Christmas among the mountain people: a Scroobious Study

Day 1. After a taxing journey, lengthened significantly by inclement weather, we make it to the village. Our hosts welcome us with smiles and offer us a simple supper (some sort of mushroom stew). I do my best to convey my thanks, and we retire early.

Day 2. The weather continues poor. There is a heavy mist, and the trees are white with frost, but no snow. I gather that the mountain people are preparing for a midwinter festival, much like our Christmas; the menfolk spend the morning on a hunting expedition to gather provisions for the upcoming feast. Later, we are taken to visit a branch of the clan in another village. This seems to be part of the seasonal bonding patterns. We are given a fizzy drink called "sekt".

After the evening meal, our hosts guide us on a walk around the village, pointing out the community's quaint seasonal decorations with pride: almost every hut is bedecked with white lights. Outside one hut, a tree sports blue lights; this seems to attract the disapprobation of our hosts. I think I hear the word "Englisch" muttered with scorn.

Encouraged, however, by this familiar sight, I resolve to share some of our own Christmas traditions, and give them a large box of mince pies. The reaction is ambiguous. They nod and smile, my translator tells me they think it good, but nobody takes a second one.

Day 3. Festive preparations are gathering pace. From quite early in the day, the cooking areas are full of bustle. I am curious to see what traditional midwinter feasts are eaten here, but it is hard to say; all I can see are small pots of different kinds of sauces, and some breads. No doubt there will a roast pig or some such brought out on the day itself. In the afternoon, I am invited to help with another familiar ritual: decorating the tree. I suspect my translator of contaminating the purity of my research by telling them about English traditions, for surely if they had their own tree tradition, it would have been decorated long before now? But he of course denies this, claiming that the tree is always put up on this day. A likely story. One other great difference: these people have no fear of fire! Their tree is bedecked with real candles.

In the evening, the clan gathers in the chieftain's hut and more sekt is drunk. In their strange, gutteral language, everyone exchanges greetings of "Frohe Wiihnacht" - my translator tells me today is Christmas itself; not, as by my English calendar, only Christmas Eve. My mince pies are handed round, but I think they are eaten with more politeness than zeal. We sit down to a meal, which to my very great surprise, is what they call a "fondue chinoise"; we each cook our own scraps of meat in shared pots of broth, adding sauces from the pots I saw earlier. I cannot deny that this is a sociable affair, but in such a cold climate as this, I expected something more robust. Afterwards we enjoy an "apfelstrudel" and gifts are exchanged. My translator and I congratulate ourselves on our choice of gifts: we brought a selection of puzzle games, designed to challenge and develop their primitive minds. I am touched by the gift I receive from the chieftain: a cunningly worked sack, with a map of the village attached. So truly thoughtful a gift for a traveller.

We end the evening with a noisy game of chance. My translator tells me it is called "Scheisse", but I find this hard to believe, since I have already worked out the common use of the word.

Day 4. It seems the feasting is not over. When we rise, we find a lavish repast of breads, cheeses, cold meat and fruit, with all kinds of preserves. Having eaten, we are invited to join our hosts for a walk around a nearby lake. This is very refreshing, as is the "weisse gluhwein" we are given along the way.

I am starting, however, to suspect my translator's skills. According to him, these people are constantly commenting on how warm it is. There must be some language error, however, since the swimming hole back at the village is entirely frozen over.

Although most of the mince pies remain untouched, I offer our hosts a Christmas pudding. They look slightly suspicious, but agree to let me have the use of the cooking area. After dinner I bring out the flaming pudding and they seem impressed - it seems fire helps to make an impact with these people. They taste the pudding and their faces soon show their enthusiasm. An animated discussion ensues; my translator tells me they are discussing how they might get hold of more of this pudding next year. I promise to send them one every Christmas, when to my delight I find that the chieftain's wife, at least, has learnt some of my language. She points to me and says: "Bring! You bring!"

It seems my future welcome in these parts is assured.