{"id":512590,"date":"2026-03-01T21:45:13","date_gmt":"2026-03-01T21:45:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/512590\/"},"modified":"2026-03-01T21:45:13","modified_gmt":"2026-03-01T21:45:13","slug":"the-furry-slovenian-monsters-who-chase-winter-away","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/512590\/","title":{"rendered":"The furry Slovenian monsters who chase winter away"},"content":{"rendered":"

The little village of Tr\u017eec isn\u2019t much to look at. Like much of eastern Slovenia, this is farming country. Winter crops of kale, wheat and barley sprout from the furrowed fields alongside chicken pens and tumbledown wooden barns. For as long as anyone can remember, life in Tr\u017eec has run to an agricultural rhythm \u2014\u00a0the chug of the tractor and the scrape of the plough \u2014\u00a0but today, a different soundtrack jangles in the winter air.<\/p>\n

A flatbed truck rumbles into the village, grinding its gears as it shudders to a stop. The driver gets out and lowers the ramp. At first glance, it looks like it\u2019s filled with sheep fleeces destined for the farmers\u2019 market. But then the fleeces start to move. They stand up on two legs, dust themselves down, and, one by one, climb out of the truck.\u00a0<\/p>\n

They are a bizarre sight: half comical, half nightmarish, like a cross between the Wombles and Maurice Sendak\u2019s Where The Wild Things Are. Each stands eight feet high. Mottled horns curl from their temples. Snaggletooth grins leer under straw moustaches and snouts pierced with noserings. Beady eyes peek from fleecy faces and a grotesquely long tongue lolls out down to their waist. On their legs, they sport green woollen socks; on their feet, stout boots tied with green laces. Around their midriffs hang cowbells which clang every time they move. And each carries a jezevka club, with a head covered in hedgehog spikes.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Winter is waning. The kurents have returned for another year.<\/p>\n

\"PeopleKurents dancing in the streets of Ptuj during the annual carnival \u00a9 Borut Zivulovic\/Reuters\"PeopleA phalanx of kurents; each carries three or five cowbells around their waist \u00a9 Alamy<\/p>\n

No one is sure exactly where the kurents come from. Masks and costumes are a common feature of springtime carnivals around the world, but the kurents are found only here, in Slovenia\u2019s northeastern corner \u2014 specifically, in the plains and hills around Ptuj, a medieval town close to the Croatian\/Hungarian border.\u00a0<\/p>\n

The first recorded mention of the figures appears in 1830 but academics believe they existed long before that, perhaps as far back as the shamanic societies who dwelt here before the Romans arrived.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Map<\/p>\n

\u201cThe kurents are ancient things,\u201d explains Marija Hernja, a local historian and scholar of Slovenia\u2019s pust (carnival) traditions. \u201cBut we don\u2019t exactly know when or how they began. They are spirits of nature, linked with ideas that were important to our ancestors: rebirth, fertility, the circle of life.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve travelled to Slovenia to join the kurents for their biggest celebration: Kurentovanje, an 11-day bacchanalia culminating in a series of grand street parades in the run-up to Shrove Tuesday. The first \u201cmodern\u201d version of the festival was organised in 1960 by the ethnographer Drago Hasl, who was concerned that local carnival traditions were being lost under the tripartite weights of communism, Catholicism and postwar economic upheaval. It\u2019s now attended by nearly 100,000 spectators every year.<\/p>\n

\"Black-and-whiteA photo from the 1961 carnival in Ptuj shows costumed kurents in the town square \u00a9 Alamy\"PeopleThe kurents dance outside the town hall in 1961 \u00a9 Alamy<\/p>\n

Before I head for the party, I\u2019ve been invited to join the kurents on their most sacred duty: their door-to-door rounds. Every year, between Candlemas and Ash Wednesday, the kurents roam the region\u2019s villages to visit houses, bless the fields, and bring luck and fertility for the year ahead. Though the kurents\u2019 origins are undoubtedly pagan, the church seems to have decided to tolerate the tradition rather than trying to stamp it out \u2014\u00a0and gradually, over time, the pagan and Christian calendars have merged. In 2017, the practice was added to Unesco\u2019s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, affording it the same significance as Chinese calligraphy, Balinese dance and Mexico\u2019s Day of the Dead.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe kurents are the heralds of spring,\u201d Marija Hernja says. \u201cTheir role is to scare away the winter and wake up the land, ready for another year of growing and cultivation. So of course, to do their job properly, they must be as terrifying as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

They remove their hoods, sipping drinks and chatting with the homeowners. Unmasked, they look like Vikings on a post-pillage pub crawl<\/p>\n

On the backstreets of Tr\u017eec, about 6km south of Ptuj, the kurents split into groups and begin their rounds. In front of them runs a pitchfork-carrying devil and a poka\u010di, or whip-cracker, whose strokes ring out like pistol shots to announce their arrival.\u00a0<\/p>\n

