(North Korean Embassy, Prague, Czech Republic – naw, just kidding, but almost got you there!)

On the Road in Germany, Admiring Fritz and the Mighty-Might of the World’s 4th-Largest Economy
Dreaming of the 1920s When Things Were More Normal In These Parts
13:30 CET
Grooving to Stevie Wonder on Michael Ruetten’s Soul Searching

Lions and tigers and bears and…North Koreans in Prague?! Who ‘dat?

Yeah, you read that correctly. Pyongyang maintains a robust diplomatic presence here in the Sketch Czech Republic, a legacy of its previous snuggle bunny relationship with the former Czechoslovakia. A partnership that stretches back decades, long before such cute little annoyances like 1989’s Vel Rev (aka “The Velvet Revolution”).

Ties between the DPRK and today’s Sketch, oops, Czech Republic remain, much to the patchouli-daubed showerless protesting crowd’s chagrin, alive and well thankyouverymuch, chugging headlong into the 21st-century as the glorious Korean “Paradise on Earth” seeks to resurrect the DPRK’s old comradeships with its former Central European Cold War stalwarts. All this in advance of a proposed peninsular all-or-nuttin’ takeover, as per Bam Bam’s recent statements to the media.

Are you afraid yet?

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So March 21-27, 2010 came and went…

It marked the absolute worst week I’ve had during this first calendar quarter and I’m frankly shocked I made it through in one piece. I didn’t think I would (h/t to you-know-who). I still haven’t recovered and don’t think I shall for quite some time yet.

I just hope it doesn’t take that long, though, because I think I’ve had about enough of eating crow. What I went through I don’t even wish on my enemies. It was hell. The worst hell I’ve been through at this stage of my life. I don’t even think I’m ready to put it into words yet, though I certainly have my share of horrible imagery. I’ll get back to ya…

I’m also loathe to report that it’s been something of an even more uneventful weekend. I’m limping into my upcoming two weeks off truly battered, bruised, and licking some very deep wounds.

For those who sent support and condolences by email and Facebook, I’m eternally grateful. I’ll always remember you for it. For those who didn’t, well allow me to share some of my unfortunate sadness with you now…

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After dwelling in Eastern Europe’s bizarre post-Communist galaxy for more than eight years now, I’ve observed a ton of radical changes in this region over that span of time.

In my case, Czech Prague has disturbingly evolved from a city of mystery and intrigue — one with an ominously dark brooding aspect, albeit with an unsettling checkered past — into a ho-hum sleepy mitteleuropaische burg which doubles as a transit point for all and and sundry who seem to exist here in a sort of transitional bubble. The only people who seem to have anything to do with the Praguers are the Praguers themselves. Even other Czechs seem to resent their big city cousins terribly, perhaps quite normal for most countries. Prague is populated by locals and others who are pushing westward from Europe’s post-Soviet, post-Bloc East in search of a more permissive European environment in which to fulfill lifelong dreams or hatch their mendacious schemes for lucre. There are also those hailing from the wealthy West in search of a post-collegiate drunken, drugged-out adventure and those reviled washouts, castaways from societies where they just couldn’t make the grade. Losers by any other name.

Alas, Eastern Europe – and in my particular case, the hapless, bumbling, drunk, and extraordinarily corrupt Czech Republic – is not the People’s Republic. The Czech Republic – not in dog’s years — couldn’t ever boast of China’s expansive possibilities or come anywhere close to promising China’s seemingly endless opportunities for advancement.

So let’s draft a brief outline of the typical profiles of the ones who formerly flocked to these landlocked shores during the Golden City’s heyday, those wild post-Wall Fall 1990s:

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I attended this photo exhibit last night by Lubomir Kotek. Highly recommended for some late-’80s shots of life in the Former Czechoslovakia. All Bloc-heads and Commie-philes will enjoy the bleak Socialist-era photos on display and Prague’s ever-present scaffolding and constructions in the then-hardline Communist  nation. Amazing stuff.

It’s great to be back in Prague again after a long stint abroad and on the road. China and Romania were superb, as always, but there’s nothing quite like home…I think?

A couple of interesting interactions upon my return to the Czech lands that bear mentioning here, stuff that had me scratching my head whether it was just me or was it the place in which I found myself that was causing such things to happen? So for the past twenty-four hours, I’ve been mentally parsing out what (or, more appropriately, who) is the common denominator in all these cases.

So let’s have a closer look at these, shall we?

Apartment Hunting:

I’ve been on the slow lookout for a new apartment for a couple of months now. Over that period, I’ve been cultivating relationships with local property agents and landlords, promising to take as much time as possible before signing a new lease so I’m not forced into a pressure decision by landing something not as close to my liking as possible.

I have no qualms, unlike several of my colleagues, of working with local agents. In general, I think agents render a service that’s for the most part helpful to renters. That is, if they’re doing their job properly and well and aren’t johnny-come-lately sorts, there’s a value-add to their service. But I’ve also had experiences — during some recent agency interactions — with agents who seem to have succeeded in landing their jobs simply because they could string together a few barely comprehensible English phrases (the default expatriate lingo here).

To me, for an agent to do their job well, they must maintain good relationships with a roster of property owners so they can suggest appropriate properties off the top of their heads for serious buyers and renters. Drop of the phone kind of access. Landlords enjoy working with agents because the latter do all of those necesary triage that will eventually lead to a rental or sale. Since property owners can’t be bothered with the incessant phone calls and false promises which is the miserable reality of the rental market, agencies deserves ample compensation for ferrying prospective renters and buyers around town in the hopes of a deal. In an ideal scenario, agents know the right questions to pose and have the necessarily procedures in place to separate the true renters from the ones who are perpetually “just looking.” The chaff, in other words.

