May Day, Swiss Style

I had a pretty good idea of why the helicopters had been hovering high over Kurfirstenstrasse, so I decided to grab my camera and go see if the head-knocking was underway. Instead, I found that May Day was still pretty peaceful in Zurich, with the feeling of a Mardi Gras morning when everyone is positioning themselves for the big event, milling about the streets, little rivers of people streaming through the backstreets, all heading in the same general direction.
I hopped off the tram at Paradeplatz and merged into the flow. The protesters were nothing more than school kids, really, and I snapped a few photos before heading off to search for the anarchists. The flow of people emerging from the sidestreets grew thicker and I tagged along. Police in riot gear were gathering on the corners in small groups, talking in little groups, notes in hand, plotting their response if things turned ugly.
After blocks and blocks of wandering through a part of town I didn't recognize, I turned a corner, walked through a small gate in a wrought iron fence and into a festival crowd of communists, socialists, assorted rabble, children in strollers and their parents who nibbled on pork cooked on a revolving spit. In true Swiss style, there was no shouting or loud music, just hundreds of people in line at booths to buy food and drinks. Flags and posters festooned the place, decorated with sickles and anvils and revolutionary slogans. There were signs in German decrying the "Fehler" of capitalism. Oddly, though, capitalism seemed to be thriving all around me. I couldn't figure out if the merchants were making fun of the socialists or were truly ignorant of the irony in what they were doing. My favorite booth had a picture of Che below barrels of wine and a container of Sangria. Hey, why behave like a socialist unless you can make a few bucks at it?

There was lots of drinking but nothing in the way of violence, so I left after a half hour and walked dozens of blocks to the Hauptbahnhof. From there, it was back home on the tram.
The helicopters are still there, buzzing above the gathering crowds. As late afternoon sets in and the drinking carries on, I'm guessing that the fun is going to start soon, and I'll have to make another pass to find out. I may be wrong, though, as this is Switzerland after all. The festival merchants may just fold their tents and go home to count all the money they made off the socialists.