Carnival celebrations happen across Germany every year but none with more passion and humour than the Rhenish Carnival in Düsseldorf. Filled with parades, parties and outrageous costumes, it’s time for some culturally-sanctioned reckless abandon, tongue-in-cheek gags and witty satirical takes on the political issues of the past year, from both at home and abroad.
Country: Germany
Equipment: Fuji XT3 (w/ Fuji XF 35mm f1.4 & Fuji XF 56mm f1.2)
Year : March 2019
What I underestimated before arriving though, was just how seriously Dusseldorfers take these festivities. If anything betrays the city’s commitment to the carnival, it is the length of the festivities. Although the week leading up to Ash Wednesday is when the main celebrations take place, Düsseldorf’s Carnival officially begins in autumn. At 11 minutes past 11 o’clock on the 11th of November, crowds gather and bars overflow with jesters for the Hoppeditz Awakening. In this ceremony, locals ‘awaken’ the Hoppeditz Fool, who clambers atop his platform and scolds the crowds in front of Düsseldorf’s City Hall. Afterwards, the costumes are packed away until the beer starts to flow and the party starts in earnest on the Thursday before Ash Wednesday.
If Rose Monday is the day to gather with family and watch the tongue-in-cheek parade, Sunday is the day to party with friends. Seemingly the entire population of the city descends on this 1km strip of concrete in their finest costumes, dressed to impress and bringing along as much booze as they can carry for the informal street party. Some people even bring their own homemade floats – really just decorated trolleys filled with kegs of altbier, bottles of spirits and cans of pilsner – a mobile bar to keep them fuelled with booze for the entire day.
I’m told that being asked to ride on a float at Dusseldorf’s Rosenmontag parade is quite the honour, one that is reserved for members of the city’s prestigious carnival clubs, dignitaries, and people of importance. I’m none of those things. So, imagine my surprise when I scroll through my emails, ignoring the usual bank account detail requests from Nigerian princes and promo emails from companies that I bought one item from well over 12 years ago but keep putting off unsubscribing from their mailing list, and see Visit Dusseldorf asking if I would be interested in hopping aboard their float for the annual Carnival festivities. Obviously, I said yes. What a fantastic opportunity I thought… until I read the follow-up email;
“Will you be bringing your own costume or do you want us to provide you with one?”
Answering yes to that email is why I now find myself stood a few streets away from the Königsallee, Dusseldorf’s main shopping street and thoroughfare, dressed head to toe in the colours of the European flag; blue stars painted on my face, I frizzy blue wig reminiscent of 80’s Kevin Keegan with bad dye-job, bright blue gloves, and a scarf emblazoned with the flags of various European nations. It’s an outfit that even ‘Mr. Stop Brexit’ himself, Steve Bray, would consider a little too much. To dress up though is to get in the Carnival spirit. Almost all of the city’s residents don costumes for the few days preceding lent and surprisingly, to be wearing any kind of normal attire is a sure-fire way of attracting bemused glances.
Among them are depictions of Greta Thunberg, a gruesome depiction of Saudia Arabia’s Crown Prince Mohammad Bin Salman Al Saud, his hands covered in blood with a Donald Trump Guardian angel on his shoulder, and the famous float of Theresa May that you possibly saw at the million-strong anti-Brexit March in London, her nose elongated and spearing a deceased economist. I’m told that Jaques has offended so many governments that he keeps a list – one that he has to update yearly, of countries that he has to avoid visiting. Each year over 50 floats make their way around the city’s Altstadt, weaving through the cobbled streets as spectators line the roadside screaming the traditional Dusseldorf greeting of “Helau!”
