On July 31st, Basel transforms into Beirut.
All day long, loud explosions disrupted the otherwise peaceful and introverted nature of this Swiss city on the border of France and Germany. Huge bangs near and far pierced the air and shook buildings. The first one I heard as I walked down the street that afternoon had made me duck.
There was no bombing, however, or terrorist attack. It was mostly teenagers lighting off powerful rockets that are sold in little stands by the grocery stores in preparation for the coming events.
August 1 is Swiss National Day, considered the country’s birthday when the Gr????tli Pact was signed in 1291, granting it independence from its Austrian overlords. It is celebrated in many ways throughout the different cantons, but much like America, one of the favorites is the launching of fireworks on the night before.
I had spent my 4th of July in Birmingham, Alabama while staying with family there. On that night, the police blockaded a main avenue in the hills where many hundreds of people gathered to watch the city’s fireworks show from afar. They had arrived about an hour or two beforehand just to make sure they got a good spot. Lawnchairs were sprawled all about, kids were running around with sparklers, and highschoolers were drinking behind buildings.
The entire sky lit up as the show began, but about fifteen minutes later, it was over and everyone was packing up and running to their cars before the onslaught of traffic began.
Switzerland is a little different, yet not entirely.
Like America, people raise the Swiss flag — along with the canton and local banners — just about everywhere. On flagpoles, on apartment balconies, in front of stores, everywhere. I even saw a batch of cookies at the local Coop with frosting on it made to look like the national flag. Since I’ve been here, I have seen men, women, and children alike wearing red shirts with white crosses in the middle. Same with hats and even umbrellas. The Swiss are known for their patriotism, but seeing is believing. I haven’t met a single person who is not entirely proud of their country.
Here in Basel, the fireworks are a community effort of sorts. They are sold by small independent stands usually outside of grocery stores, which are spread out all over the city. Most people buy at least a few, from small roman candles to huge bursting rockets. There is such a stand right down the street. It’s very quaint and without much wares, but so are the rest.
That night around ten we drove into the city and parked a few blocks from the Rhein. Many people had walked or rode their bikes into the area. Huge bangs rocked buildings every few seconds. It felt like a warzone.
At the end of the street we could see the Rhein. Thousands of people were crowded along the walkways. There were picnic tables and tents set up for cooking wieners and pouring beers. A couple of kids ran by with glowing mouth pieces. Looking up, the bridge over the river was completely packed with people. We had to push to get down to the rocky beach where we would light our own fireworks, just as everyone else was doing.
We had to walk a ways along the shore before finding a clear spot to launch. A bottle was stuck into some rocks, some rockets stuck into the bottle, and away they went! People all along the river were doing the same thing, making for an amazing show. One of our rockets shot too low, exploding near the ground on the other side. It illuminated what looked like a bunch of angry faces, and after the booming echoes subsided, there was some definite yelling aimed our way along with a rocket or two. It was like a little WWII, a couple of people swimming in the river getting caught in the crossfire, but after a minute both sides went about their own business, with explosions ripping the sky once again.
Soon the official display began. The Rhein went black, the lights in the entire area going out. People were still launching their own rockets, but they were drowned out by dozens of explosions on the other side of the bridge. I thought it was still a bit early for it to start so I didn’t bother going over there, but when I realized that it was the real thing, we all dashed ran up the sides of the river, past the bridge, and through the trees until we could see.
It was really dark, so nearly none of the pictures or video came out very well. But I went ahead and did some editing to get some of the better scenes in, from beginning to end. You can see the video of about 16 MB here.
After the show was over, most people finally dispersed given that they had been out there for several hours. People continued to launch their own fireworks, either by the river or in the streets and public squares. The nerve-wracking booms continued long into the night and even into the next day.
Back where I used to live in Arizona we couldn’t buy and use fireworks at all, albeit for safety reasons. The whole night made me think about how Americans and the Swiss might be very much alike after all; perhaps not the politics, but the lifestyle. As an American I have enjoyed my time here seeing the sights and meeting the people, who have proven as both friendly and easily offended as anyone else I know back home.
Before I begin my trips through the Czech Republic, Ukraine, and Belarus doing political writing, I hope to do at least one more piece on Switzerland. For many Americans who don’t know, they may find that Switzerland is more familiar to them, if not desirable, than they think.
Beginning on Friday, I will be traveling to the Czech Republic, Ukraine, and Belarus over the next two weeks. I will be meeting with many different people and discussing many different local, national, and international issues facing these countries. There will be video and audio interviews and pieces written about my experiences. If this is something that you think would be worthwhile, please donate to help cover the cost of the trip. Of course, you are under no obligation, but it is because of previous donations that this is at all possible in the first place. Thank you!
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