Waking up for Basler Fasnacht

By James Stone

There are many famous carnivals around the globe that happen every year and Basel probably isn't one you'd put high on your list. After all, the city, beautiful as it may be, is not well known as a city break spot or holiday destination, mostly because of it's reputation as a business centre and because it's not cheap. But Basler Fasnacht – hidden in the depths of a cold February night – is worth discovering.

What's strange about the carnival is that it starts at 04:00 in the morning on the Monday after Ash Wednesday. This means the Swiss get a national holiday, but unlike the Brits, who I imagine would drink all night up to the four o'clock start, the Swiss go to bed and get up again in time, donning their warmest winter wears and boarding the extra buses that have been laid on to arrive at the carnival before it starts.

It's a strange experience wandering through the narrow cobbled streets with hundreds of others – parents, children, the elderly – it feels like a normal shopping day but much too busy and far too late. We congregated at Marktplatz in front of the dramatic town hall, and waited to see what would happen. A church bell tolled distantly in the background and suddenly, on the exact stroke of three, the town was thrown into darkness. Absolutely every source of electric light was extinguished at the same time as some 18,000 drummers struck their drums. That's pretty scary.

Then the winy, tinny pipers began their eerie marches. There were tens of groups of people all dressed up in gaudy costumes, gargoylish masks, clowns outfits or animal get-ups. Each marched within their group with drummers at the front, playing their tiny piccolos to the side, and within them, a giant float painted with wonderful and terrifying images. These floats, and the lights worn on the heads of each of the participants, were the only lights allowed in the city. The electricity had been turned off throughout the city – even the cash machines didn't work.

We followed the bands which wove for miles about the city, sometimes getting caught up in a cross-stream when they passed and always clinging onto each other – it's impossible to imagine how dark a city is with no light. All the cafes and bars were open, all lit by candles hidden behind black paper in the windows. We climbed into one heaving bar where we drank warming mulled wine and ate the traditional carnival cheese soup (which tasted a bit like old boots).

As the sun rose behind thick clouds, a strange blue light settled over the twisted visages of the costumed bands, which had marched relentlessly for some five hours and were beginning to lose steam. We were also tired and ready for bed. The whole set up completely messes with your sense of time – a party that starts when you wake up at the dead of night and ends with morning, when you return to bed.

The carnival continues for exactly 72 hours every year and ends at 04:00 on the Thursday morning. The Swiss are known for their time keeping.