When they reach a front door, they twist their arms and shimmy their hips. The bell-tinkles become a clamour. Each kurent wears three or five on their belt (always an odd number). Traditionally, only unmarried men were permitted to join\u00a0but these days everyone is welcome, including children. <\/p>\n

The door opens and a bemused family emerges, smiling as they shake each kurent\u2019s hand. A tray of drinks appears;\u00a0the kurents expect hospitality in exchange for their visit. Customarily, they are served sparkling wine watered down with soda (spirits are frowned upon lest the jollity spirals out of hand). Their favourite snack, apparently, is sausages. Appropriately greeted, they remove their kapas, or hoods, sipping drinks and chatting with the homeowners. Despite the chill, they are sweating heavily inside their fleeces. Unmasked, they look like Vikings on a post-pillage pub crawl.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"AroundLuka Vidovi\u010d and his kurent companions make their door-to-door rounds in Tr\u017eec \u00a9 Oliver Berry\"TwoKurents get ready for a night\u2019s work in\u00a0Tr\u017eec \u00a9 Oliver Berry\"ATraditionally only unmarried men could be kurents but today everyone is welcome, including children \u00a9 Oliver Berry<\/p>\n

Among them is Luka Vidovic. Now in his thirties, he grew up in the nearby village of Lancova Vas, and has been a kurent since his teens. By day, he works in an auto-parts store but for two weeks every spring, his job plays second fiddle to his kurent duties. Like his companions, he isn\u2019t paid a penny for his time. \u201cWhen we are kids, we all grow up wanting to be kurents,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s an honour to be a part of it. We bring joy and good luck for the year ahead. I think everyone needs more of that these days.\u201d<\/p>\n

They down drinks, don hoods and jog onwards up the lane. They\u2019ll carry on until it\u2019s too dark to see. And tomorrow, they\u2019ll move on to the next village and do it all over again.<\/p>\n

In previous centuries, each man would stitch his kurentija, or suit, himself, using whatever materials he had to hand \u2014\u00a0scraps of leather, worn-out fleeces, discarded bones or animal parts: a patchwork of organic offcuts worthy of Frankenstein\u2019s monster.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"APrimo\u017e Klinc working on a\u00a0costume repair. He has recently inherited the workshop from his father Marko \u00a9 Oliver Berry\"AnA completed kurent mask hangs outside the Klincs\u2019 workshop \u00a9 Oliver Berry\"Four\u2018Jezevka\u2019 clubs, each topped with hedgehog skins \u00a9 Oliver Berry<\/p>\n

These days, however, the kurentija are mostly handmade by a master craftsman. Keen to understand the work that goes into them, I pay a visit to Marko Klinc, who is acknowledged as the finest maker not just in Ptuj, but in the whole of Slovenia. His workshop is on a nondescript industrial estate about 10 minutes from Ptuj, where he works with his son, Primo\u017e. Between December and February, they are booked solid with kurentija commissions. For the rest of the year, they run an upholstery and sofa repair business.<\/p>\n

His family has been making kurentija for three generations, Marko explains. There are two types; which is worn depends on which side of the Drava River you come from. The horned korents originate from the Haloze hills, on the river\u2019s right bank. Their cousins from the Ptuj plain, on the river\u2019s left bank, wear headdresses of goose feathers fringed with coloured ribbons.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Each suit takes three days and at least ten sheepskins to complete. Masks are made of leather and painted by hand. The basic outfit starts from around \u20ac2,000, plus another \u20ac600 or so for the accoutrements: bells, belts, socks and staffs. By tradition, the suits are passed down from one generation to the next, but eventually they wear out and need to be repaired or replaced. Inevitably, many clients add some extra bling \u2014\u00a0an engraved leather tongue, a more richly coloured sheepskin, fancier feathers or boar tusks. <\/p>\n

\u201cEvery suit is made for its owner,\u201d Marko says, as Primo\u017e puts the finishing touches to their latest suit. \u201cThe design is similar, but they are unique. People come with ideas about what they want\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009it\u2019s a collaboration between the wearer and the maker. I have probably made 1,500 in my career, but every one has been a surprise in some way. They have a kind of life of their own.\u201d <\/p>\n

\"PeopleKurents assemble for the carnival outside Ptuj \u00a9 Alamy\"AChecking messages during the festival \u00a9 ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect<\/p>\n

The kurents may be the ringmasters of Ptuj\u2019s springtime celebrations, but they are only one member of the carnival cast. Following Marija\u2019s advice, I head up to Ptuj\u2019s imposing hilltop castle where, inside an old stone hall, a collection of historic costumes stands, frozen in motion like a snapshot of carnival day. Among them are log-haulers, fairies, old men and women, ploughmen, hens, cockerels, spearmen, bears and a frankly alarming pantomime horse.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Each plays its allotted role on carnival day. Their wonky features and rustic craftsmanship have the naivety of a child\u2019s drawing. Like the kurents, individually they seem faintly comical but in a group, their animalistic features and expressionless faces become unsettling. <\/p>\n

