ideas. I like that about Tschäggättä. It might be a
monster or a witch or the devil or just a fantasy
- when are you are a Tschäggä, you transform
into another creature.’
It takes 90 minutes for that transformation
to take place. Hoodies, tracksuit bottoms and
trainers are replaced by sheepskin coats, cloth
trousers and military boots, faces turning red
as more and more clothes go on. The boys help
each other make adjustments with a needle
and thread or a strip of gaffer tape, and critically
assess each look. It is a deadly serious business.
‘There are different groups in Lötschental and
each wants to be the best. We almost don’t speak
to the others when carnival is on,’ says Manuel,
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into which each boy is manhandled in a process
resembling some form of extreme medieval
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pulled ever tighter round their waist by two
others, feet on his stomach and chest to gain
leverage. It’s a two-man job to hoist him to his
feet again. With mask on and a broom, branch
or umbrella to brandish, they are ready.
One by one, they emerge from the cave.
Manuel jumps up and down to make sure his
costume is secure, and waits for his band of
monsters to assemble. ‘For Tschäggättä what
you need is a cloudy night,’ he says looking into
the sky. ‘Then it is mystical. You hear the bells in
the distance and you wonder... where are they?’A
t the end of the valley, in the village
of Blatten, a giant Tschäggä statue
has appeared, watching over people
lined up along the procession route.
In restaurants, friends gather to chat
and warm up over mulled wine and
fruit schnapps – but the atmosphere
is still one of expectant terror.
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inevitable donging of cowbells. People start to
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up the street, each on the lookout for victims
to menace. Within minutes, I’m surrounded by
a good hundred – towering above the crowds,
grunting and growling as they jog past. TheyOne of the many Tschäggä roaming
the streets of Wiler on the day of the
Saturday parade, held near the very
end of the Tschäggättä festival