Anyway--
In my area of the US, Mardis Gras isn't really a huge thing. The school cafeteria dyes its cauliflower purple for a few days (at least, I HOPE that's food dye) and a few people buy plastic beads from Dollar Tree, but that's really about it. And as for Carnival--well, the US really doesn't DO Carnival. So walking into this event, I really didn't know what to expect.
A few days before Carnival, I began to notice signs of activity. Bags of paper confetti and packages of fried cakes (think the bowls they serve fried ice cream in) showed up for sale in literally EVERY store. The bakery on the corner added masks and stuffed bears (more than usual) to their window display. Signs advertising the city's calendar of events began popping up at every bus stop (unfortunately, as these were written entirely in Swiss German, they really didn't help to alleviate my curiosity).
The main street behind the Zytglogge was scrubbed spotless. Colorful figures with instruments were hung over all the shops. My anticipation grew.
The first event of Carnival was the opening ceremony. This occurred around 7:00 or 8:00 o'clock Thursday night. I got on the tram with excitement. I hadn't dressed up at all--after all, what was I supposed to wear?
The tram travelled a few stops. Normal-looking people got on and off.
Then, maybe five minutes into the journey, a human rosebush boarded the tram.
A middle-aged woman boarded the tram, dressed in an elaborate green dress and cap which would have shamed most Renaissance Faire queens. The entire ensemble was plastered in red fabric flowers. Synthetic roses dripped from her hat and wove their way through the fingers of her gloves. Her face and neck were covered in metallic green paint. A green masquerade mask obscured her eyes.
She was a human rosebush. Literally.
A few stops later, a normal-looking mother boarded the train, accompanied by a boy in a dollar-store creepy clown costume. The pair sat across from the rosebush woman and soon all were complimenting each other on costumes. A moment later, they were joined by a man with a base drum and a pair of grown men dressed like sheep.
Now I was really getting excited.
When I got to the train station, I met some friends, and together we followed the parade of weird-looking strangers to the Zytglogge. A stage had been erected in front of it, and an enormous crowd already filled the square. Half wore costumes, ranging from store-bought, recognizable attire to masquerade clothing which would have made the Goblin King in Labyrinth blush. Some people wore full face paint, turning themselves into skeletons or cats. Some people wore enormous fake heads. Some people wore combinations of feathers, electric lights, bubble rap, and spandex which resembled nothing whatsoever but which would have made Lady Gaga seem outright Amish.
Some costumes were scary. Some costumes were funny. The majority, however, were just plain weird.
Many people in the crowd carried drums or instruments. More on them later.
After a moment, a crash of thunder filled the air, and the stage before us lit up. Two characters, dressed like witches (I think?) began to speak. They spoke only in Swiss German, so none of the exchange students had any idea what they were trying to say. After a while, however, we got the gist of it--the characters were trying to fund the right way to awaken the trapped bear.
So how do you awaken a trapped bear?
You use music.
One character would suggest a song, and speakers would blast it over the audience. I was amused by the fact that many of the songs were American--for instance, Winter Wonderland and Party Rock Anthem both made appearances. All of the songs were accompanied by an assortment of flashing lights and cheers. Apparently, however, none were exciting enough to awaken the sleeping bear.
Finally, one of the characters had an idea. She procured a human-sized top hat and set it down in the center of the stage. Drummers in the audience were queued, and, accordingly, they began to pound away. Fire and fireworks shot from huge tubes on the corners of the stage. The hat began to tremble and shake.
Then, all at once, it was tossed aside, and a man in a bear costume roared out from underneath. He began to dance with the two witch characters. More fireworks and lazers shot up into the air. The crowd went wild.
Carnival had begun.
As soon as the light show was over, Carnival bands--basically pep bands in the craziest, most random apparel you can imagine, began to set up along the street. They really weren't terribly concerned about space--bands would set up and play literally across from each other. The goal wasn't to be the best band--the goal was to be the loudest.
They played everything from traditional German drinking songs to Taylor Swift and Katy Perry.
The conductors were some of the most energetic people I think I've ever seen.
Being at Carnival was like being at a weird, loud, highly inebriated marching band competition. I felt right at home.
Gradually, my little group meandered down the street towards the Münster. On the way, we encountered these fellows, guarding a cart:
At the time, the wolf men just set up and stood on sentry duty, motionless and silent. Later that night, they set up their cart near one of the main stages and started serving warm beverages from it. This was highly welcome because their drinks were cheaper than ANYTHING else at Fasnacht and because, after four plus hours of standing out in the cold, dark, and damp, all of us were in need of hot beverages.
When we made it to the Münster, we found that an enormous stage had been erected directly in front of it. Projected lights lit up the front of the church in a rainbow of colors. On the other three sides of the square, food and outrageously-priced beverage stands had been set up. Various bands played on stage:
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