Today is the third class of our current December class period. The start time for our class will be 10:00am. We will begin class with a casual conversation. Our reading today is about cold hands and feet. Please try to read as much as possible. Underline any words or sentences that are unfamiliar. Our listening is about winter traditions. Please listen and read the transcript. We will complete our grammar sentences.
Click HERE for the reading
It's Christmastime, and if you live in the Central Alps, you can expect a few visitors this time of year. First, St. Nicholas. And alongside that bearded inspiration for Santa Claus comes a darker figure, Krampus. Krampus has roots in late antiquity, when Roman traditions of raucous deep winter revelry feathered into emerging Christian habits. Add to that the notion of a child-eating ogre that entered European folklore in the 1500s, and if you're in the continent's mountainous areas, you weave it all into a hairy horned demon carrying cowbells and handfuls of tightly bound branches, who punishes you if you've been naughty.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: Ow. Ow.
SCHMITZ: And in Salzburg, Austria, last weekend, there were a lot of naughty people, including me.
Oh, man. Ow.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
SCHMITZ: Last Friday night, I took part in what's called a Krampuslauf - in English, a Krampus run. More than 200 Krampuses let loose in the city, making a racket, causing mayhem and terrifying children. Welcome to Christmas in the Alps.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
UNIDENTIFIED ANNOUNCER: (Speaking German).
SCHMITZ: The day starts here in a soccer stadium in Salzburg, where dozens of mostly large men slip into costumes made of goat and yak hair. Alexander Hueter is in charge here. He calls himself the Uberkrampus.
ALEXANDER HUETER: That's from Bavarian...
SCHMITZ: Yep.
HUETER: ...Groups from everywhere in Austria, they are coming today here.
SCHMITZ: So they're traveling here...
HUETER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: ...To be a Krampus.
HUETER: It's something like the Mecca...
SCHMITZ: Yeah.
HUETER: ...Of the Krampus runs.
SCHMITZ: What are the Krampus guys doing now?
HUETER: They are changing their gloves.
SCHMITZ: OK. Is there any drinking involved in this?
HUETER: No. Nothing.
SCHMITZ: I'm sure there's nothing.
HUETER: No, no, no, no, no. Nothing.
SCHMITZ: Nothing of that sort.
HUETER: Nothing.
SCHMITZ: Because the Krampus have to focus on what their job is.
HUETER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: Right?
(SOUNDBITE OF METAL CLANGING)
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: (Speaking German).
SCHMITZ: And their job, of course, is to swarm like banshees behind the white-bearded figure of St. Nicholas and seek out people who've been naughty and to punish them. When I ask Hueter why people in this part of Europe take part in this tradition, he skips the centuries of Pagan history, early Christianity, Central Europe's penchant for darkness, and he cuts straight to the chase, which is, of course, entertainment.
HUETER: (Speaking German).
SCHMITZ: "If St. Nicholas comes to town on his own, it's nice, but there's no excitement, no tension." "I mean," he says, "St. Nick is all well and good, but at the end of the day, people want to see something darker. They want to see Krampus."
And Roy Huber is happy to oblige. He came here today from across the border in the German state of Bavaria. He says the rest of the year, he feels like a civilian. But then...
ROY HUBER: When the winter comes, you have the feeling.
SCHMITZ: Yeah.
HUBER: Like, under the skin, you are ready to act like a Krampus.
SCHMITZ: From the neck down, Huber looks like Chewbacca. He's in a costume of long, coffee-colored yak hair. But then there's the mask.
I need to explain this mask. It's a mask of a - like, a disfigured man with one good eye.
HUBER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: And he's been - like, looks...
HUBER: A big slash.
SCHMITZ: Looks like he's been hit with an axe on one side of his face, and he's got a beautifully, like, waxed...
HUBER: Mustache.
SCHMITZ: ...Mustache...
HUBER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: ...For some reason.
HUBER: That's right.
SCHMITZ: And then he's got two horns sticking out of his head.
HUBER: That's my kind of type. I like his 'stache.
SCHMITZ: I love the mustache. I mean, for Americans who understand baseball history, it's like the Rollie Fingers of Krampus.
Huber shoots me a quizzical look, but I assure him that the legendary American baseball closer from the '70s was, for batters, at least, a major-league Krampus. The next Krampus in line is Benny Sieger, also from Bavaria, who's wearing a mask with eyeballs popping out of their sockets and small horns protruding from the top of his head in the form of a mohawk.
Do the kids sometimes get super scared?
BENNY SIEGER: (Speaking German).
