarves, the plump bursts of pink cotton candy, and the blood-red candied apples all screamed for my attention. The air, thick with the smoke of grilled camel sausage, stung my eyes, and the savory aroma of lokma, döner kebab and köfte wreaked stabs of hunger within me, a stark reminder that I had not yet had breakfast.

Crowds flocked in droves to find coveted spots with the best view on the grassy terraced hill facing the arena; many brought their own chairs, grills, and picnic baskets with olives, cheese, tomatoes, and bread.  By ten in the morning, men were toasting, with copious amounts of Raki, to each other’s health, prosperity, and most likely, to success in the soon to start camel championships. 

A thousand dark, prying eyes penetrated through me as I navigated my way through the crowds to get a glimpse of the camel wrestlers before the competitions began.  I became increasingly aware that I was not only one of the few foreigners present, but one of the few women there as well. Camel wrestling tournaments, held during the Tülüs mating season in the winter months, are largely attended by local villagers and local tourists, but has aroused interest worldwide.  My fascination began when I first heard of camel wrestling shortly after arriving in Turkey over a year ago.  Research revealed to me that it is a tradition which began with nomadic tribes over two thousand years ago, that it is equated as a barbaric blood-sport that rivals dogfights and bullfights, and various online sites rank it as one of the most absurd traditions in society.  My colleagues insisted that it is one event everyone in Turkey must see at least once in their life, and my curiosity won over.

There is nothing quite as intimidating as standing next to a camel. The sheer stature and size of these beloved beasts is enough to make anyone feel completely at their mercy.  The power and beauty of these majestic creatures are displayed with all pomp and pomposity before the tournaments.   Proud owners from all over turkey exhibit their highly prized camels, which are specifically bred and trained for these sporting events, in ceremonial dress to celebrate the yoruk tradition from times past when the nomadic caravans set off on their exodus in regal attire. My camera devoured the images of the beasts that were meticulously clad in stately splendor, saddled with vibrant knit tapestries, and  elaborately dressed in decorated regalia and ornate rugs of every color. Their names were sewn on a piece of cloth (peş) and hung on the saddle (havut).  Below the name was the word Maşallah, meaning “may God protect him.”   Their bejeweled necks were draped with garlands of pompoms, and some saddles were adorned with tinkering iron bells that were family heirlooms.  It was captivating to watch them move with such valor and ease despite their  long lanky legs.  With  graceful gait, they appeared to be sailing in the air.  Never mind that these beasts of burden are nearly obsolete in Turkey today… in the midst of the admiring crowds, the camels were in all their glory and appeared to take their celebrity status in stride.  With a hint of egocentrism, they craned their necks and held their heads high (as if they needed to be any taller) and somehow, always seem to be wearing a mischievous grin. It occurred to me that they were as amused with humanity as we were with them. 

A sense of trepidation broke my reverie as I remembered that these camels would soon be engaged in combat with each other, and I couldn’t imagine how these gentle giants could at once become brutal enemies.  As if on cue, the arena became a somber and patriotic tableau as the Turkish national anthem resounded.   All was still, frozen in a holy reverence with the exception of Turkish flags waving in the wind, one of which bore the austere face of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the father of modern Turkey.  His ever watchful gaze could not be escaped, and I wondered if the camels felt his presence as well.

Immediately after the anthem, the crowds resumed their noisy and jubilant activities.  The camels were paraded around the enclosure and taken in to the ring with a great of ceremony.  Everyone’s attention was focused on the central arena as the cazgir announced the names and distinct qualities of the competing camels.  The increasing momentum and a vital energy was infectious: the gypsy minstrels’ instruments played relentlessly,  the ethnic zeybek dancers became bold in their steps, and the television crews took their places.  Whistles blew, and fans roared.  It appeared that an intense and grueling performance was imminent.  But then again, aren’t appearances deceiving? 

Two bulls were pitted against each other and provoked by an alluring cow which was paraded around the rival contestants and then led away.  I couldn’t help but notice that the female seemed more interested in the crowds than the male contenders in the ring.  The male camels frothed at the mouth, grunted belligerently, and after several minutes of shuffling their feet, began to nudge, push, and shove, and sometimes kick their opponents.  Eventually their furry necks would lock, and the weaker one submitted to the other.

Incidentally, camels are not built for combat.   Camel wrestling is essentially a struggle for dominance, and judges award for style rather than wait for an injury.  Each competition lasted only ten to fifteen minutes, and most of the ‘action’ that I saw, in the objective to dominate, was achieved by pushing, growling, shuffling, chasing, biting, nudging, and spitting. I was much relieved to learn that it was hardly the barbaric blood sport some purported it to be; in fact, it was far more comical than ferocious. Winners were declared and victories were won if a camel sat on his opponent, pinned him down, or in some instances, chased him out of the ring.  Being quite the uneducated spectator, some victories were an utter mystery to determine what the winning strategy might have been.

The magical, mystical beauty of the bedecked beasts and the great passion of all those who were present engulfed the arena and transported me to a time in the distant past, perhaps as far back as two thousand years ago when the wrestling tournaments first began on the Silk Road in the Middle East.  More than a competition, this was a celebration of Turkish life, and a journey that took me to the place where their culture and history will forever live.