Czech Republic is sprinkled with village ponds and little lakes in which carp is bred. Sometime in November the ponds are drained of water and the carp hauled in.
My friends and I were roaming the countryside on a Saturday in November when we stumbled upon one of those carp fests. Not a lot happens in the countryside on a Saturday in November, so in terms of eventfulness we hit the jackpot.
The whole village had come out en masse to witness the event. Dead carp was taken home in plastic bags. A toddler was running around with a small fish clinched in his fist, and he was poking the fish' eyes mercilessly. In the countryside people aren't sentimental.
The biggest carp received absolution and was set free again in the muddy pond, after having been weighed and immortalised on camera by me, the foreigner, who wasn't eyed without suspicion by the villagers.
The fish was slightly in shock, and half an hour later it was still bobbing around listlessly.
Observing the fishermen, I noted that on the countryside a certain tenderness for the fish goes hand in had with a down-to-earth approach to wildlife, because after the fish were admired at length they were beaten unconcious swiftly and unsentimentally, and stripped of guts and scales.
And - classically in the Czech Republic - these things are done a lot better with beer at hand.
Once the pond was emptied, the fishermen set off to their clubhouse. It was a smoke hole. The walls were covered with news clippings of local fishers' victories, with black-and-white photos of renown fishers from the past and with posters of half-naked ladies. Gulash stood steaming on the stove, beer and grog flowed freely, as did the fishing stories.
The big plastic tubs in which the fish has been kept had to go back to the attic of the clubhouse. A drunk villager climbed a rickety ladder with visible effort. A friend rushed forward to help, but the man said:
"Pozóór, slečno. Ať vám to nespadne na řepu... Jsme trochu pod vlivem,"
meaning:
"Careful, young lady, that it doesn't fall on your beetroot. We're slightly drunk, you see!"
My friends and I continued are walk, and let the villagers behind in their smoky clubhouse. When I looked back once more I thought: "Funny, Jesus' disciples were fishermen too!"