Nestled in the rugged landscapes of Trás-os-Montes, Portugal, the Entrudo festival is a vibrant tapestry of tradition, rebellion, and community spirit. Unlike the glitzy carnivals of Rio or Venice, Entrudo is raw, unfiltered, and deeply rooted in local identity. In a world grappling with cultural homogenization and climate crises, this centuries-old celebration offers a defiant reminder of the power of place-based traditions.
Entrudo, often overshadowed by Portugal’s more famous festivals, is a carnival of masks, satire, and chaos. The streets of villages like Podence and Lazarim erupt with caretos—mischievous figures clad in colorful woolen costumes and brass masks. These characters, symbols of fertility and renewal, leap through crowds, ringing cowbells and playfully terrorizing spectators.
In an era where digital avatars dominate social interactions, the physicality of Entrudo is striking. The caretos aren’t just performers; they’re conduits of ancestral energy, embodying a connection to the land that feels almost radical in today’s disconnected world.
As climate change intensifies, Portugal faces hotter summers, erratic rainfall, and desertification. Trás-os-Montes, already one of the country’s most arid regions, is on the front lines. The very landscapes that birthed Entrudo are under threat, and with them, the festival’s future.
Yet, Entrudo persists. The festival’s reliance on natural materials—wooden masks, handmade costumes—stands in stark contrast to the wastefulness of globalized carnivals. In a world drowning in plastic, Entrudo’s sustainability is accidental but profound.
Another challenge looms: rural depopulation. Young people leave Trás-os-Montes for cities or abroad, and with them go the custodians of Entrudo. The EU’s push for urban development often sidelines rural traditions, framing them as relics rather than living culture.
But here’s the twist: Entrudo is fighting back. NGOs and local activists are digitizing rituals, creating documentaries, and even organizing “Entrudo Diasporas” in Lisbon and Paris. The festival is no longer just a local event—it’s a global resistance movement.
Entrudo has always been political. Villagers use masks to mock authority figures, from corrupt politicians to overbearing priests. In 2024, as democracies worldwide grapple with disinformation and polarization, Entrudo’s tradition of public satire feels eerily relevant.
Imagine this: A careto parades with a mask resembling a far-right leader, his exaggerated features drawing laughter and jeers. In a time when social media algorithms amplify division, Entrudo’s analog mockery is a subversive act.
Then there’s the gender play. During Entrudo, women sometimes dress as caretos, upending traditional roles. In a world where women’s rights are under siege—from the U.S. to Iran—this small act of defiance resonates globally.
In 2019, UNESCO recognized Podence’s caretos as Intangible Cultural Heritage. While this brings visibility, it also risks turning Entrudo into a tourist commodity. The challenge? To protect the festival’s soul while sharing it with the world.
Some villages are innovating. Solar-powered floats, biodegradable masks—could Entrudo become a model for eco-conscious festivity? In a world obsessed with “greenwashing,” this isn’t just about tradition; it’s about survival.
In a time of war, climate collapse, and cultural erasure, Entrudo is more than a festival. It’s a statement. A refusal to let globalization flatten uniqueness. A celebration of resilience.
So next February, when the caretos dance through Trás-os-Montes, remember: They’re not just keeping tradition alive. They’re showing us how to live.