Kalandar Celebratıon: A new year's tale ın black sea

Narrated by Elif Aydın

It doesn’t matter where it begins or ends; culture has always been in motion, circulating across time and space. Through centuries of travel, stories echo familiar tunes, layered with unique nuances that each place, each life, brings. What emerges is a tapestry of shared roots, woven anew with every telling, making it wholly distinctive.
​
This time, our journey takes us to the northeastern corner of Turkey, to the Black Sea region, where we greet a forgotten tradition that once marked this season with singular charm: Kalandar celebrations. The name may sound peculiar, even harsh, to Turkish ears, but it stems from the Latin word calandae, meaning “the first day of the month.”
​
Unlike the global New Year festivities we know, the people of Trabzon and its surrounding villages celebrated their New Year’s Eve on January 13th, with January 14th marking the first day of the year, according to the local calendar.

This tradition, believed to date back to the era of the Pontic Greek Kingdom, bears a striking resemblance to Halloween with its costumes, merriment, and the collection of fruits, corn, and nuts from neighbours. But Kalandar is no mere imitation—it is rooted in ancient pagan practices, a ritual of renewal. In the heart of January, as the land began to stir from winter’s deepest chill and snow began to melt, communities would gather to honour nature’s awakening. It was a celebration of survival, a farewell to darkness, and a plea for abundance, protection, and togetherness.

The festivities often evoke comparisons to the Dionysian festivals of antiquity. Like the rites of the wine god, Kalandar rituals celebrate the rebirth of nature and the promise of fertility. The key element? Costumes. Everyone dressed up, transforming themselves in elaborate, playful disguises.

One of the central elements of the celebration was a dramatic performance known as “Karakoncolos” or “Momoyer.” Villagers, accompanied by rhymes, songs, and chants, went door to door, beginning at the home of the eldest member of the community. Children left cloth bags filled with fruits, walnuts, and hazelnuts at the doors, and the hosts replaced them with offerings of their own. Later, the children collected their bags, now brimming with new treats, and all the gathered bounty was brought to the village square.

Here, a great fire was lit, and the community feasted together. Corn, the region’s abundant crop, took centre stage, symbolising prosperity with its many kernels. Pumpkins, another local staple, were roasted and shared. Similar rituals of abundance appear across cultures: in Turkey’s Aegean coast, pomegranates are smashed; in Spain, grapes are eaten; and in parts of Italy, lentils mark the promise of the year to come.

The night crescendoed in theatrical dances led by the youth. Children and young adults transformed themselves into “Karakoncolos,” a dark and fearsome creature whose name, in Romeika, means “mountain man” or “bear.” They donned animal skins, painted their faces black, tied cowbells to their waists, and unravelled their hair, embodying the mythical figure as they danced and celebrated into the night.

The celebration of Kalandar, with its colorful costumes, lively rituals, and deep roots in ancient practices, shows us the beauty of how traditions evolve. Similar customs across Europe, like Momoeria in Greece or pomegranate-smashing in Turkey’s Aegean coast, highlight how different communities share the same hopes for renewal, abundance, and togetherness.

Kalandar isn’t just a glimpse into the past; it’s a story of how people have always celebrated life and nature’s cycles. It reminds us that traditions are alive, constantly shaped by the people who carry them forward. Each celebration adds a new thread to the tapestry, ensuring these rituals remain a source of connection and inspiration for generations to come.