🎭 “Drums, Masks, and Moonlight: A Night at Lucerne Carnival”

#summervacay Lucerne, usually polished and peaceful, unravels gloriously during Fasnacht. For a few surreal days each February, this lakeside city trades its postcard charm for chaos—joyful, noisy, and defiantly weird. I arrived just before dawn on Schmutziger Donnerstag, the “Dirty Thursday” that opens the festivities. The sound hit first—Guggenmusik blaring through cobbled alleys, off-key brass bands in full force, drums pounding like a second heartbeat. Then came the masks: grotesque, beautiful, funny, eerie. Whole families in costumes that looked handmade by mad geniuses. Nothing matched, and everything worked. At the Jesuit Church, a marching band in skeleton suits played Queen in 7/8 time. On the Kapellbrücke, jesters waved at office workers sipping mulled wine at 9 AM. Laughter rolled over the Reuss River like fog. I stood in the middle of it, face painted, scarf sticky with confetti, and grinned like a child. Fasnacht isn’t polished. It’s permission—to be loud, strange, playful. To forget the rules and feel alive. By night, the city glowed with lanterns, and parades wound like serpents through Old Town. I followed the rhythm from square to square, losing track of time, language, and even direction. Somewhere near Helvetiaplatz, I shared fondue with strangers in wigs and war paint.