All of this comes under the rubric of “service.”

Look, I don’t mind paying for an extra month in fees — the standard agency ding — if a job is done well and I can walk away satisfied. It’s not a matter of money, as I can quite afford to pay. However, like most practical types, just because I have it doesn’t mean I’m simply forking it over to some agent because “that’s simply the way things are done in Prague.”

Several agents I’ve recently held meetings with think their fee is simply coming to them…just because. When their service doesn’t meet my expectations, I find myself openly asking them: “so what am I getting for the money besides a few clicks of your mouse and a couple of emails and phone calls?” If you drive me around town, then you might have an argument, but if you ask me to meet you, then why do you deserve a full month in fees just for placing a couple of calls? That’s what you call service? With Prague agency fees running anywhere between 500 to 1000 euros a pop — higher for luxurious addresses — where do you get off being flip or acting gruff with me as I ask for justification? Wouldn’t you do the same thing?

Again, I don’t want to undermine the value of a fee. Agencies indeed have overheads and the Prague market is fiercely competitive, triply so under crisis conditions. Some expatriates can also be downright nasty with agents, treating local Czech professionals (mostly women, admittedly, although there are several males operating in this space too) like hired hands, playing off several agencies at once in their relentless search for the absolute lowest rent. All told, this horse trading results in a rather jaded housing market, creating a sort of love-hate pas-a-deux between locals and foreigners with the former’s resentment growing knowing how expats are basically their bread and butter. Few Czechs have either the inclination or the disposable funds for an extra 800 euros on rental fees –  especially given how they can crack open a newspaper or browse a few onlines listings in the vernacular — so agents need expats to meet their monthly sales targets.

When I got back to town this past Monday, I contacted the two agents I’d been texting and emailing with all the way from China and Bucharest.

One young “student-y” girl who was previously quite gung-ho to have me as her client texts me to tell me she’s leaving her agency permanently. When I’d asked why, she replied that she was jumping ship for a better position elsewhere, and I immediately speculated on how badly the financial crisis was beginning to cripple Prague’s economy. One week before during our China-Czech Republic text/email exchange, everything was hunky-dory. The apartment I’d visited during October and liked was still available for a two-year rental, and there was hardly any hint of trouble. One week later, she was gone. Here today, gone tomorrow. Call it a premontion, though I suspected there might eventually be trouble with this agent the very day I’d met her, given that her business card was one of those standard issue impersonal jobs bearing an info@… email address. Her news that she was cutting loose didn’t shock me as much as it caused me to say “I told you so.”

I took it as a sign that this was to be the end of the line with my agency search. While the girl assured me that “her colleagues” would still be able to assist me, by then my heart wasn’t in it.

The silver lining: I’ve now switched tacks and am working with a private landlord directly. My new (hopeful) place is a gorgeous converted wine cellar with an adjoining terrace and parquet floors. It’s being readied for residence and our lease will be signed shorty. I found it after posting my own internet listing and by working the phones. Perhaps I should my new landlord ask for a month’s discount as part of my “agency fee?” Don’t I deserve it for pressing “send” a few times and for dialling a few phone numbers?

And then there was this…

Restaurant Service:

I’m a man about town and like most cafe denizens, I tend to complete a fair amount of work in restaurants and bistros. Something about the presence of other bodies sharing a communal space — interacting and breathing as one unit — somehow helps to jog my memory and boost my creativity. I’ve even completed books in cafes!

There’s a cafe I’ve been patronizing for years here in the centre of Prague. I must have spent tens of thousands of Czech crowns in food and beverage charges between myself and my colleagues over the years, witnessing more staff turnover at this place than some of the girls presently working there have even held down jobs.

Yesterday, I reach this place at my usual appointed hour, beelining for my favourite seat, but something was out of place. There were too many bodies present, abnormal for that hour of the day. I quickly learned that a corporate event — for which there was no signage — was underway.

The floor manager, normally an affable chap, barked at me that the place was closed. I glanced at my watch, looking at the early morning hour, and then looked back up at him to acknowledge what he had just told me, clearly displeased. I left shaking my head, alarmed at how he’d spoken to me so dismissively given that I’m one of his ten best regulars, but chalking it up to locals just being their usual local oblivious self-absorbed selves.

I wasn’t offended so much as I was aghast that a) a private affair was being held on a busy weekday business morning and b) the guy didn’t smile as he informed me the place (not his, by the way) was closed. Was he being too familiar, I wondered? If so, then perhaps I wouldn’t have to pay my bill the next time because we were just friends? Bet you that wouldn’t make him smile.

So my takeaways from these two interactions were as follows:

** Prague property agents render poor service for the high rates they are typically paid. They think their fee is simply their due, a kind of “taxation without representation,” as far as I’m concerned. I’ve even mentioned this to several agents in the past, but it doesn’t register. They somehow can’t comprehend the concept of the value proposition…yet. Why should I pay for something I don’t receive, I ask? Give me some service, and I’ll gladly compensate you. Treat me like a number — or worse, like your idiotic foreign mealticket — and I’ll tell you to take a hike, quick.

** Even after twenty years following the dismantling of the Czech Communist system and the frequent arrival of foreign tourists and businesspeople to the Czech capital, Prague Czechs continue to behave unacceptably in the service industry. In a competitive market, the money is automatically not coming to you, dear locals. If you give me poor service, I will walk and you will lose my business (and more, because I will tell all my friends and colleagues how bad you are at the click of a mouse).

** Give excellent service, and I will return to your place of business — day after day. Rest assured that I will spend all of my money there because you are doing something your peers haven’t the inclination nor the ability to do.

Yep, to survive in this town, you gotta grow a thick skin…

I’ve really been enjoying Honza’s daily Prague snaps. I thought it was time to give the man some props.