Perunfest 2025 — Where Old Myths, Fire, and Playful Fear Come Alive 🌲🔥✨

(Donja Lomnica, Croatia)

I’ve been to many festivals and local events over the years, but Perunfest 2025 truly stayed with me long after it ended. It wasn’t loud, rushed, or commercial. It didn’t feel like something you just pass through quickly. Instead, it invited you to slow down, to look around, to listen — and to feel.

From the very beginning, it was clear that this festival was created with heart, imagination, and deep respect for old stories. It was fun, creative, sometimes a little unsettling — but always warm and welcoming. The kind of experience where you leave tired, smiling, and already thinking about coming back next year.

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A setting that already feels like a story 🍂🏚️

Perunfest takes place in Donja Lomnica, near Velika Gorica, and honestly, the location couldn’t be better. Old buildings, trees, an open courtyard, and that slightly autumnal air that makes everything feel more mysterious. Even before seeing the first costume or installation, the place itself sets the mood.

As I walked in, I didn’t feel like I was entering a “festival” in the usual sense. It felt more like stepping into a living folk tale — a space where it makes sense to see witches, spirits, masks, and fire without questioning it.

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So many stalls — and none of them felt random 🛍️🍯🍺

One of the first things I noticed was how full of life the festival grounds were. There were many stalls, but they weren’t just there to fill space. Everything felt carefully chosen and connected to the theme.

There were stands with handmade souvenirs, small objects inspired by folklore, masks, jewelry, art prints, wooden items, and unique little things you don’t usually see at standard fairs. These were the kind of souvenirs that actually mean something — not just “I was here,” but “this reminds me of a feeling.”

Food and drinks were everywhere too, adding to that cozy, communal atmosphere. People were sitting, standing, chatting, eating, warming up with drinks, and then going back to explore again. It created this beautiful rhythm: walk, look, get scared a little, laugh, eat, repeat.

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Stations that felt like chapters of one big story 🎭🕯️

Perunfest isn’t built around one main stage. Instead, it feels like you’re moving through different chapters of the same story. There were multiple stations and themed areas — each with its own mood, characters, and visuals.

Many of them focused on witches, forest beings, horned creatures, and mythological figures, brought to life through carefully crafted masks, costumes, and installations. Some were beautiful, some eerie, some intentionally uncomfortable to look at — but never meaningless.

What impressed me most was the level of detail. You could tell that people didn’t just throw something together. There was thought behind every mask, every prop, every scene. It made me stop more than once and think about how much time and effort must have gone into creating all of this.

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Kids as part of the magic (and the mischief) 👻😄

One of the most charming — and funniest — aspects of Perunfest was how involved the children were. So many of them were dressed up too: little witches, strange creatures, forest spirits with masks and cloaks.

And they didn’t just walk around quietly.

Some of them fully embraced their roles and playfully tried to scare people — sneaking up, whispering, jumping out from behind props. I jumped more than once, and every single time it ended with laughter. It was that kind of fear that lasts one second and then turns into a shared joke.

What I loved is that no one was actually frightened in a bad way. It was playful, imaginative, and safe — and it made the whole festival feel alive, like the audience itself became part of the performance.

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Performances that truly moved me 🔥📖🩰

There were many performances during the festival — dancing, storytelling, small theatrical scenes — but two things stood out to me the most: the storytelling and the fire dance.

The storytelling moments were quiet but powerful. Listening to old tales, legends, and myth-inspired narratives in that environment felt completely different than hearing a story indoors. The words seemed heavier somehow, more meaningful, especially surrounded by masks, shadows, and flickering light.

And then there was the fire dance.

I can honestly say that this was the part that impressed me the most.

Watching the fire dancers perform as evening fell was mesmerizing. The movement, the rhythm, the flames cutting through the darkness — it was intense, beautiful, and emotional at the same time. You could feel the focus, the discipline, and the passion behind every movement.

It wasn’t just a “show.” It felt like a ritual.

What struck me deeply was the effort and dedication behind it. Fire dancing is not easy, not casual, and not something you do without preparation. Seeing how much control, practice, and courage it takes made me appreciate the performers even more. The audience was silent, focused, fully present — and that says everything.

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Old beliefs woven into the experience 🌩️🌲

Walking through Perunfest kept reminding me of old Slavic beliefs and stories.

In traditional folklore, forests were sacred places. People believed that Perun, the god of thunder and sky, watched over balance between humans and nature. There was a warning that if someone entered the forest without respect — mocking it, shouting, acting arrogant — the forest itself would respond.

Branches might crack without wind. Shadows could move strangely. And sometimes, people said, you could hear laughter where no one stood.

Children were told that witches or small spirits might appear — not to harm them, but to scare them just enough to teach respect. Fear, in these stories, was never about cruelty. It was about awareness.

At Perunfest, that idea felt very present — not in a dark or threatening way, but as a reminder that stories once had purpose. They taught people how to behave, how to respect nature, and how to understand the unknown.

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The finale: fire, release, and the burning of the “pust” 🔥🖤

As the festival moved toward its end, the atmosphere slowly shifted. People gathered, conversations quieted, and attention turned toward the final ritual — the burning of the straw figure, often associated with Krampus or the “pust.”

This moment was powerful.

The fire wasn’t just dramatic; it was symbolic. It felt like a collective pause — a moment to let go. Watching the flames rise into the night, surrounded by people who had shared the same experience all day, felt strangely emotional.

It wasn’t about destruction. It was about release — leaving behind what no longer serves you, and making space for something new. That final fire tied everything together: the myths, the fear, the beauty, the effort, the community.

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The people behind it all ❤️✨

One thing I can’t stop thinking about is how much effort went into Perunfest. This didn’t feel rushed or careless. It felt handcrafted — by artists, performers, organizers, volunteers, and storytellers who genuinely care about what they’re creating.

From the costumes and masks, to the performances, to the way the whole festival flowed — you could feel the dedication. And that, more than anything, is what made the experience special.

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Perunfest 2025 was fun, creative, slightly scary in the best possible way — but above all, it was meaningful.

It reminded me that folklore isn’t outdated. That stories still matter. That fear doesn’t always push us away — sometimes it draws us in, makes us curious, makes us feel alive.

I left with a smile, tired feet, a full heart, and the feeling that I had been part of something truly special.

If you ever get the chance to go — go.
And if a tiny masked witch scares you along the way… just laugh. That’s part of the magic. 👻🔥