SCHMITZ: "Yeah," Sieger says, "they get very scared. But if you're a sensitive Krampus, it can go well." "In fact," he says," our Krampus club hosts an event called Cuddle a Krampus to ensure them that we're not scary."
I quickly learned, though, that I do not qualify for this service. Sieger reaches into a can and smears my face with tar before swatting me in the legs with a handful of birch branches.
Ow. Ow.
SIEGER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: That actually hurts.
SIEGER: Yeah. But I don't make it hard.
SCHMITZ: You didn't even do it that hard.
SIEGER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: Wow. That inflicted a little pain, I got to admit.
SIEGER: Yeah, yeah.
SCHMITZ: Wow. Who do you hit with that?
Sieger tells me, I mainly hit the young adults who stand around and are asking for it.
Normally, Nicklaus Bliemslieder would be one of those young adults asking for it. He's 19. But his mom tells me he's gamed the system. He's been a Krampus for 14 years.
How do you like being a Krampus?
NICKLAUS BLIEMSLIEDER: I like it really much. It's just amazing. The costume, the mask. It's just another world when you have the mask on.
SCHMITZ: That's what your mom was telling us. She said that you were a Krampus as young as age...
BLIEMSLIEDER: Yeah.
SCHMITZ: Five. Is that right?
BLIEMSLIEDER: That's when I started, yeah.
SCHMITZ: Were you scared about being a Krampus at that age?
BLIEMSLIEDER: I wasn't scared of being a Krampus, but I was scared of the Krampus. But when I - the first time I had the mask on, I wasn't scared anymore.
SCHMITZ: Interesting. So...
BLIEMSLIEDER: It went away.
SCHMITZ: So putting the Krampus mask on cured your fear of the Krampus.
BLIEMSLIEDER: Yeah. It stripped my fear. Yeah.
SCHMITZ: Did you look in the mirror?
BLIEMSLIEDER: I didn't look in - I can't remember that I looked in the mirror.
SCHMITZ: (Laughter) It's probably a good thing.
The Krampuses get excited when city buses arrive to take them to the heart of Salzburg's Old Town.
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #3: (Chanting in German).
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: (Speaking German).
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #3: (Singing) Allez, allez.
UNIDENTIFIED PARTICIPANTS: (Singing) Allez, allez, allez.
SCHMITZ: It is game time for these horned demon-devils of Christmas.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
SCHMITZ: The bus doors swing open, and dozens of Krampuses empty into the streets of downtown Salzburg, lunging at shoppers, swatting them with switches, their cowbells a-clanging. At the front of this procession is St. Nicholas, holding a staff, handing out candy with a serene smile and blissfully oblivious of the cacophony of bloodcurdling chaos behind it.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
SCHMITZ: Rene Watziker watches the Krampuses go by. His 4 1/2-year-old son, Valentin, perched on his shoulders. And Valentin is terrified. He's covering his eyes with his mittens. His head is buried into his father's neck, and he's shaking.
Valentin, it's going to be OK, buddy.
RENE WATZIKER: Right.
(LAUGHTER)
SCHMITZ: How do you feel about taking him to this?
WATZIKER: It's great. It's my...
SCHMITZ: Yeah?
WATZIKER: ...Childhood memory.
SCHMITZ: Yeah.
WATZIKER: I come from Salzburg.
SCHMITZ: OK.
WATZIKER: And so I want him to have the same good memories for his childhood. Yeah.
SCHMITZ: But...
WATZIKER: It's one of my favorite childhood memories.
SCHMITZ: But Valentin is putting his hands on his eyes. He's so scared (laughter).
WATZIKER: Yeah. But he's going to look at the video.
SCHMITZ: Yeah.
WATZIKER: And then he's going to be proud. And in kindergarten next week, he will be very proud.
SCHMITZ: The rush of Krampuses then pushes me through the Old Town's pedestrian district. A few of them smear black tar on my face while a couple more hit me with their branches.
Oh, man. Ow.
(SOUNDBITE OF BELLS CLANGING)
SCHMITZ: But according to Sabeine Gruber, who's here with her 13-year-old daughter, I am a wimp. Gruber says the Krampus run has gotten tamer over time. For example, the Krampuses now wear stickers on their backs with numbers so that people can complain about them if they feel like they've been hit too hard.
SABEINE GRUBER: (Speaking German).
SCHMITZ: "When I was a child," says Sabeine, "it was worse. You were beaten so hard that you woke up the next day with blue welts on your legs." "These days," she says with a frown, "the Krampus run is more like a petting zoo."
She seems to yearn for the days when Christmastime meant a good beating to remind you to behave.