Davos, A Winter's Tale 2018

Thomas Mann’s novel ‘Der Zauberberg’, written in 1924, is set in a luxurious sanatorium in Davos, just before WW1. Here, rich sufferers from tuberculosis, or TBC, from all over the world rub shoulders, meticulously fill in their daily fever pitches, indulge, gamble, seriously flirt and quarrel with each other - and indeed sometimes die. A young man from Hamburg, Hans Castorp, visits his cousin Joachim in the fascinating parallel world of the ‘Berghof’ sanatorium, initially for just a couple of weeks (but eventually staying for seven years!). A freak snow storm delays his home-coming and creates a delirious coming-of-age experience for Hans. Soon after, he falls - unavoidably - ill, thus joining the morbid society. Quickly he gets lost in the Davos micro-cosmos of fancy camel-hair plaids, newly invented x-ray machines and grammophones (yes, they are having a ball up there, too!) and its own dynamics, far away from the rest of the world. A typical ‘Bildungsroman’, Zauberberg is a tale, where the young hero is leaving his home, and travels to a strange place, finding arts, politics, adventure, love and explores the idea of death. 

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My etchings on show are inspired by the figures, daily routines and mundane objects of Davos’ pre-war sanatorium life as described in Thomas Mann’s ‘Zauberberg’.

From Tale to Reality

A hundred years ago, Davos was considered literally as the only place in the world where TBC could be cured. This was at a time where 50% of the population in Europe was infected and every seventh person died of the then just recently discovered bacterium. TBC and Death were synonyms and thus, the sick and rich flooded from all over the world into the small mountain village to receive advice and treatments. At peak, patients were outnumbering locals 2.5:1. After discovering signs of TBC, sanatorium doctors prescribed their patients genuine ‘Davoser Liegekuren’: The sick were lined up in wicker chairs and beds on the long balconies, tucked under thick duvets and warm covers to patiently (sic!) while away 6 hours every day in the fresh mountain air. Frequent X-rays, daily medical examinations and an indulging lifestyle in the luxury clinics cost the sick fortunes. Often patients were prescribed years of such Davos sojourns, to the great financial benefit of the local doctors. The X-ray technology was brand-new and brilliant then. Davos’ doctors were, however, largely inexperienced to its diagnostic use and suggested treatments according to the patients’ purses rather than understanding their medical needs. Many ‘patients’ were therefore, knowingly or out of ignorance, attributed wrongly with TBC and treatments were often dangerous and outright damaging. A true cure was only introduced in 1944 with Streptomycin, an antibiotic against TBC, eventually exposing the effectiveness of the ‘Davoser Liegekur’ as a myth.

One hundred years on…

Today, most Davos sanatoriums have been converted into hotels and condominiums. Instead of hosting TBC patients, the town is flooded every January for the World Economic Forum, or WEF, by ov er 20,000 visitors, outnumbering locals by the factor two. Serious issues are ‘treated’ among experts and the international rich and powerful, in apparent ever-lasting talks, events and parties,  costing fortunes. The giddying mountain air is seen as a mighty antidote to the sicknesses of the world. 

As in ‘Der Zauberberg’, some dizzying questions remain: Are the many Davos experts diagnosing in good faith, correctly and truly trying to treat their feverish patient…? And, more specifically to WEF, who is ultimately paying the bill?

Close-Up: Davos Fever Pitch

Initially propelled and fed by Thomas Mann’s novel I was fascinated for many years by the ring of ‘Zauberberg’, that magical place high up in the clouds. Then, the World Economic Forum started regularly trickling game-changing insights, deals and groundbreaking news how to fix the world down to the valley, including to me. Charged journalists interviewing the rich and powerful on red carpets, presidents being helicoptered in and out, rivers of champagne, bathtubs of caviar and new economic paradigms being minted just there added to the clout of the place.

Born and raised in Hamburg, with a background in economics and stock markets, living in Kuesnacht literally two minutes away from Thomas Mann’s former family home, and a passionate lover of Winter, I felt in early 2018 there were too many indicators pointing to Davos for me for being ignored any longer.

Thus, on a snowy January morning this year I embarked on a train journey to that magical resort. With the plan of writing my own ‘Bildungsroman’ in photos, but no idea what to expect, I traveled with one eye firmly pressed onto my Canon’s view finder, capturing my own Davos tale. Making the setting just novel-perfect, a freak snow-storm had turned the world white and piled snow up to record highs just the night before. 

Instead of becoming a romantic winter-wonderland as in the time of Hans Castorp, though, the snow masses had turned not-anymore-so-pretty Davos streets into a solid bumper-to-bumper standstill of black limos for the few kilometres between Platz and Dorf, hoards of elegantly dressed WEF panel participants were dragging their signature luggage through the grey slush, occasionally showered by roof avalanches, early (or very late?) party-goes were sliding unsteadily down icy paths in their fine leather slippers, leaving some glitter behind and almost, yes, almost, the snow taught certain presidents in heavily armed helicopters that nature, after all, still presides. The quickly rising temperatures in the afternoon let the snow masses and that last part of my tale melt, though, and…they all lived happily ever after.

Here is my story in etchings and photographs, bridging a gap of 100 years: Davos, A Winter’s Tale.

Sandra Kazbegi