Festival in Macha

A brief warning: I´ve chosen not to show the more graphic pictures, but the material of the next entry might not be suitable for younger viewers and pregnant women. If you are lookin up at this screen, you are too young.

So from Potosí, the location of my last blog, I was planning on heading down to Argentina, but a different opportunity presented itself that I couldn´t pass up. It was a tour to the 500-year old Tinku festival in Macha, a one-horse town a few hours from Potosí. First a few shots of Macha itself.

The whole town was built of earth - this was one of the

more elegant mud-brick houses.

Sugar canes lined up for sale in the center

So we arrived on I forget what day, but in either case nothing happened for a good 48 hours. Our guide was quickly then perpetually drunk, so he was of no use, though later we learned he was showing us tradition through example. The only good quote I remember from him was, "I like the divorce." Half of our group (3 people of 5) got fed up with waiting and got a bus back the morning of the day festivities finally kicked off. Me and another Irish guy (named Owen as well, funny enough, but spelled Eoin) decided we weren´t goin anywhere till we saw what we came for. And boy did we.

Later that day, you could hear dynamite and the faint sound of pipes and singing coming in from the surrounding hills. Communities marched in from miles and miles all around, some traveling for two days by foot, the whole time playing music, dancing, and drinking. The empty little town of Macha was soon full to its limit with colorfully dressed drunk people dancing in cirlces and having a grand old time. That was the fun and tame part of the festival, but not the main reason many were there. That would be the fights.

Marching around the plaza

In front of the church tower, a big group of rowdy men kicked off the melee. This is how it works: there´s a mass of people who want to watch/participate in the fighting and a handful of policemen forming a ring in the center. They keep the crowd back with whips and pepper spray, while picking two equally-matched men from the crowd. These two men step in, or stumble in in many cases, and proceed to beat the living snot out of each other. No weapons, no protection, just a good bucket of some chicha alcohol to numb the pain. Not a lot of skill involved either, but lots of haymakers and a helluva lot of heart. The idea is the more blood spilt, the better the next harvest will be. Let me say I don´t think anyone will be starving with the next harvest.

The beginning of the fights

Your boy lands a good shot

The first day was crazy enough, but when our bus wasn´t full enough to leave that afternoon, we stayed for another day and saw things get really out of hand. It wasn´t just one fight at a time anymore. Three, four, five would break out at the same time and the police had to revert to using tear-gas to break up the crowd. I didn´t bring my camera out for obvious reasons. It started early in the morning, or rather was going all night. Even the women got into it, cat-fighting and pulling each others hair out. These bolivian women are something else. to be honest, it got a little scary, and Eoin and I were glad to get out when we did. I´ve never seen anything like it, just absolute madness. MADNESS I SAY