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Bizarre Holidays & Events Calendar
365 weird, wonderful, and obscure holidays — perfect for content creators and conversation starters.
If you thought the weirdest thing your town did was that one guy who dresses as a giant groundhog every February, prepare to have your cultural compass recalibrated. There is a festival in northern Spain where grown men dressed as the Devil—complete with capes, rattles, and a truly unsettling commitment to the bit—take running leaps over rows of infants born in the previous year. And that’s just the appetizer. From Japan’s nearly-naked men fighting for sacred sticks to the Scottish islanders who burn a Viking longship every January, the world is absolutely lousy with celebrations that make your office holiday party look like a model of restraint. These aren’t obscure historical footnotes; they happen annually, right now, in the 21st century. Some date back four centuries, others started as a 1945 street brawl over tomatoes. All of them will make you say, “Wait, seriously?” and then immediately Google flight prices. So put on your most open-minded pair of pants—we’re going festival-hopping.
El Colacho: The Baby-Jumping Devils of Castrillo de Murcia
Every June, in the Spanish village of Castrillo de Murcia (population roughly 200), the local men transform into something between a satyr and a bullfighter. Dressed in red and yellow devil suits, wielding horsehair whips, they take a running start and vault over rows of babies laid out on mattresses in the street. This is El Colacho, the festival of the “baby jumpers,” part of the Corpus Christi celebrations that have been running since 1620. The babies—usually between 6 and 12 months old, and born in the previous year—lie on mattresses in the Plaza Mayor while the devils (los colachos) leap over them in pairs. The ritual is meant to cleanse the infants of original sin, a sort of DIY exorcism that predates any formal church approval.
The numbers are startling: around 50 to 100 babies participate each year, and the jumpers clear about 4 to 6 rows per run. The festival lasts exactly one weekend—the Sunday after Corpus Christi, which falls in late May or early June. Parents line up their babies in white baptismal gowns, and the devils, after jumping, shake their rattles to scare away evil spirits. The Catholic Church has officially frowned on the practice since the 19th century, but the villagers of Castrillo de Murcia have ignored that with the same stubbornness they bring to their annual leaping. If you’re planning to attend, book accommodation in nearby Burgos (20 minutes away) because the village has exactly one bar and no hotels. The whole event is over by noon, followed by a procession and a lot of local wine.
Hadaka Matsuri: The Naked Man Festival of Okayama
Imagine 9,000 men wearing nothing but loincloths (fundoshi) and white socks, jostling in a freezing February night for a pair of sacred wooden sticks. Welcome to the Hadaka Matsuri at Saidaiji Kannonin Temple in Okayama, Japan. The term “naked festival” is slightly misleading: only one man, the shin-otoko (true naked man), is actually completely nude. The rest wear a traditional loincloth—which, let’s be honest, is still more skin than most festivals permit. The event takes place on the third Saturday of February, with the main action happening between 10 p.m. and midnight. The goal: grab one of the two shingi (sacred sticks) thrown by the priest, then touch the shin-otoko to transfer bad luck to him. The winner who gets a shingi is blessed with a year of good fortune.
The festival has been running for over 500 years—the first recorded event was in the 16th century, though locals claim it’s older. Participants must be male and are typically between 20 and 40 years old. The temple courtyard fills with a sea of bodies, all chanting “Washoi! Washoi!” as they push toward the priest. The shin-otoko is chosen from among the participants and must be pure of heart—and, apparently, resistant to hypothermia. February temperatures in Okayama hover around 5°C (41°F), and the men douse themselves with cold water before entering. For tourists, the best viewing spots are on the temple steps, but be prepared to be jostled. And no, you cannot just show up in your underwear: you need to rent a fundoshi set (about ¥3,000 or $20) if you want to participate. The festival runs from 3 p.m. with purification rituals, and the climax is around 10 p.m. The entire event is over by midnight, after which everyone heads for hot baths and sake.
La Tomatina: The World’s Largest Food Fight (With Rules)
Every last Wednesday of August, the small town of Buñol, Spain (population 9,000) is invaded by 20,000 people armed with 130 tons of overripe tomatoes. This is La Tomatina, a festival that started in 1945 when a street brawl during a parade escalated into a tomato-throwing frenzy. The local government banned it for years, but by 1957 the citizens had institutionalized it with a “tomato fight permit” from the town hall. Today, it’s a controlled chaos with surprisingly strict guidelines: tomatoes must be squished before throwing to avoid injury, no other objects are allowed, and the fight lasts exactly one hour, from 11 a.m. to noon. A water cannon blast signals the start, and a second blast ends it.
