South Korean bullfighting for bulls only

CHEONGDO, South Korea: There is no blood, nor much gore. No matador, either, or even his colorful cloak. In South Korea, bull fights bull.

Weighing in at 600 kg to over 800 kg (1,322 to over 1,764 lb), dun-colored Korean Hanwoo bulls clash heads and horns in a sand bullring under the warm sunshine of Cheongdo, a rural town in the hills about two hours from the capital of Seoul.

Once a regular village entertainment in South Korea, bullfighting nearly died out as the nation rapidly industrialized, but festivals like the annual Cheongdo Bullfighting Festival help keep the cherished tradition alive.

"When I wake up, the first thing I do is train my bulls, letting them drag tires. Then, I feed them with nutritious porridge," said Lee Jin-gu, a 59-year old rancher who has trained fighting bulls for seven years.

"I once stayed in the pens, sleeping next to my bulls for a week," said Lee, who had four of his prize Korean bulls fighting their way through to the quarter-finals.

In all, 96 bulls are competing for the title of strongest bull during the festival, held April 18-22, for the top prize of 7 million won ($6,200).

In one bout, last year's champion, "Fighting", clashed with "Ggoltong", which means "Dullard," bellowing as he entered the ring and spectators cheered.

After about three minutes of shoving amid the clattering of horns, billowing dust and shouting fans, their duel was finished. "Fighting" made it through to the next round as his defeated opponent gave way and trotted from the ring.

The festival in its current form has been going on since 1999, although North Gyeongsang province has a history of the sport going back a thousand years.

Traditionally, a bull would have been the prized possession of a well-off Korean farmer.

"I was fearful if our bull lost the fight because my parents would scold me," says Son Mal-jook, 68, who used to take fodder to the creatures when she was a young girl.

Cheongdo says that its bullfights are more humane than those in Spain because the bull is not killed by a matador.

"Spain's bullfight is between man and bull and assumes that men will defeat bulls," said Lee Joong Geun, county executive of Cheongdo. "But Cheongdo's bullfighting is an energetic fight between two bulls."

A carnival atmosphere prevails at the festival with cheerleaders and drummers prancing by the ring and a traditional band playing in a frenzy of gongs, drums and strings. Beer and local beef are sold at snack stands.

One U.S. spectator admitted to being initially bemused by the concept of a clash of the bulls, but appeared to have been won over.

"In the (United) States, I have seen rodeo, bronco riding, bull riding and also roping. But I have never seen two bulls fighting each other before," said Maria Oliveira.

Lee Jin-gu, Fighting's owner, confessed to a deep affection for his animal.

"It is a stronger devotion than parents might have towards their sons and daughters," he said. (Reuters)

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Turkmen president wins on racing track

ASHGABAT, Turkmenistan: Turkmenistan's authoritarian leader has proven he doesn't only win elections easily, coming first in a car race he wasn't even supposed to take part in.

President Gurbanguli Berdymukhamedov drove to the racing track in a Bugatti sports car Saturday morning ostensibly to give his blessing to the former Soviet Central Asian nation's maiden automotive competition.

While an event presenter introduced the president, he received a request nobody in Turkmenistan would be likely turn down. "Can I take part?" Berdymukhamedov asked.

Before long, the president had changed into racing gear, entered the zippy and diminutive Turkish-made Volkicar automobile and promptly proceeded to record the best time in the time-trial challenge.

Announcers at the race said the winning car will be given to the national sports museum.

The apparently choreographed display appears to be another episode in an ongoing state project to cast the president as an effortlessly competent man of action.

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Tokyo chefs angry over new blowfish laws

TOKYO: With a scoop of a net Tokyo chef Naohito Hashimoto selects a poisonous blowfish, considered a delicacy in Japan, and with a few deft strokes of his gleaming knife starts the delicate process of preparing it for a customer.

In moments, Hashimoto has separated the edible parts of the fish from organs filled with a poison more deadly than cyanide.

For more than six decades, dicing blowfish in Tokyo has been the preserve of a small band of strictly regulated and licensed chefs, usually in exclusive restaurants.

But new laws coming into effect from October are opening the lucrative trade to restaurants without a license, making chefs like Hashimoto see red.

"We have spent time and money in order to obtain and use the blowfish license, but with these new rules anybody can handle blowfish even without a license," said Hashimoto, a blowfish chef for some 30 years.

"They're saying it's now okay to serve blowfish. We licensed chefs feel this way of thinking is a bit strange."

The poison known as tetrododoxin is found in parts of the blowfish, including the liver, heart, intestines and eyes, and is so intense that a tiny amount will kill. Every year there are reports of people dying after preparing blowfish at home.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Government says city laws covering the serving of blowfish should be changed to reflect changing times and hope that relaxing the rules will cut prices and bring Tokyo in line with the rest of the nation.

"Outside of Tokyo, the regulations for blowfish are even more relaxed and yet there are hardly any poison-related accidents," said Hironobu Kondo, an official at the city's Food Control Department.

"There is the hope that the number of restaurants with unlicensed chefs serving blowfish will rise, and that blowfish as an ingredient will be used not only for traditional Japanese foods but also others such as Chinese and Western foods."

A full course meal of blowfish, known as fugu in Japanese, features delicacies such as blowfish tempura, slices of raw fish thin enough to see through fanned out across a plate like chrysanthemum petals, and toasted fins in cups of hot sake.

But the meal is far from cheap, as diners pay for the safety of a licensed chef. At Hashimoto's restaurant, a meal costs at least 10,000 yen ($120) a person.

Though thrill seeking diners are reputed to seek out chefs who leave just enough of the poison to make the lips tingle, blowfish professionals scoff at this as urban legend, noting that ingesting even that much of the poison would be hazardous.

Apprentice blowfish chefs must train with a veteran for a minimum of two years before they can take rigorous written and practical exams. In Tokyo, the exam fee runs to 17,900 yen.

Customers outside a Tokyo sushi restaurant, one of the places where blowfish could be served under the new rules, said there was no substitute for the skill of a trained chef.

"Cooking blowfish is an art form that requires technique and skills," said screenwriter Shoji Imai. "That's why we pay good money for blowfish."

Hashimoto's years of training means it takes him just two minutes to gut a blowfish, and he says there is no substitute for this kind of experience.

"I don't want people to forget that you can actually die from eating blowfish," he said. "I feel the government's awareness of this has diminished." (Reuters)

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