Where the Wild Things Are
February 25-28, 2022
When the pandemic first hit in 2020, we were forced to cancel our trip to Switzerland for Fasnacht, which didn’t take place that year (or the following year) for the first time since World War II. Even after two summer trips through the alps in the following years, seeing the Swiss Carnival - specifically the tschäggättä in the snowy Lötschental region - remained at the top of our European bucket list. In February of 2022, the Swiss government decided at the last minute that it would not cancel Fasnacht for a third straight year - omicron be damned - and villages all across the country began their weeks-long, costumed bender.
Our friend Shelly had been to several Fasnacht celebrations over the years and was happy to act as our guide. For this trip, it didn’t make sense for us to drive a car all the way from Berlin and back in such a short amount of time, so instead we would have to take the trains. We would be covering a lot of ground: Fly into Basel, meet Shelly in Brig for the first night, travel to Lötschental, then stay in Lucerne for a few nights before flying back out of Basel. Remembering (honestly, unable to forget) that a 1-hour round-trip train ride from Zurich cost around €100, we assumed we should probably get all-inclusive multi-day rail passes. A four-day Swiss Rail pass cost an astounding €280 per person, but once we saw that that renting a car for the same time period also cost around €500 without gas, we felt a little more at ease with the exorbitant price. We’ve gone to Switzerland enough times now that the sticker shock for participating seems to have dulled.
There wasn’t a specific reason we chose to meet in Brig other than its relative proximity to Lötschental and the fact that there were still last-minute hotel rooms available. The place we were staying was right in the main city square where the Carnival festivities would be raging all night. Our hotel warned us of the imminent noise every single day after making our reservation, even up to the day of our stay. They even strangely gave us the option to move somewhere else, as if we didn’t know what we were getting into when we booked the place. We went to dinner at a traditional restaurant down the street and everything inside was covered in Super Mario decorations like an 8-year-old’s birthday party. Before braving the crowds, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some wine and traditional Fasnacht snacks: thin, crispy rounds of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. They were surprisingly addictive.
By the time we made it out into the main square, the party was already in full effect. Hundreds of people were milling about in a variety of costume types, from coordinated group outfits to standard Halloween garb like witches, skeletons, and famous fictional characters. Much like American Halloween, there didn’t seem to be any real rhyme or reason to people’s costume choices, except for the larger groups. Their matching costumes were often intricate and meticulously designed, much like the Mardi Gras costumes we had seen in New Orleans. We got to talking to a group called the Fly Swatters, who claimed to be the oldest Fasnacht group in Brig, dating back to 1958. Their outfits had custom leather jackets held together Frankenstein-style with thick stitching and bulging bug eyes protruding from the shoulders.
On the stage, a never-ending stream of marching bands took turns playing brass versions of pop songs. There were so many bands with so many members that it seemed like everyone in this part of the world played an instrument. All the festival-goers we talked to were confused why we had come to Brig, especially when they learned that Shelly lived in Lucerne, which was famous for its Fasnacht celebrations. We didn’t really have a good answer; Brig just seemed like an interesting place to go. As promised, the party continued until dawn, though we retired much earlier. We could hear it blaring on from our hotel room, but the noise wasn’t loud enough to keep us up. When we left the hotel in the morning to find some breakfast and catch our train, all of the streets that had been covered in garbage mere hours before were meticulously clean, exactly as one could expect from the uncompromising Swiss.
Surprisingly, you can’t take a train directly into the Lötschental valley, even though it seems like the trains run everywhere in Switzerland. To get to these remote villages you have to enter by bus, which takes you through winding roads before depositing you in a wonderland of wooden cottages surrounded on all sides by snowy mountain peaks. Tschäggättä masks (pronounced “chug-uh-duh”) can be seen all over the villages, with some large enough to cover the entire sides of barns. The walls of the restaurant where we had lunch was covered in the monstrous masks as the primary decoration. The carnival tradition of the townsfolk in this region dressing up as tschäggättä dates back to pagan times, and though the spectacle is internationally recognized, we appeared to be some of the only non-Swiss who had traveled there to participate. Before the parade began, we stopped by the Rieder-Jerjen mask shop and bought a tschäggättä mask as a souvenir. Hand-carved from wood with sheep fur for hair and imbedded cow teeth, we couldn’t believe the mask only cost €60, as nothing in Switzerland ever feels like it’s affordable. The shop was full of them though, and there was probably only a short window each year when they sold. The woman who ran the place explained, “For most people tschäggättä is two weeks of Fasnacht. For my husband it is 365 days a year.”