Customarily, the carnival ends with a ritual: the sacrifice of pust, typically symbolised by a puppet or straw dummy. To mark the end of the festivities, the people\u2019s sins, worries and fears are symbolically transferred to the dummy, who is then hung, stabbed, hacked, beaten, spat upon, buried or burned (sometimes all of the above). Once pust is dead, the carnival is over, the privations of Lent begin, and the costumes are put away for another year.\u00a0<\/p>\n

While the kurents\u2019 door-to-door rounds are not intended as a public spectacle, the carnival is another matter. Everyone is heartily welcomed, locals and tourists alike, and throughout the eleven days of Kurentovanje, Ptuj\u2019s town council arranges a rolling programme of events. There are kurent dress-up sessions for kids, guided town tours and nightly parades.\u00a0There is even a special wine that\u2019s produced for carnival week \u2014\u00a0Mistik, a crisp young white made by Ptujska klet, the town\u2019s oldest winemaker (which offers guided tours and tasting sessions inside its century-old cellars).<\/p>\n

\"AThe kurents dance in Mestni Trg, Ptuj\u2019s main square, on February 11, 2026 \u00a9 Oliver Berry\"MoreKurents prepare for the parade in a side street of Ptuj \u00a9 Oliver Berry<\/p>\n

For the kurents, the biggest day of all is the Wednesday before Shrove Tuesday. This is Dan Kurentovih in Korantovih Skupin, the Day of Kurents and Korents, and people travel from all over Slovenia to attend. This year, it\u2019s estimated there may be 800 kurents in town, perhaps as many as a thousand.<\/p>\n

I head back to Ptuj as the sun is sinking over the rooftops. Afternoon bleeds into dusk and the kurents muster. They assemble on the tangle of streets leading to the main square of Mestni Trg: first one, then pairs, then by the score. The town\u2019s lanterns flicker on. Stars spot the sky. Ptuj\u2019s medieval clock tower chimes six, and the stampede begins.<\/p>\n

Across town, thousands of cowbells clang in unison. The din of stamping feet echoes around the rooftops. Horns blare, accordions drone, drums beat. The kurents are on the march. They thunder towards the square, preceded by whipcrackers and bands of devils who lunge at the crowds. The square becomes a sea of sheepskinned monsters, jumping, twirling and shimmying their way through the crowds. <\/p>\n

They shake onlookers\u2019 hands, and give out krofi doughnuts stuffed with apricot jam. They join hands, form circles, dance jigs. Wave after wave passes through the square, bowing their heads, brandishing their horns, ringing merry hell from their bells. The demented spectacle lasts for an hour. When it\u2019s over, my brain tries its best to assimilate it, but it feels like trying to remember a dream. The images are just too peculiar, too strange to slot into any kind of logical order.<\/p>\n

After the procession, I find the mass of kurents chilling out on a nearby square, seated at tables stacked with wine,\u00a0burgers, platters of cheese and cold meats. Their heads have been arranged on the edge of the square, like hunting trophies. Over a glass of Mistik wine, I get talking with Karl \u0160ayperl, whose troupe comes from a village up in the Haloze hills. After a while, our conversation takes a turn for the mystical.<\/p>\n

\u201cHonestly, wearing the mask can really be weird sometimes,\u201d says Karl. \u201cWhen you are inside it, you feel this intense heat. You struggle to breathe. You get bursts of energy, a feeling of heat shock. And sometimes, something happens. You are not really yourself. It becomes impossible to stop dancing, like you could keep going forever.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

He looks at me and smiles.\u00a0\u201cIt is almost like the kurent takes you over.\u201d<\/p>\n

Details<\/p>\n

Oliver Berry was a guest of the Slovenian Tourist Board (slovenia.info<\/a>). Direct flights to Ljubljana from London Gatwick start around \u00a370 one-way with EasyJet (easyjet.com<\/a>). In Ptuj, Oliver stayed at the Hotel Ptuj, the town\u2019s oldest hotel (eh.si<\/a>; doubles from about \u20ac90). In Ljubljana, he stayed at the AS Boutique Hotel (ashotel.si<\/a>; doubles from about \u20ac245), where the restaurants include Jaz by Ana Ros, Slovenia\u2019s top chef. Guided tours and wine tastings can be arranged through Ptujska klet (ptujska-klet.si<\/a>) or Visit Ptuj (visitptuj.eu<\/a>). For information on next year\u2019s festival, visit kurentovanje.net<\/a><\/p>\n

Find out about our latest stories first \u2014 follow FT Weekend on Instagram<\/a>, Bluesky<\/a> and X<\/a>, and sign up<\/a> to receive the FT Weekend newsletter every Saturday morning<\/p>\n