It’s just below freezing in the village of Grödig on the outskirts of Salzburg, and a large crowd has gathered. The air is thick with the smell of glühwein and anticipation. Five minutes away, in a council lock-up on the main road, science professor Clemens Spechtler, 45, is preparing the final touches for his transformation from man to beast. In his shaggy goat-fur breeches he is already a yeti from the chest down. His son Jonas, 14, similarly attired, stands at his side, with the insouciance of a young Pan. Behind them more demons are beginning to emerge, their grotesque masks lined up menacingly next to a stack of water bottles, spare wheels and empty crates.
These otherworldly creatures are members of the Grödig Krampus, a 45-strong group who, every year during advent, metamorphose into wild spirits in horned masks and rugged furs, then rampage around the streets chasing away the evil spirits of winter. They serve as the yin to the cheerful yang of St Nicholas – who bears a striking resemblance to Santa Claus and often puts in an appearance at the same time. The effect is spellbinding. “As soon as I put on my mask,” says Clemens, “it’s like a switch goes on in my head and I’m not human any more.”
The krampus run is an ancient Alpine tradition that goes back to pre-Christian times and takes place in the days leading up to Christmas. For Clemens, it is the highlight of his year – and this year, his 29th as a krampus, begins in earnest with the sound of giant clanking cowbells and a puff of red smoke, as the fiendish figures emerge, some on foot, others aboard a wooden chariot, cracking their birch and horsehair whips at cowering onlookers. It’s part Hieronymus Bosch, part Mad Max.
Meanwhile, in the Old Town of Salzburg, another Austrian advent tradition of a more sedate kind has just finished – advent singing and chamber music in the baroque splendour of St Peter’s Abbey.
The line between religion and pagan folklore is curiously blurred, and a visit to the surprisingly compelling Christmas Museum (open all year round) reveals just how complex this relationship has become. The pagan traditions of the Christmas tree and the krampus are interwoven with religious depictions of St Nicholas and the “Christ Child” in intricately carved wooden tableaux, puppets and advent calendars.
It transpires that in this corner of Europe, on 21 December, the door to the other world is opened, the animals start to speak – and Father Christmas never existed.
There’s no off-season in Austria, a year-round destination for holiday makers – especially in Salzburg, where winter brings a full schedule of music and performance as well as rampaging demons. Sound of Music tourists mingle with skiers in town for the day, and Mozart fans paying homage to the birthplace of their mercurial hero.
Wrapped in Puffas and ear muffs against the biting cold, visitors to the Winterfest, one of the biggest cultural events in the city, make their way past tattered posters of Norbert Hofer, Austria’s recently defeated far right presidential candidate, to the Volksgarten where three big tops host contemporary circus troupes from all over the world. This year’s highlight, Cirque Alfonse from Québec, has a hipster feel, with lumberjack outfits, axe juggling and dangerous-looking antics involving large, razor-toothed saws. It’s about as far from raindrops on roses as you can get – although, like the Von Trapp troupe, Cirque Alfonse is a family affair: brother and sister Antoine and Julie Carabinier-Lépine are joined on stage by their white-bearded father, who started performing in his 60s and must be one of the hippest pensioners in Canada.
If you visit the world-renowned art space Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, overlooking the ornate Mirabell Gardens on the east side of the Salzach river, you get a great view of the “Do-Re-Me” fountain where the Von Trapp children had their singing lessons. Inside the gallery, Austrian artist Markus Schinwald’s kinetic sculptures combining dismembered Regency-style table legs and machine parts enact a rather touching ballet. Outside, a brooding sculpture by artworld heavyweight George Baselitz gives the kitsch unicorns a run for their money.
There’s more contemporary art at the Museum of Modern Art on top of the Mönchsberg, one of five mountains in the city, where many come for the restaurant alone, which is reached by a lift that takes diners from ground level up through the middle of the mountain to a panoramic terrace. As well as spectacular views over Salzburg, the clear beef broth with slices of pancake is the perfect savoury antidote to the winter chill – though for coffee and cake it’s almost obligatory to head for the Alter Markt and Café Tomaselli, the oldest coffee house in Austria.
Under stucco ceilings and crystal chandeliers, coffee, hot chocolate and bracingly strong rum chasers are served by suited waiters, while waitresses in frilly pinafores dispense cakes and apple strudel from a giant tray, usherette-style. Founded in 1700 when Salzburg was still a principality, it’s a well-loved institution, and I made it a base during my visit to the city, following in the footsteps of Mozart and Haydn.
In the middle of winter, there’s a lot to be said for a cosy coffee house, and a chance to reflect in comfort on this city of contrasts as it gets ready for its biggest celebration of the year.
Way to go
Fly to Salzburg from London for around £136 return (ryanair.com). A double room at Hotel Am Mirabellplatz costs from £88 (austrotel.at). For more information, go to austria.info and salzburg.info.
Cirque Alfonse is at Winterfest until 8 January (winterfest.at). Markus Schinwald, New Works, is on at Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac until 21 January (ropac.net)
