When the Mariánské Lázně hunters become the hunted

It is surprising where detours can sometimes take you. One such detour in Mariánské Lázně thanks to work on a high-speed rail link recently took me past some old army barracks and to a village I had never been to before.

We headed for the sole attraction, the local pub. It was one of those places that seem to have been immune to time or fashion, a plus compared to some of the kitsch that has invaded the nearby spa town. Inside there was a scene out of that Jiří Menzel film featuring hunters fighting over the spoils of a wild pig that fatefully wandered into the village.

Hunters fighting over a wild pig, 'Slavnosti sněženek' by Jiří Menzel

A group of bottle-green clad hunters was in one corner. They were clearly preparing for their annual hunters’ ball that evening. In another was a group of policemen, clearly regulars, sitting down for their midday meal. I sensed some tension.

I got the impression that the hunters suspected the police might stake out the ball which was still in the stage of fastidious preparation. The hunters would not evidently like the idea of the tables being turned and themselves becoming the hunted by the breathalyzer-armed police.

Soon after they were joined by a third group: the construction workers from the railway that had diverted us this way. The workers seemed ignorant or impervious to the invisible boundaries that separated the two previous groups.

After the hunters dragged in dead ducks, wild pigs and deer to put on display in one corner of the pub, a few workers ventured over to admire the haul. “How do you do the wild pig — with cabbage?” ventured one worker. “Anyway you like,” came the acid reply. With that they were dispatched back to their corner.

Perhaps the question was more than polite or academic. As the last group in the pub, the workers were at the bottom of the feeding chain and the menu was fast being exhausted.

But the game on display was destined to be the sugar candy for the highlight of the ball: the prize tombola. A so-called surprise fish, number three on the tombola prize list, was perhaps not surprisingly among the other trophies. Perhaps the surprise was that it was still swimming free somewhere or safety stocked in a bath.

The display itself had been arranged with all the care of a church nativity scene. But that degree of solemnity was unfortunately undermined by the grin from one deceased wild pig whose trotter was placed in comradely fashion on the head of another dead animal.

I could not help thinking of the logistics for the winners of the prize draw. Clearly a lot of liquid, and fairly high grade liquid at that, would be consumed during the evening. I pictured the police-wary prize winning hunters on bicycles with the head of a wild pig propped on the handlebars. If the Spanish conquistadores had had that sort of machine, man, beast combination instead of just men on horses then I am sure they could have subdued and colonised South America in a couple of days.