These devilish troupes consist of a Hexe (witch), a group of Perchten (who dress in heavy cornflower suits and carry huge drums made from lorry radiators) and the Trommler (horn blowers who wear suits made from real goat fur). The costumes are reflective of the wild, mountainous surroundings. The Perchten and Trommler also wear devilish horned wooden masks, which are carved by local artisans. The horns are taken from the wild rams and goats that once roamed the mountains. 

It is easy to confuse the Perchten with the Krampus as they wear similar devilish masks. The key difference is that the tradition of  Krampus is derived from the Catholic tradition, and this rite is based on the interrogation catechism, which is a test carried out by the local priest to ascertain if a child has been good or bad. If they are good, the children receive a present; if bad, they are punished by the Krampus. In contrast, the Perchten pay homage to the pagan goddess Perchta, who is a dopple Gesicht, meaning that she has two faces representing good and evil or the dark of winter and the light of summer, the sun and the moon. In folklore, Perchta was mostly seen as a theomastix, a goddess who was a punisher of slovenly women who hadn’t spun their wool properly. Perchta would split a housewife’s belly open and eat her guts if she was not up to scratch! 

In the safety of modern-day Austria, the goddess Perchta is channelled through the figure of the Hexe, who is followed by his entourage of drumming Perchten and horn-blowing Trommler. The intent is to beat the bounds of their villages, thus protecting the local farmland from the evil spirits that may lie in the darkness of the mountains. 

The aural aspect of the ritual is just as important as the visual display. Not only do the Perchten and Trommler wear heavy suits, but they also wear huge cowbells around their waists, which they use their whole body weight to ring at certain points of their performance.

Leading up to 6 December, the various Pässe beat their drums and dance around the Tyrolean villages, appearing outside the village swimming pool, fire station or local Spar! 

Despite the different Pässe wearing similar attire, it becomes apparent that each Pass has its individual personality and sound, and this is usually down to the influence of their Hexe.  Nevertheless, when they all descend upon Rattenberg on the eve of St Nicholas, the sight and the sounds are all physically and mentally encompassing. Rattenberg is an old medieval town, and as the Perchten move cumbrously through the streets, their horns make nefarious-looking shadows against the ancient walls.  The dances of the Hexen are equally spellbinding as they shamanically dance within the circle of Perchten, blowing fire into the night sky. Eventually, the crescendo of the drumming spirits everyone away to another realm and, for me, it is always difficult to come back again!  

Suzanne Rolfe, 2025

Hitler banned this local tradition, which had long and deep Celtic pagan origins. The roots remained strong, however, and, thankfully, were brought back to life and carry on to this day. The local tradition is not commercialised and is completely free to experience – although you have to find out where to go and be in the right place at the right time. It is not performed to attract tourists but rather to frighten away the dark and menacing spirits of deepest darkest winter, to protect livestock and harvests and to bring noise and life to the icy gloom. 

On the morning of 5 December, spectators assemble in front of the Bischofswiesen mountain infantry barracks. Angels on horseback accompany a brass band on a horse-drawn wagon, heralding St. Nicholas who appears wearing the robes and mitre of a bishop, flanked by his trusty servant Rupert, wearing a woodsman-like costume, and two little angels, usually young girls, who toss sweets into the crowd. 

Then, following St. Nicholas’s orders, the Kramperl round up the Buttnmandl to get them ready for their run through the mountain villages. The Kramperl are like Krampus, they wear furs and horned masks as opposed to the straw of the Buttnmandl. They have soot-blackened hands, which they smudge across the faces of spectators and they keep both the Buttnmandl and the crowd in check with their switches. 

Noisily, the Buttnmandl set off through the valley, rustling their hay and clanking their bells, howling, growling and roaring. The menacing Kramperl run alongside them, keeping the group together and pushing anyone who needs some help running up a hill.

When night falls, various groups of Buttnmandl and Kramperl run rampant through the villages, roaring, growling and clanking through the streets, littering hay all over the roads and pavements, going from house to house, farm to farm and pub to pub, doing private visits, scaring away the bad winter spirits, and no doubt the children too. 

Kerry Boettcher, 2025

You take a step back as he raises his claw to you, then – thwack! Quick as a flash, your legs are stinging from the whack of a birch twig. Yes, you’ve been naughty, and the Krampus is here to punish you, and you’ll have bruises to prove it.

The origins of the Krampus are a little hazy; mythology is filled with half-human, half animal creatures with supernatural powers, and although on first sight the Krampus resembles a goat-like devil, he’s very much a product of the rural farming traditions and identity of the Alpine Tyrol in southern Germany and Austria. The costumes are made using materials to hand: goatskins, horns, leather, wood and cowbells. The name is derived from the Old German word for claw, which in itself has a lovely scratchy sound, and you certainly don’t want those claws anywhere near you!

While there’s some wishful romanticising that the Krampus derives from pagan roots, it’s firmly part of a Catholic heritage, cemented in the 19th century as a form of religious social control. The Krampus is the sidekick of St Nicholas, and the pair would go house to house on St Nicholas’ Day, 6 December, testing children on their religious knowledge, rewarding the good ones with sweets, or inflicting punishment on the bad ones. In the 19th century, mass-produced postcards featured a fearsome Krampus with a basket on his back delightedly running off with a bawling child.

The 19th century was a time of huge interest in creating ‘traditions’, pageantry and ‘folklore’, and the Krampus was a ripe subject for postcards and other cheap mass produced commodities such as Christmas figurines, including pictures of ‘sexy’ Krampuses luring willing women to who knows what furry horny fate.

