Cynical-C points to the somewhat unlikely practice of Tinku, where, according to SFGate, “[t]he locals come down from the mountains drunk, dancing and ready to fight.” It gets better:
On its climactic day, May 4 this year, fighters marched down the hill into town — still dancing, still singing — with their eyes peeled for particular rivals, intent on resolving everything from love triangles to land disputes.
While most fights are short-lived, death is not uncommon; one person was killed at a smaller Tinku in Macha in February. But with more foreigners turning up each year, local officials have brought in extra police to reduce the violence, and even broadcast radio announcements asking revelers not to attack street vendors.
The police immediately took control of this year’s festival, forming an improvised ring in the town square and refereeing the fights. A sergeant selected combatants of equal size and age — women, too — and set a few ground rules (”No kicking!”). Fellow fighters cheered each pair on, while journalists and tourists crowded in, holding their cameras high to catch the bare-knuckle action.
The police ended each clash after only a minute or two, after drunken punches had bloodied one or both of the fighters’ faces.
By late afternoon, the increasingly intoxicated crowd repeatedly overran the ring, hoping to revert to Tinku’s traditional free-for-all. But the police drove them back each time, occasionally popping a tear gas grenade to clear the square.
Foreigners seemed both relieved and mildly disappointed to learn that Tinku had been toned down.
Globalization takes the fun out of everything.
