Forget tequila and tortillas, Mexico’s fastest growing export may well be lucha libre, this country’s idiosynchratic but spectacular take on professional wrestling, now thrilling audiences as far afield as Toronto and Tokyo.

El Hijo del Santo isn’t only about theatrics and agility in the wrestling ring. In 2007, the silver-masked luchador spearheaded a publicity campaign to make people aware of the dangers facing the oceans, especially over-fishing, contamination and the over-development of coastal areas.

First impressions were generally favorable. The Londonist website described the evening as “possibly the most fun we’ve ever had at the Roundhouse.”

The final bout of an action-packed evening, during which the margaritas and Cerveza Sol flowed generously and Mexican djs added to the ambience, was between the legendary El Hijo del Santo (a tecnico or good guy) and his nemesis, Blue Demon Jr., a rudo (bad guy) of the highest order.

Good eventually triumphed over evil (that’s not always the case) and Londoners went home happy at their first experience of la lucha, a sport that truly reflects Mexican society, in which the bad guys use all kinds of shenanigans and deceit to overcome their honorable opponents.

El Hijo del Santo is the son of Mexico’s most famous wrestler, the film actor and folk hero El Santo, who popularized the sport in a career spanning five decades. The silver-masked wrestler became a symbol for justice and a comic book hero, appearing in 52 movies, always in his mask. He only took his mask off in public a couple of times in old age, and was even buried wearing it.

El Hijo has built on his father’s celebrity and indulged in political activism, but has never had the urge to run for office like Jesse Ventura, the U.S. wrestler elected governor of Minnesota in 1998. (Mexicans retain a special fondness for El Santo and his son, and last week both were honored with the release of a series of postage stamps featuring their images. See photo right.)

Talking to Time Out magazine before the three-night London gig, El Hijo said, “Lucha is magical. It transcends language. If the Japanese can go wild, the English can.”

Guadalajara Mayor Alfonso Petersen presides at an official ceremony marking the postal cancellation of a series of stamps featuring famed wrestlers El Santo and El Hijo del Santo. Joining Petersen were local wrestlers Blasius, Sadico, Pluma Negra, Gallo, Metal Blanco and El Idolo. Photo by M. Rojas.

The masks are designed to evoke the images of animals, gods and ancient heroes, whose identity the luchador takes on during a performance. Over the course of a career, a wrestler may lose a bout and be forced to remove his mask in the ring. Such ignominy can often spell the end of a career, but more often than not the wrestler is about to retire anyway. 

Even El Santo admits that the luchadores ham it up, but says there is real skill involved and the results aren’t fixed.

Guadalajara lucha fan and former amateur wrestler Manuel Figueroa agrees. “They have to be super fit and when they fall it can really hurt.  They often jump from a great height off the ropes and if they make a wrong move, they can be seriously injured. I have known a couple of wrestlers who died after bad tumbles.”  

Guadalajara’s hard core of lucha fans faithfully attend twice weekly bouts at the Arena Coliseo, where the atmosphere is lively and the tickets reasonably priced (just don’t sit in the first two rows if you fear getting flattened by a 200-pound luchador).

The sport’s biggest names may be touring Europe but some intense contests with top wrestlers can always be found in Guadalajara. Pop into the Coliseo and you might catch one or other of these frightening-sounding local wrestlers: Metal Blanco, Sadico, Samurai, Thunder Boy, Vampiro Canadiense or Exterminador.

Lucha Libre takes place at the Arena Coliseo, Calle Medrano 67, one block from the Calzada Independencia, in downtown Guadalajara on Tuesdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 5 p.m. Tickets are 40-150 pesos. Just show up.