The early 20th century saw a continued interest, but this dropped away until a revival in the 1970s with the founding of many local Krampus groups, both rural and urban, and a surge of interest in the 90s at the start of the mass digital era. This fed a desire to be part of a tradition with its own local customs, however doubtful the origins of that ‘tradition’ may be.

Today you’ll find different types of Krampus events: staged performances with pyrotechnics, often accompanied by loud rock music; the run or Lauf (controlled or otherwise), where a horde of Krampuses run through town; the visits of St Nicholas with his Krampuses to pubs and restaurants echoing the practice of house visits.

The events in the city are family-friendly, but if you’re looking for something less tame, it’s out in the villages and the harder-to-find runs where the true jeopardy lies: the Krampuses run wild, whipping you from behind when you least expect it, running over rooftops and pouring out of windows; there are no stewards, no health and safety regulations, just unbridled chaos and woe betide you if you get in their way!

Melitta Dennett 2025

During the days between Christmas and New Year, groups of villagers in northeastern Romania don big, brown bear skins and descend to the small-town square of Comenesti to celebrate the Jocul Ursului or bear dance. This unique spectacle is steeped in ancient folklore, shamanic music and animalistic symbolism. 

The parade of bears from each village is called a haita de ursi (pack of bears), and the participants range from tiny children to elders in their 80s. The dance is thought to have originated from an old Utes folk tale in which a bear came out of hibernation and was confronted by a young soldier whose intent was to kill him. Instead of running or attempting to kill the young man, the bear offered to teach the soldier how to dance, therefore promoting a peaceful solution, and this dance is acted out as part of the ritual.  

The sound of thousands of bears dancing down the hill is deafening and mesmerising. The rhythmic beating of the drums and whistling are played by groups of colourful mummers who dance and play like naughty pranksters!

The grand finale of the rite involves each individual haita de ursi ascending the stage to reenact the Utes tale through music and mime. Although each group may interpret the story differently, the final symbolic dance involves the rebirth of the bear, which symbolises new prosperity.

The Jocul Ursului was banned under Ceaušescu‘s communist regime, however, the spirit of the bear dance was never defeated, and it has come back with a vengeance! From conversations with the local community, it is evident that the ritual enhances community spirit and enables the younger generation to connect with their ancestral past.

Many of you may question the origin of the bear skins and wonder if there has been any cruelty involved. The bear has always had a symbolic meaning for the Romanians, and it may feel strange to us that people may want to dance within the skin. Bear hunting used to be a common activity, and bears were culled for this ritual. However, bear hunting has been banned in Romania since 2014, and consequently, it has the highest bear population in Europe. The old skins are now family possessions and are passed down through the generations. From observation, the bear skins are meticulously looked after and respected. So, no bears come to harm in modern times.

Suzanne Rolfe, 2025

Surva is a large and spectacular international festival of traditional folkloric masquerade that takes place over the last weekend every January in the mining town of Pernik, Bulgaria. 

Thousands of ‘kukeri’, or masked and costumed participants from all over Bulgaria and other countries, gather for a three-day showcase held in an arena in the town square. They parade down the avenue leading to the arena and then perform a dance and ritual in front of hundreds of spectators and judges. People can text in to vote for their favourite group of performers, a bit like the Eurovision song contest for mummers!

The ‘Kukeri’ tradition stems from the original pre-Christian, Thracian ritual games in honour of Dionysus. Each group has its own unique costume. Performers wear colourful and sometimes huge masks and headdresses made from materials ranging from wood, leather, goat skin, faux fur, feathers, flowers, ribbons and lace. The masks usually represent goats, rams, geese, chickens, wolves, bears or other fantastical yeti-like creatures. Some masks are even double or multi-faced. The costumes are also made of various materials to match the masks, with leather belts and bells hung around the waist. Colour is symbolic: red represents fertility, the sun and fire; black is the earth and white is the symbol of water and light.

The Kukers do a ritual dance to frighten away the evil spirits of the winter and welcome the beginning of spring and offer hope for a good harvest, health and happiness. Along with the masked performers, the groups also have dancers in traditional Bulgarian costume doing a Slavic circle dance, and a group of performers with characters representing a priest, a couple, a baby, a bear, a bear tamer and gypsies. A sham wedding usually takes place with the ‘priest’ reciting a script before a cacophony of horns and pipes begin to play and the bear takes someone down. The bear and the tamer wrestle while the gypsies arrive with their mule-drawn wagon.

The Kukeri tradition is one of UNESCO’s protected non-material cultural heritage traditions.

Kerry Boettcher, 2025

The festival has both legendary and spiritual origins. One popular story tells how the local Šokci people disguised themselves as terrifying creatures to scare away Ottoman invaders. More deeply, Busójárás belongs to a much older tradition of “winter expulsion,” where noise, fire, and chaos are used to drive away dark winter spirits and welcome the fertility of springOver five days, the town is transformed. Groups parade through the streets with bells, wooden rattles (klapper), and decorated carts, filling the air with eerie sound and movement. Mischievous figures called Jenkele create playful chaos, throwing flour and feathers at onlookers, while musicians and dancers bring energy to every corner of the town.

Fire plays a central role in the ritual. A coffin is set afloat on the river, and large bonfires are lit throughout the festival. The climax comes with the burning of an effigy, symbolising the death of winter and the rebirth of spring. Despite periods of suppression and concern over outside influence, Busójárás has survived and evolved. Today, it remains a powerful expression of community identity, where tradition, mischief, and spirituality combine. For a few days each year, Mohács becomes a liminal space—caught between seasons, worlds, and identities—where the strange and the ancient come vividly to life.