Where Uwe Krüger lives, 80 percent voted for Trump. The Bible Belt is being distorted in Europe, says the Swiss musician.

The food is one of the reasons he travels to Switzerland four times a year, says Uwe Krüger in a restaurant in Zurich. In the US, especially far from the urban centers, it's sometimes not so easy to find healthy food. "We grow a lot in our garden." He looks around. "Here, I'm probably the fattest one. In a restaurant here, I'd be below average."

The Kruger Brothers, consisting of guitarist Uwe Krüger, banjo virtuoso Jens Krüger, and bassist Joel Landsberg, have had an astonishing rise to fame. In Switzerland, the brothers made a living as street musicians and party bands in their early years; in the USA, they soon became one of the most respected bluegrass groups. Jens Krüger is even considered one of the best banjo players of all time. The state of North Carolina made the Swiss band honorary citizens in recognition of their contributions to this traditional music. Their melancholic song "Carolina in the Fall" has become something of an unofficial anthem for this state, which stretches from the Atlantic coast to the vast forests of the Appalachian Mountains.

In the 1990s, Uwe and Jens Krüger settled in the village of Wilkesboro, a village of 4,000 people at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where one of the largest bluegrass and folk music festivals in the USA takes place annually, attracting over 70,000 visitors each year. In the US presidential elections, North Carolina is one of the hotly contested swing states. "In our very rural region, however, 80 percent voted for Trump," says Krüger. It's like everywhere else: In the cities, people tend to vote left-wing, meaning Democrats, while in the countryside, Republicans.

Krüger says he lives in an area that is often portrayed in a distorted way in the European media: in the heartland of Trump voters, in the Bible Belt, where churchgoing and gun rights play a central role. Most newspaper correspondents are based in the metropolises of Washington and New York. "Even if they travel to the countryside for a few days before the election, they have no sense of what life is like here."

Krüger refuses to hear of a division in society, as has often been described since Trump's election. "National politics doesn't play a big role for us." He says he's red, or Republican, because his family has always voted that way. "Just like someone belongs to a certain church." In North Carolina alone, there are 175 different religious communities, including Muslims and Hindus. "I don't belong to any church myself, and no one has ever tried to convert me to their faith," he says. It's the same with politics. "Freedom of speech for us means listening to one another, but not necessarily trying to convince the other person." Ideologically charged topics like politics, faith, or raising children are often not even discussed among friends or acquaintances.

Solidarity in the neighborhood is very strong, despite, or perhaps because of, the weak welfare state. People help each other, there's no question about that; neither political views nor religion play a role. Volunteering with the volunteer fire department or the ambulance service is a given. "In the Bible Belt, there's still a clear, functioning social order," says Krüger.

The Krüger family is originally from Germany, but moved to Switzerland shortly after Uwe's birth. How he and his brother Jens discovered bluegrass music as boys sounds almost like a fairytale. After their mother's early death, their father leased an inn in Andwil, Thurgau, where the two discovered a record in the attic by bluegrass godfather and guitar legend Doc Watson. "I had never heard such beautiful music," Jens Krüger once said in a documentary. The recording touched them deeply. They wanted to be able to play like that, too. Decades later, the brothers themselves appeared on stage with Doc Watson and maintained a close friendship until his death in 2012.

During the conversation in the restaurant, Krüger radiates a great inner contentment. When he talks about music, politics, and his life, he is completely at peace with himself. He never judges others, never complains about anything, not even about his childhood, which was not easy due to the many moves and the death of his mother.

In Switzerland, the Kruger Brothers are generally classified as an entertaining folk music band due to their previous collaboration with Maja and Carlo Brunner. In the USA, where they often tour with a string quartet, it is different. At their performances, the audience is as quiet and attentive as at classical concerts, and their purely instrumental pieces sometimes last ten minutes or more. "In terms of our instruments, we are a traditional bluegrass formation, but otherwise we are influenced by the classical European musical tradition," says Uwe Krüger. The Kruger Brothers' pieces have a very dense structure, and many of the compositions are inspired by Baroque music. Jens Krüger has also uploaded videos to YouTube in which he virtuosically interprets cello suites by Johann Sebastian Bach on the banjo .

Last August, the Kruger Brothers performed at the legendary Grand Ole Opry concert hall in Nashville, the most important institution in country music. "No Swiss band had ever played there before," he says, not without pride. "We received a long standing ovation."

Trump's election has changed the American music scene in such a way that far fewer international bands are coming to the US. "Trump is denying them entry because he wants to protect the market," says Krüger. One senses that he views Trump rather critically, but he doesn't want to take an explicit stance. "People come to concerts to spend an evening away from politics or other problems." This is a very widespread attitude in the US. "When artists like Bruce Springsteen still make political statements, it's very badly received." The once-popular country band Dixie Chicks even lost their careers as a result. "The worst thing is when artists in Europe make derogatory comments about the US because that's what's demanded of them there." That's completely unacceptable. "I don't criticize Switzerland in the US either."

In his region, which is comparatively wealthy, little has changed since Trump's election. In other parts of the country, he says, things are different. Thanks to his extensive tours, he knows the situation very well. "Just two states away, in Ohio, the situation is catastrophic due to the decline of industry: There are ruins everywhere, and it seems apocalyptic in some places." If Trump were to further cut social benefits there, the consequences would be serious.

North Carolina, on the other hand, is a paradise. The state has officially adopted a saying by the Roman orator Cicero as its motto: "esse quam videri," which translates to "to be rather than to seem." Being rather than appearing—that's something that people in North Carolina really live by: people don't fool each other; authenticity is highly valued, says Uwe Krüger. And, what sounds rather strange to European ears: the high density of weapons is partly responsible for the more peaceful interactions. "No one harasses anyone on the street; provocations in a bar or anywhere else are avoided; you never know what might happen if someone loses control." This is also why people consume much less alcohol.

He doesn't want to say where life is better, whether in Switzerland or North Carolina. He loves both worlds; both have their advantages and disadvantages. In any case, he was once again thrilled with the food at the Swiss restaurant—Krüger ate a beef tartare.