As of: February 3, 2024, 9:50 a.m
By: Cornelia Schramm
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Disguise artists and actors: When dancing, the Mashkera chat with the women - but disguise their voices as camouflage.
© ANDREAS MAYR
Mittenwald is known for its carnival culture.
Long before tourists make the pilgrimage to the mountain village, the Gungl season begins.
Men in masks go from tavern to tavern and ask women to dance.
Remaining unrecognized despite flirting and Dablekka – that is the fine art of the Mashkera.
Mittenwald – The beautiful woman starts the yodel, the South Tyrolean joins in.
Then the masked men enter the Zum Platzl inn.
Their singing echoes through their wooden masks, which are called larvae here in Mittenwald.
Clear the stage for the Mashkera.
The innkeepers and musicians join in with their yodeling.
The Mashkera each ask one of the women present to dance.
The Boarische is followed by a Fox.
The faster the dance, the harder it is to breathe.
Nevertheless, the larva must never be removed.
The ultimate goal: remain undetected.
Mittenwald in the Garmisch-Partenkirchen district is known for its Fosnacht, for its violin makers, their artfully carved larvae and the big parade on Nonsense Thursday, during which the bell stirrers drive away the winter.
But the village at the foot of the Karwendel turned upside down much earlier.
During the so-called Gunglgehen, the Mashkera parade through the town like they did centuries ago and ask people to dance.
“As a Mittenwalder, Fosnacht is in your blood,” says the South Tyrolean.
The feathers on his hat bob.
He wears trousers and red and white stockings.
He covered his beard, hair and neck with cloths.
Only the hands are visible.
He has to watch out for them.
They could reveal his age.
So he puts one hand around his dance partner's waist and hides the other behind his back.
The tourists come on Nonsense Thursday, and now Mittenwald is celebrating among itself
The Gungln take place on all “unholy days” from Epiphany onwards – Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Gungl used to be the name of the rooms where women met to spin.
Back then the Mashkera moved from farmhouse to farmhouse, today from inn to inn.
On Nonsense Thursday, the twelve bell stirrers are admired by hundreds of tourists.
© imago
The rules are strict: If you forget to take off your mask after you leave, it will grow on your face, they say.
Forever.
Gungln is also forbidden on Candlemas and Blasi Day.
And on February 5th.
“This goes back to a vow that the people made when the Untermarkt burned down on Agate Day in 1830,” says Deputy Mayor Georg Seitz, who is traveling as a South Tyrolean that evening.
Locally it is called Gratzn-Schorsch.
The beautiful woman at his side is Spezl Andreas Neuner, the Hackl-Anda.
After four rounds of dancing in the Platzl, the South Tyrolean and the beautiful woman move on to the Gasthof Gries.
Time to pluck the larva onto your forehead.
Fresh air, a cigarette.
Night falls over Mittenwald.
The mountain ranges stand out in the sky.
Six inns invite you to Gungl today.
Everywhere the Maschkera are expected by dashing women in dirndls, the so-called “Gungl-Malan”.
At the age of 14 or 15, mothers take their daughters with them for the first time.
At the same age, the boys also hatch a larva.
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Costume classics such as cowboys, pirates or police officers are not available here.
Instead, the Fleckerlgwand – a suit made of colorful fabric patches.
Or characters like witches, South Tyroleans or Swiss.
Or Bajazzel, which goes back to the Italian fool Bajazzo.
“Or I can do Herrischen, an early guest from Prussia, or Schiachn,” says the beautiful woman.
Mashkera need a lot of acting talent
After yodeling and dancing in the Gries, the Mashkera walk to the next restaurant.
The Römerschanz is said to be the busiest today.
The room is full, 40 times, the air is steamy.
The music plays the Zillertal Wedding March.
The larvae cheer – and cunt.
A good garment alone is not enough.
It takes acting skills to remain unrecognized in a place where everyone knows everyone.
“You have to disguise your voice and do everything differently than in everyday life.
“Walk faster, for example, or take extra small steps,” squeaks the South Tyrolean.
He lifts his mask to take a sip of beer.
The other hand protects the exposed chin.
Birthmarks also need to be covered.
“And if you don’t come with your usual circle of friends, you cause confusion about your identity.”
Mashkera hands do not wear wedding rings.
The beautiful woman also left him at home.
His wife was sitting with friends in the Gries Inn earlier.
She recognized him at the dance, like always.
“Only once, when I wore a loose habit and drank my beer through a straw,” he says.
Dancing with a stranger: The Gungl custom has its charms
The game of hide-and-seek has its charm.
A woman in her mid-fifties enthuses: “I have found Gungln exciting since my youth.
You never know 100 percent who is underneath.” The robes and masks are inherited, exchanged and loaned out.
“It may be that you don’t recognize your own friend,” says a 25-year-old.
“More like our mothers, because after decades they know the family’s collection of ganders and larvae better.”
The oldest Mashkera that evening is 82. The stooped posture, the limp – could be a show.
He dances with vigor in the Fleckerlgwand, but then he rests longer than others on the bench by the tiled stove.
This wouldn't be noticeable to people from outside the area.
Tradition keeps you young, especially Fosnacht.
The Römerschanz inn invites you to the Gungl: the women wear smart dirndls and dance with the Maschkera.
© ANDREAS MAYR
The larva also gives the wearer freedom from fools.
Something like “I know where you live” might be whispered in the Malan’s ear.
Some go further: There are said to have been Maschkera who stored their garments in the sheepfold for four weeks before Gungl - or who had a goat on a rope with them.
The ladies had to endure the stench.
Others are said to have served Malan with sauerkraut, only to ceremoniously demonstrate to them how they had previously mashed it in the pot with bare, sweaty feet.
Custom with strict rules: Female Mashkera are forbidden
By the way: the centuries-old tradition does not allow a woman to give a mashkera.
Back then, exposure would have had brutal consequences.
The woman would have been turned upside down and a beer poured between her legs.
A medieval practice that no one who goes to Gungl today has experienced.
It doesn't always hurt when tradition changes.
“There are now some women who dare to go out in secret,” say Seitz and Neuner.
“They often make really good Maschkera.” Why not, in this wild Mittenwald world?
It's not that strict after all: the masks can come off at midnight.
In the smoking break in front of the shop anyway.
So even the local sexton doesn't go unnoticed: he has to paint off his red fingernails until the next time he goes to church.
(sco)