Living in Switzerland requires an ability to keep track of a lot of dates: trash day, cardboard recycling day, paper recycling day, national holidays, canton or city holidays, and religious holidays. I have not proven myself worthy, as I forgot that this past Saturday was November 11th. Well, I knew that it was the 11th, but I forgot the significance of the date, and so I was caught completely unawares when the marching bands started playing outside my window at 11:11 in the morning (yes, I consider 11:11 to fall squarely in the middle of the morning, and am surprised and somewhat disturbed if I get out of bed before the crack of noon on a weekend).
What, you may ask, happens at 11:11 on November 11th? That, my friend, is when Carneval season starts in Switzerland. Yes, the lead-up to Mardi Gras begins in November, and it involves a lot of marching bands blasting their instruments outside my apartment on a morning I had earmarked for sleep. The bands all play Guggenmusik, which apparently is German for “crazy Bandies wearing weird outfits and playing as if they are drunk and standing on a bus that is swerving in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid potholes of enormous proportions.” (I’ve been told that this strange sound is intentional, and that it takes a great deal of skill and practice to have the pitch and rhythm off just the right amount).
And they weren’t content to just play their lopsided music in the rainy street. No, they were determined to share their gift with the world, including the brunch-eating world. A few friends and I, unable to sleep, had decided to grab brunch in a cozy neighborhood joint, only to hear some seasick saxophones lurching around as we tried to eat our eggs. We wandered around town gawking at the costumed bands, who doggedly played through the entire morning, afternoon and evening, despite the cold and the rain. Eventually, we fortified ourselves with a few cups of glühwein (mulled wine), and ventured forth to observe the brass-and-drum-heavy festivities.
After checking in several bars that were overly full, we finally settled in at one bar that was only full. Every thirty minutes or so, a new band would stagger in and the old band would trickle out, and we would be treated to another round of wonky music played by people in wacky costumes. There were people in giraffe costumes playing steel drums, there were pirates dancing along to a marching band version of Chubby Checker’s “The Twist,” and obviously, since it was a big party involving beer and German speakers, there were clowns singing “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”
The revelry continued into the night, and the confetti and rainwater formed soggy piles on the street. Of course, since this is Switzerland, the confetti was gone by the next day, and I’m sure the musicians are all plotting further outings for Carneval season, to be topped off with the Big One on Fasnacht (Mardi Gras, which is celebrated in late February this time around, actual date varies by city). Leave it to the Swiss to start a party at exactly 11:11 a.m., to clean up before it’s over, to leave sufficient time for further planning, and to let each city have its own staggered celebration. Let the good times roll, in as orderly and organized a manner as possible.
Had a visitor in town last weekend, and another one this weekend, and I’ve already planned several trips for the next five months: Maldives, Paris, London, Rome, San Francisco… (I keep repeating these facts to myself to help myself ignore the fact that by late December, it starts getting dark by about 4 p.m., assuming that the sun ever comes out of the clouds in the first place).
What, you may ask, happens at 11:11 on November 11th? That, my friend, is when Carneval season starts in Switzerland. Yes, the lead-up to Mardi Gras begins in November, and it involves a lot of marching bands blasting their instruments outside my apartment on a morning I had earmarked for sleep. The bands all play Guggenmusik, which apparently is German for “crazy Bandies wearing weird outfits and playing as if they are drunk and standing on a bus that is swerving in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid potholes of enormous proportions.” (I’ve been told that this strange sound is intentional, and that it takes a great deal of skill and practice to have the pitch and rhythm off just the right amount).
And they weren’t content to just play their lopsided music in the rainy street. No, they were determined to share their gift with the world, including the brunch-eating world. A few friends and I, unable to sleep, had decided to grab brunch in a cozy neighborhood joint, only to hear some seasick saxophones lurching around as we tried to eat our eggs. We wandered around town gawking at the costumed bands, who doggedly played through the entire morning, afternoon and evening, despite the cold and the rain. Eventually, we fortified ourselves with a few cups of glühwein (mulled wine), and ventured forth to observe the brass-and-drum-heavy festivities.
After checking in several bars that were overly full, we finally settled in at one bar that was only full. Every thirty minutes or so, a new band would stagger in and the old band would trickle out, and we would be treated to another round of wonky music played by people in wacky costumes. There were people in giraffe costumes playing steel drums, there were pirates dancing along to a marching band version of Chubby Checker’s “The Twist,” and obviously, since it was a big party involving beer and German speakers, there were clowns singing “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”
The revelry continued into the night, and the confetti and rainwater formed soggy piles on the street. Of course, since this is Switzerland, the confetti was gone by the next day, and I’m sure the musicians are all plotting further outings for Carneval season, to be topped off with the Big One on Fasnacht (Mardi Gras, which is celebrated in late February this time around, actual date varies by city). Leave it to the Swiss to start a party at exactly 11:11 a.m., to clean up before it’s over, to leave sufficient time for further planning, and to let each city have its own staggered celebration. Let the good times roll, in as orderly and organized a manner as possible.
Had a visitor in town last weekend, and another one this weekend, and I’ve already planned several trips for the next five months: Maldives, Paris, London, Rome, San Francisco… (I keep repeating these facts to myself to help myself ignore the fact that by late December, it starts getting dark by about 4 p.m., assuming that the sun ever comes out of the clouds in the first place).
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