In January 2018, I travelled to Kalofer to photograph Epiphany, known in Bulgaria as Yordanovden or Bogoyavlenie. The feast commemorates the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan. I had witnessed Epiphany services in churches before, but what I encountered in this small Bulgarian town was quite different: a religious ceremony unfolding in the cold current of a mountain river, surrounded by music, flags and an expectant crowd.
Kalofer is particularly known for its men's horo, a communal chain dance performed in the Tundzha River on 6 January. Before dawn, participants prepare for the icy water; some wear embroidered white shirts, traditional belts and woollen trousers. Bagpipes and drums accompany the singing as the men enter the river together. The dance is not simply a contest of endurance. Moving shoulder to shoulder, they turn a difficult physical experience into a shared expression of belonging.
The blessing of the waters is central to Orthodox Epiphany. A priest throws a cross into the river, and participants retrieve it. In Kalofer, local tradition associates the recovered cross with the youngest participant, who returns it to the priest. Water, in this Christian setting, represents purification and renewal; the celebration also carries the distinctive rhythms of local folklore.
That morning I watched men dancing and singing in the water while spectators gathered along the banks. Wine, music and the excitement of the crowd gave the occasion a festive atmosphere, yet the religious ritual remained visible within the celebration. I was struck by the way individual gestures became part of a larger collective movement, especially when the dancers formed their line in the river.
Bulgarian flags were conspicuous among the participants. At one moment someone called out, 'Are there any Bulgarians here?' and the crowd answered, 'We are here.' I remember the exchange because it revealed another layer of the event: alongside Christian faith and local custom, the ceremony expressed a powerful sense of national identity. I recorded that moment as an observation, rather than as a judgment about what the celebration ought to mean.
The origins of the river dance are sometimes explained through local anecdotes about men entering the water after a night of festivities. Such stories belong to the town's oral memory and should not be confused with a proven account of the ritual's beginnings. What can be seen clearly today is a tradition renewed through repeated participation, music and the presence of several generations.
My photographs from Kalofer are therefore about more than a winter religious ceremony. They show the meeting of faith, folklore, physical courage and communal memory in a public space where the river itself becomes the centre of the celebration.