In Which We Experience Our First Fasnacht

I first encountered the word Fastnacht when Shrove Tuesday came around while I was working in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  In that strongly German-American community it refers to rich, potato-shaped donuts traditionally eaten on the day before Lent – much more satisfying than the usual pancakes.  When we came to Switzerland we discovered that here the word, Fasnacht in Swiss German, refers to a six-day period leading up to Lent, for German-speaking people throughout Europe the equivalent of Mardi Gras.  We have also learned that in Switzerland there are as many different forms of celebration as there are separate communities.

Lent began rather late this year, which allowed for a long buildup to Fasnacht.  As the time neared we learned that Baar has its own customs.  Here it is known as Räbefasnacht, after a little fable concocted by some local citizens about 50 years ago, involving the räbe or red beet, a staple food in the lean days of late winter in bygone days.  The symbolic center of the festivities is the Räbegäuggel, an impish trouble maker.

One Saturday evening some weeks before the beginning of Fasnacht, The Spouse and I were relaxing in our apartment at the end of a long day of skiing, when we heard the raucous notes of a brass band in the street below us.  We rushed down to find a small procession wending its way through the center of town, to the bizarrely inappropriate tune “Sweet Caroline.”  

Hotz with räbe

We followed it to the Gemeindesalle or town meeting place, which was decked out for some kind of festivities.  It turned out to be the installation, or “Inthronisation” of the Räbevator, or head of the coming celebrations.  This year it happened to be Baar’s mayor Andreas Hotz, whom we had met at the welcome meeting for newcomers back in the fall.

We decided not to join the festivities, but did purchase a charming badge that several young women were selling.  Later we learned that these “Plakettes” are sold each year to raise funds to support the public celebration.

Soon other signs of the coming celebrations appeared: banners in the streets and various versions of the Räbegäuggel looked out from shop windows and apartment balconies.  One day I noticed a store that seemed to have a number for sale and proudly bore home one of our own.  Public signs announced a dizzying series of Bälles, or gala parties, for the weeks and days leading up to Ashenmittag, or Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent.  At about 5:00 on the Thursday morning, we were wakened by loud music and drums in the street immediately below us.  It turned out that this was “Morgenstreich,” the official beginning of the partying and parades. 

At that point, however, Handsome Son arrived for his first visit to Switzerland.  We spent the weekend skiing at Davos and missed most of the action in Baar.  When we returned on Monday the streets were littered with brightly colored confetti.  So as not to miss the action entirely, we decided to take the train to Luzern for the last night of Fasnacht.  Luzern, the largest Catholic city in Switzerland, is widely known for its Fasnacht parades, which are held every day from Thursday through Shrove Tuesday.

Like so many other things about Switzerland, there are so many local variations when it comes to Fasnacht celebrations that it is hard to make generalizations.  Catholic cantons like Zug and Luzern seem to be the most enthusiastic and elaborate in their observance of the customs.  For a lively description of Fasnacht in another Catholic town, read the recent blog by my colleague Trailing Wife.  Interestingly, Protestant cities Basel and Zürich also celebrate Fasnacht, but after Ash Wednesday rather than before.  Word is that this began in defiance of the Pope’s strict rules about observing Lent.  Hence, Basel’s famous Morganstreich parade starts at 4:00 am on the first Monday after Lent.  I understand that it is impressive: it begins with the city in total darkness, even its street lights having been extinguished; suddenly lights come on in illuminated parade floats and thousands of shrill piccolos begin to play.  From what I have heard, Basel’s observance is tightly organized; only marchers in the parade wear costumes.

In Luzern, on the other hand, everyone seems to get into the act.  As soon as we left the train we began to see people in costume – men, women, and children, often in matching sets.  It was late afternoon, in a break between a children’s parade and the beginning of the “Monstercorso,” the big final parade that would run through the evening and into the early morning hours.  We wandered into the old city, fascinated by the marching band groups in grotesque costumes and full-head masks. 

In past years, costumes have often commented on the politics of the day, and one band featured Uncle Sam masks that hardly seemed flattering.

 But this year’s unofficial theme seemed to be related to Fantasy: there were lots of trolls, Goths and zombies.  (Come to think of it, though there were quite a few folks in religious garb, perhaps a comment on recent scandals in the Catholic Church.)

The Spouse and Handsome Son

We grazed on offerings at the many stalls hawking beer, glüwein (hot mulled wine) and wurst.  (An interesting twist was the 2 franc deposit required with styrofoam cups to ensure that they be returned rather than thrown into the trash.)  The mood was jovial if bizarre.  One moment seemed to epitomize the paradox of Swiss celebration:  A figure in costume threw a large handful of confetti over our heads – perhaps because we weren’t wearing costumes.  (I understand that in Basel and in other towns that sell plakettes, if you aren't wearing one you will be inundated with confetti.)  But, seeing that some of the confetti had fallen into our drink cups, the figure added a gentle “Entschuldigung” (Excuse me.)   

I have a feeling that as the night wore on and more and more glüwein was consumed, the atmosphere probably became more disorderly.  But while we were there celebrations seemed relatively quiet, if surrealistically colorful.  Although the Monstercorso was fascinating, the bone-chilling cold of the evening eventually drove us back to the train.  Next year, The Spouse and I agreed, we would return in full costume – and in long underwear.