The logistics are staggering. Buñol’s streets are lined with plastic sheeting to protect building facades. Trucks dump the tomatoes in the Plaza del Pueblo, and participants wade ankle-deep in red pulp. The tomatoes are grown specifically for the festival—a cheaper, less flavorful variety that’s easier to squish. After the fight, the town’s fire trucks hose down the streets and participants. The whole thing is over by 1 p.m., and by 2 p.m. Buñol looks like nothing happened. Tickets are required (around €10–15), and the town caps attendance at 20,000 for safety. If you want to go, book accommodation in Valencia (40 minutes away) months in advance. Pro tip: wear goggles and old shoes that you’re prepared to throw away. And don’t wear white unless you want to look like a murder scene extra.
Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling: Chasing a Wheel of Doom
On the Spring Bank Holiday (late May), a crowd gathers on Cooper’s Hill in Gloucestershire, England, to watch people throw themselves down a 200-yard, 1:2 gradient slope chasing a wheel of Double Gloucester cheese. The cheese—a 7- to 9-pound cylinder—reaches speeds of up to 70 mph. The runners, who are not nearly as aerodynamic, often tumble, break bones, and require ambulance attention. The first recorded cheese rolling was in 1826, but locals claim it goes back to Roman times. The winner gets the cheese; the losers get bruises. In 2010 and 2011, the event was cancelled due to safety concerns, but after public outcry, it returned with a few minor changes—like having medical staff at the bottom instead of just a farmer with a first-aid kit.
The race is divided into four categories: men’s downhill, women’s downhill, and two children’s races (on a gentler slope). The cheese is released from the top, and runners start a few seconds later. The first person to cross the finish line at the bottom wins. There are no rules about how you descend—you can roll, run, or slide. Most participants choose the latter, resulting in a cascade of limbs. The record for fastest descent is about 12 seconds. Injuries are common: sprained ankles, broken collarbones, and concussions are typical. In 2013, a participant broke his leg and still crawled across the finish line to claim his cheese. Spectators line the hill, but standing at the bottom is not recommended. The event is free to watch, and you can even enter for a small fee (around £5). Just be prepared to sign a waiver. And maybe bring a helmet.
Krampuslauf: The Christmas Devil Parade
While children in most of the world wait for Santa Claus, kids in the Alpine regions of Austria, Germany, South Tyrol, and parts of Switzerland brace for Krampus. On December 5th (Krampusnacht) and often the following weekend, men dressed as half-goat, half-demon creatures parade through the streets, carrying chains, birch switches, and cowbells. Krampus is the counterpart to St. Nicholas: he punishes naughty children while Nicholas rewards the good. The tradition dates back to pre-Christian Alpine folklore, but the modern Krampuslauf (Krampus run) has exploded in popularity since the 1990s. In the town of Tyrol, Austria, you can see over 1,000 Krampuses in a single parade, each wearing hand-carved wooden masks and sheepskin costumes that can cost up to €2,000 and take months to make.
The participants—almost exclusively men—roam the streets, chasing spectators (especially children) and playfully swatting them with switches. The cowbells they wear can weigh up to 30 pounds, creating a deafening cacophony. The best-known Krampuslauf is in the town of Kirchberg in Tirol, but nearly every village in the region has its own version. The event typically starts at dusk and runs for two to three hours. For tourists, it’s a surreal experience: imagine a Christmas market suddenly invaded by demonic creatures. If you want to participate, many local clubs rent costumes, but you’ll need to join a group—solitary Krampuses are frowned upon. The most extreme version is the “Krampuslauf” in the Salzburg region, where participants are known to get genuinely aggressive, though organizers now enforce strict codes of conduct. The event is free, but bring your own protective gear if you’re easily startled.
Boryeong Mud Festival: The Cosmetic Mud Pit
In July, the beach town of Boryeong, South Korea, transforms into a giant mud wrestling Ring. The Boryeong Mud Festival, which started in 1998, was originally a marketing gimmick to promote the cosmetics made from the mineral-rich mud of the Borye
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