The Spoils of Revolution

Prague has once again become a well-heeled business center in the heart of central Europe. Nostalgic and successful Czechs say it's capitalism, not Communism, that comes most naturally here.

The First Republic Lives On--If you talk to a Praguer long enough, the conversation will often turn into a lecture about how the country had one of the world's richest economies, per capita, between the world wars. Communism, a Praguer will say, was just a detour. The between-wars period, lovingly called the First Republic, recalls a time when democracy and capitalism thrived, and Prague's bistros and dance halls were filled with dandies and flappers swinging the night away, until the Nazi invasion in 1939 spoiled the party.

The First Republic motif has been revived in many clubs and restaurants, and you can see hints of this style in Czech editions of top Western fashion magazines.

Since the Velvet Revolution, Praguers have been obsessed with style. Many people -- especially the novobohatí (nouveau riche) -- rushed out to buy the flashiest Mercedes or BMW they could find with the quick money gained from the restitution of Communist-seized property.

While the average annual income per person is still just around $9,000, the trappings of conspicuous consumption are evident throughout Prague, from the designer boutiques in the city center to the newly developed luxury suburbs with split-level ranch homes and tailored lawns. Women's fashion has had the most stunning revolution: The blur of loud polyester minidresses that used to dominate the streets has been replaced by the latest looks from Europe's catwalks.

Prague's avant-garde art community used to thrive in secret while mocking Communism, but it now has to face the realities of capitalism, such as rising rents and stiff competition. Many have had to find more mainstream work to survive. But if you look hard enough, you still might find an exhibition, a dance recital, or an experimental performance that's surprising, shocking, and satisfying. The Prague Post, the English-language weekly, usually serves as a good source for finding these events.

In the evening, you can find a typical Bohemian playing cards with friends at the neighborhood hospoda or pivnice (beer hall) or debating at a kavárna (cafe). Most likely, though, the typical Czech will be parked in front of the TV, as the country maintains one of the highest per-capita nightly viewing audiences in Europe. TV Nova -- launched by the company of New York cosmetics scion Ronald Lauder -- attracts around 60% of the population with a nightly mix of dubbed American action films, sitcoms (M*A*S*H has been wildly popular), and tabloid news shows. In the most public example of foreign investment gone awry, Lauder's company was thrown out of TV Nova by his Czech partners in 1999, and hundreds of millions of dollars in lawsuits have been batted around in international courts.

Pop literature has also overwhelmed the classics since the Velvet Revolution, with scandal sheets surging in newspaper sales and pulp fiction romances ruling the bookshops.

Czech Political & Religious Beliefs--While Praguers tend to look westward and insist that they never belonged in the Soviet Bloc, the average Czech has been ambivalent about the government's push to join the European Union and the NATO security alliance. That's understandable after a long history of living under various foreign spheres of influence.

In contrast to neighboring Poland, Hungary, and former partner Slovakia, the Czech Republic isn't deeply religious. Although Prague was once the seat of the Holy Roman Empire and churches lace the city, less than 20% of the Czech people today say that they believe in God and around 10% say that they're religious. One opinion poll showed that more Czechs believe in UFOs than believe in God.

Czechs may not be religious, but they're often superstitious. One piece of folk wisdom is similar to the one about Groundhog Day in the United States. If it rains on the day of Medard (June 8), Czechs plan to carry an umbrella another 40 consecutive days. They also believe that having a baby carriage in the house before a child is born is extremely bad luck for your expected child's future.

Each day on the calendar corresponds to one or more of the Czech first names, and it's customary to present a gift to close friends and colleagues on their svátek (name day) -- it's like having two birthdays a year.

Today's Challenges--The city now faces a host of problems that didn't occur under Communism. Taxi drivers, who were strictly licensed under the old regime and formed a small exclusive club, have become one of the mayor's biggest headaches. Reports that these new entrepreneurs have been gouging tourists have grown exponentially with the number of drivers and visitors. And prostitutes, who were kept behind closed doors in the old days, now solicit business from convent steps.

Leaders have tried to keep a lid on anything that might cast a shadow over the best sights, including a tornado of billboards and the blight of graffiti. They're also searching for a way to curb the traffic rambling through the ancient streets. Though eyesores keep popping up, traffic keeps getting worse, and finicky phones wear you down, Prague is still a magical romp of a city.

The American Invasion--After the Velvet Revolution, Czechs sought the antithesis of Communism -- anything that could be called Western. And Westerners became quite curious about life on the other side of the raised iron curtain.

So postrevolutionary Prague quickly came to know a once-rare species: the American. An estimated 30,000 came to live here, either legally or illegally. Many were 20-somethings postponing the inevitable job hunt in a place where free love, cheap beer, and bad poetry were the order of the day. Some claimed it was a chance to get a taste of the 1960s their parents had always talked about.

But Prague hasn't replicated the rebelliousness of the Left Bank of Paris in the 1920s or San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s. Today's increasingly Western consumer habits make being bohemian in Bohemia somewhat ironic. "There's no bathtub" or "I can't find any iceberg lettuce," complain sandaled masses, yearning to drink cheap beer and write haiku.

With the American invasion came the inevitable array of shops and services for those who really didn't want to wander so far from home. At the spot on Národní trída (National Blvd.) where the Velvet Revolution began, the U.S. discount retailer Kmart bought out an old Communist state department store known as the Máj. It has since been sold to the British chain Tesco, which sells such goods as peanut butter, microwave popcorn, nacho cheese tortilla chips, and fudge brownie mix.

Rising rents and beer prices and a lack of jobs with Western-level pay have pushed many back home. While many Czechs welcomed the "Americany" soon after the Velvet Revolution, they're now using the pejorative moniker "Amíci" more frequently. Perhaps familiarity does breed contempt. And yet, the new presence cannot be denied. At this writing, one general weekly newspaper, the Prague Post, dominates the English-language audience, after a flurry of other postrevolutionary attempts failed. Several business magazines and weeklies have popped up, the best of which is the Prague Business Journal. Sports bars, taco stands, and Chicago-style pizzerias thrive.