Adjusting to Czech

If I had to survive without cheese for over three years in Japan, I was able to more than make up for it with the plethora of it here. Especially abstaining from meat and fish products, my only option was often a dish of cheese and potatoes, with the menu sometimes offering up to ten different ways to prepare each! One of the best was a potato cake with fried camembert inside.

Speaking of the restaurants, that was one of the greatest cultural clashes we had. As Americans, my family had a definite idea when we were to be given the menus upon sitting down, when the food should be ordered, when the bill must come, and the Czech serving staff rarely conformed to their hopes and dreams. It always strikes me as so interesting a contrast that Americans seem to see restaurants as places to go to—as comfortably and efficiently as possible—replace hunger with food, while Europeans put more emphasis on the process. Or, to carry it further, one of the things I’ve noticed throughout the time I’ve spent in Asia and Europe is that Americans (and I include myself in this) have got to be the most impatient people I’ve ever met!
But to be fair, coupled with this is the fact that Czech seems to boast some of the worst service people the world over. As I was telling my friend David yesterday, rude encounter after rude encounter I was very careful not to judge by my own values and lenses, because maybe there was something I didn’t totally understand that would come later. But after two weeks, it seemed hard not to reach the aforementioned conclusion—and David was in complete agreement! The stories of snarls and grunts from the waiters, attendants, staff people, etc. lose something in the translations, but one that may not are what David told us are affectionately called heisel-babas, the first word meaning unpleasant or rude and the second old woman. These are older ladies who Don likes to think had some wonderful bureaucratic position taken away from them after the fall of Communism, and are now reassigned to collect 3-5 koruna coins (about a quarter) for use of train station lavatories—toilet paper or towels cost extra. They exact their job with a vengeance and cruelty that seems scarcely related to whether you pay the full amount or try to sneak by (not suggested by any wise person). Once I was followed out of the restroom and yelled at (even though I had indeed parted ways with two 2 koruna coins), and then the woman hoped to shame me by yelling something about me to the passer-bys as well. “You must pay” one lady told me in Czech. “I did!” I said back, to which she shrugged her shoulders and quickly turned away.