A bartender carries Ja Rule the pond turtle to the race course at Turtles All the Way Down in Bed-Stuy on Sunday.
By Cole Sinanian
news@queensledger.com
Clad in a pair of white latex gloves, Mimi Martins smiles as she gazes into Ja Rule the pond turtle’s eyes, stroking his tummy and whispering words of tender encouragement. A barback approaches the racecourse with Vita — Ja Rule’s tank partner — held high above the heads of bargoers as they dance to Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us” and shield their drinks from the dripping reptile.
With dozens of phone cameras trained on the turtles, the race begins. Vita — the younger turtle — pulls her signature move, attempting to climb over the barrier and make her escape mid-race. Martins immediately grabs the turtle and returns her to the course, but not before Ja Rule can secure a comfortable lead. Cheers erupt— a turtle has crossed the finish line. But from behind the hoards of spectators pining for a look at the action, it’s not immediately clear who won the first race. For those stuck in the packed dive bar’s far corner, Martins’ partner, Cole, walks around between races holding up a large QR code that links to a livestream of the race.
On the first Sunday of the month at Turtles All the Way Down, a popular dive bar on Malcolm X Ave in Bed-Stuy, turtles Ja Rule and Vita are the stars of what has become one of the neighborhood’s strangest and most anticipated Sunday spectacles. Now in its fifth year, the turtle races cost $5 at the door and include a free bet — a colored ticker corresponds to either Ja Rule or Vita. A winning turtle gets patrons a free drink. Before the races, Martins, who acts as emcee, stands on the bar and addresses the room with a microphone:
“It’s good to see your beautiful faces on this mild, global warming December Sunday. My name is Mimi, I’m the turtle mommy, turtle host…” Martins grins. “I don’t want to say turtle master because that sounds a little colonialist and I don’t like that.”
The turtle races start at 4pm, and by 4:30, a line has formed out the door. Get here after the second race (there are three) and the bouncer may turn you away. Spectators come from far and wide. During her first pre-race speech, Martins gets a read of the room’s occupants; there’s a group of Londoners, a man from Atlanta. In the past, she said, large groups from Spain and Mexico have attended the races.
“I need camaraderie! I need kinship!” Martins says into the microphone. “Make new friendships! Hell, kiss somebody you don’t know.” Someone shouts from the crowd: “With consent!” “With consent,” Martins affirms.
“Turtle mommy” Mimi Martins has a moment with Ja Rule before the race.
The bar’s turtle theme came more or less spontaneously. According to a manager who gave his name as Lean Automatic, the name was the idea of a former manager who had read the John Green book, “Turtles All the Way Down.”
“They were just kind of throwing stuff around,” Automatic said. In epistemology — the study of knowledge — the phrase refers to the problem of infinite regress, or that any statement and its justification can be infinitely questioned. The phrase also alludes to the “World Turtle” of Hindu and Indigenous American mythology, upon whose back the universe rests.
Turtles, which opened back in 2017, is one of a dozen bars throughout the city owned by the same company. Some, like Turtles and sister Bed-Stuy bar, Do or Dive, keep a deliberately eclectic, antique-shop-esque interior design. At Turtles, taxidermied fauna adorn the walls, including a hammerhead shark (Automatic says it’s real), an inflated pufferfish, and an elk head pinned above the bar that came from a taxidermist that Automatic insists killed the animal himself.
“A lot of our bars are dressed with the same kinds of antiques, like vintage stuff,” he said. “We got guys that help us dress our bars. We got connections. So we got guys who do taxidermy, we got a taxidermist. We got a light guy.”
For the first few years, the fish tank held just fish. But after Ja Rule and Vita — named for the iconic New York-area rappers — were gifted to the bar, the owners suggested racing them once a month. Automatic, who was back then a DJ at Turtles, said the staff was initially hesitant. But the event gained popularity, even going viral on TikTok earlier this year, which Automatic and Martins say is why so many foreigners come to the turtle races. It’s all part of a unique aesthetic of liquor-soaked marine mischief, what a former manager once described as “aquarium dancehall,” Automatic said.
“It’s our little aquarium and place to dance around.”
People have called the bar with animal rights concerns, although Martins said these concerns usually come from ignorance. The turtles’ ears are internal, meant to pick up low-frequency sounds, so the loud noise of the rowdy drinkers is unlikely to disturb them.
“It sounds like a low humming to them,” Martins said. “We did some research and learned all this. Their eyes are very sensitive, they know who I am, they have really amazing vision.” This is why flash photography is strictly prohibited, grounds for removal from the festivities, as Martins made clear in her pre-race speech.
“I would die for them, straight up,” Martins said. I’m like, ‘oh my God, it’s our fifth anniversary Ja Rule.”
