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You know it's Christmas in the Czech Republic when you find a fish in the bath. Not just any fish, but a big, fat, three-kilogram carp.

For a few days before Christmas, personal hygiene has to take second place to a centuries-old tradition of fried carp and potato salad for Christmas dinner.

It might seem an odd choice, and in other countries most fishermen would throw a carp back in disgust if they accidentally caught one. But the hundreds of shallow lakes that dot the Czech countryside are ideal for these oversized goldfish - and in a landlocked country, any fish is a delicacy.

A few days before Christmas, Czech families trudge out over icy roads to buy a fish at at one of the stalls that spring up on every city square. The carp is taken home in a plastic bag and spends its last few days in the bath eating bread and swimming lazily in circles.

Buying live carp from a stall in Ceske Budejovice, South Bohemia

Invariably, by Christmas Eve the kids have befriended the fish and given it a name, just as it is about to meet its maker. While dad cleans the blood off the bathroom tiles, mum gets to work dicing potatoes and frying carp steaks for Christmas dinner, eaten on the evening of the 24th.

Presents, too, come early in the Czech Republic. After about the third helping of fried Freddy, or whatever the kids have called their former pet, dad quietly slips out of the room. Moments later the kids hear a bell ring and rush into the living room - only to find, like every other year, they're just seconds too late. The bearer of gifts has vanished, leaving a pile of presents and an open window, the curtain flapping in an icy breeze. 

The Czechs don't get their presents from a fat old man in a red suit, but from Jezisek, the little baby Jesus, who flies in via an open window.

Jezisek is one of the very few reminders of Christianity in a Czech Christmas. Even the carols evoke the atmosphere of a village dance rather than the birth of a saviour:

Let's all go to Bethlehem together,
And you, Mike, play the fiddle, 
Hoodly diddly hoodly diddly da,
Hey little Jesus, hey little man,
I'm going to rock you to sleep.

Christmas Day is a time for family, playing in the snow and long walks. But most of all Christmas is a time for watching fairytales on the telly. The whole country grinds to a halt to watch re-runs of of classic fairytales like Mrazik, a schmaltzy, decades-old Russian musical about love and Jack Frost.

And it's not just the kids. I once caught a train on Christmas Day and found the ticket inspectors huddled around a portable television watching The Princess with the Golden Star on her Forehead.

Perhaps that national obsession has its roots in the dark, forbidding forests that still cover much of Central Europe - the same forests that inspired the story-tellers of the Middle Ages and gave rise to classic tales such as Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood. 

Czechoslovakia's 40-year communist regime was brutal and inept, but quite by accident, it preserved many of the country's unique traditions. 

Now, more than a decade after the Velvet Revolution, Christmas is changing. Santa Claus is slowly displacing Jezisek, the old fairytales are losing ground to American TV movies, and commerce is eroding old ways.

Some day it might even be possible to take a bath on Christmas Eve.

First published in Hawke's Bay Today, December 2001

Children play in the snow outside Hluboka Castle, South Bohemia