Anticipation hangs heavy in the chilly early evening air at Salzburg's busy Domplatz. People of all ages are waiting on the square in front of the Austrian city's twin-towered cathedral. This is one of the sites of the popular Christmas market that sprawls through streets and public squares in the historic Altstadt district.
Shrieks and screams in the near distance cause people to murmur then fall silent. Clanking cowbells become louder. So too does the screaming.
A figure reminiscent of a character from a horror film bursts onto the square. With arching horns, jagged teeth and deep-set yellow eyes, the gruesome-looking figure is known as Krampus. He bellows and wide-eyed children retreat behind their parents seeking protection.
Another shaggy-haired Krampus figure arrives. Threateningly, he points at a giggling teenager with a claw-like finger then invades her personal space. Much like a predator examining prey, he looks her up and down. The girl falls silent, takes a half-step back and looks sheepish.
More demon-like Krampuses enter the square. A cacophony of laughter, shrieking, crying and bellowing has replaced the earlier calm.
Outsiders are likely to associate this kind of thing more with Halloween than the Advent season. What I’m witnessing is a Krampus run, a longestablished Alpine tradition. They take place on the 5th of December, the evening before the Feast of St Nicholas.
According to local beliefs, the demonic-looking characters work for St Nicholas. They are the gift-giving saint’s henchmen. They punish ill deeds by children. St Nicholas keeps a book listing every child’s name. Those who have been virtuous throughout the year can expect presents on the 6th of December. Youngsters who have undertaken acts of naughtiness fear punishment from Krampus.
The marauding Krampuses show deference to St Nicholas when he arrives on the square. Wearing a red mitre and holding a bishop’s crozier, the saint’s flowing white beard is reminiscent of that of Santa Claus.
A young woman, playing the role of his angel, carries a red book with a gold crucifix on its cover. Presumably, it’s a ledger with children’s names and their good and bad deeds over the past year. Excited young children flock around St Nicholas and his angel.
The Krampus run moves on and adults go back to conversing between sipping from mugs of steaming mulled wine. Browsing the market stalls, I see hand-knitted woolen goods, carved Advent figures and models of half-timbered houses with lights glowing from their tiny windows.
A man buys a Käsekrainer, a smoked sausage packed with melted cheese, served in a bread bun. The delicious aroma of the sausages sizzling over a charcoal grill is tempting but I have an imminent dinner reservation a couple of minutes’ walk away.
The St Peter Stiftkulinarium is said to be the oldest restaurant in Europe thanks to Alcuin of York documenting a visit by Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne back in 803. After being outside in the cold my face flushes as I step into the warmth of the candlelit Baroque Hall to attend a Mozart Dinner Concert.
Musicians wearing costumes inspired by clothing worn two and half centuries ago perform works composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart throughout the three-course meal. When it comes to music, many visitors from English-speaking lands associate Salzburg primarily with The Sound of Music. Bus tours bring opportunities to visit locations associated with the Academy Award-winning film and to sing along to some of Rogers and Hammerstein’s catchy tunes. Yet locally Mozart is celebrated.
His birthplace, in an apartment on the nearby Getreidegasse, hosts a compact but popular museum. So too does his former residence across the River Salzach, which flows through the city then marks the Austro-German border before joining the River Inn. After enjoying Mozart’s music I stroll to the square that bears his name. A Zamboni is smoothing the ice on the outdoor skating rink.
I have a decision to make while walking in the direction of my hotel. To beer or not to beer? That is the question.