Slowly, the streets filled with onlookers and the tschäggättä began to appear on the narrow streets. Each creature shares the same general characteristics - carved wooden masks, goat or sheepskin pelts, and a bell that hangs from their belt - but each of their appearances is unique. Tschäggättä are mischievous troublemakers. Men, women, and children all dress up in the outfits, and some take on the personality of the tschäggättä more than others. In general, tschäggättä exist to be a problem. They maul onlookers with bear hugs and lock them in furry embraces. They don’t speak, only grunt, and bounce around constantly, ringing their cow bells. They spread out everywhere, appearing alone on snowy embankments and in second-story balconies. Small children come around corners crying, and you can be sure a tschäggättä is following close behind.
The tschäggättä weren’t the only part of the parade, though. There was also a truck with a bed completely filled with confetti and a huge vacuum tube that three masked men used to spray everyone and everything in colorful paper. Shelly pointed out that these men were all farmers, which made it all the more hilarious to see them wearing ‘80s jumpsuits and crazy masks while blasting techno music and rallying the crowd. There were also several marching bands, which moved from one end of town to the other, playing well-known Foo Fighters songs in lieu of more traditional tunes. And there were stalls with baked goods and hot mulled wine, which was especially nice after a long day standing around in the snow, getting mauled by furry beasts.
It was dark when we arrived back to Shelly’s apartment, situated just off lake Lucerne a short bus ride from the city center. It wasn’t until we woke up the following morning that we saw how awesome her new living situation was, with a full panoramic view from the living room of the lake and surrounding mountains. Shelly mostly exists in nature and not indoors, so she has no real desire for basic human comforts like say, a couch. She owns two porcelain plates and two metal forks, but plenty of supplemental ultralight camping cookware, so staying with her is basically an extension of camping, albeit indoors. When you’re already sleeping on an inflatable camping mat on the floor, it’s easy to get in the mood for a hike outside.
We’d never spent any real time in Lucerne before, and it quickly became clear why Shelly had decided to move there from Rapperswil, just south of Zurich. Though her work commute on the train was a bit longer, she now lived at the doorstep of some of the best wilderness Switzerland has to offer. The weather was perfect and the sky was blue that day, giving us the full picture of how stunning the mountains and lake are all around Lucerne. Honestly, we’re hard-pressed to think of any city we’ve been to that is more beautiful. It was easy to take public transit to the base of Pilatus mountain, which towers above the city when looking at it from across the lake from Shelly’s apartment. And with our very expensive 4-day Swiss Rail passes (which we were most definitely not getting our money’s worth of that day), it only cost €10 to take the gondola for a pleasant hike up the mountain in the snow.
When we got back down into town, the sun was setting and people were already appearing en masse in costume. There promised to be a massive party in the streets of Lucerne that night, but none of us were particularly interested in fasnachting again. Instead, we loaded up at the grocery store on everything we needed for a fondue feast at home and enjoyed a very cheesy meal with lots of laughter and Swiss wine.
A homemade fondue feast. Shelly grips some traditional (and totally nasty) cherry liquor that some choose to dip their melted cheese into
It was a good thing we decided to walk the few kilometers into town the next morning and not wait for the bus, because it never would have arrived to take us to our train. The streets of downtown Lucerne were closed off for another parade that Sunday, with thousands of costumed onlookers taking in the festivities. Shelly said Fasnacht had already been going strong in Lucerne for weeks, and the people would keep partying for weeks more. It was hard to know if they went this hard every year or were making up for lost time after after two years waiting. The pandemic had left us skeptical of spending too much time in large crowds, but it was nice to be near them, if only for a little while. It made us feel like things were finally returning to normal.