10 Lessons We Can Learn from Czech WomenExpat men typically fall for Czech women; how can expat women compete?

published 06.09.2011 | comments (114) | log in to post comments

Written by: Elizabeth Haas

Czech women usually evoke a va-va-voom response in Western males, who glorify their ethereal beauty

and perceived submissiveness. Traditional, unspoiled by feminism, and always striving to look her best, the

stereotypical view of the Czech woman is problematic––though admittedly affects how women from the

West relate to their Eastern counterparts. Aren’t they, too, accepting of traditional roles? Not modern enough

in their approach to career, motherhood, the domestic sphere? Overdressed?

Czech women counter that we’re the ones who are clueless. Employed full-time under legal obligation and

responsible for a family, this was their grandmothers’ and mothers’ task under socialism while feminism was

a lark for bored, middle-class American housewives. Marianne A. Ferber, professor of women’s studies at

the University of Illinois writes in her essay “Women in the Czech Republic: Feminism Czech Style” that

today’s Czech woman has inherited a “striking mixture of strong family values with a firm attachment to the

labor market, a sense of personal efficiency, and considerable independence.” She’s homemaker,

breadwinner, and proud of it.

All “isms” aside, Czech women still have something I don’t and, frankly, it can be intimidating. Many would

attribute the leggy Slavic goddess to good genes, lack of processed food, and the communist preoccupation

with fitness. But there’s something else there, a kind of grace and posture that’s visible in everything they do.

Czech women command attention––and not just because they can be more primped, painted, and plucked

than we. Their best accessory is a quiet dignity that I’m envious of.

Jana Plodková in Protektor (2009)

Other lessons I’ve learned from Czech women:

10. It’s okay to date a younger mate.

The number of high-profile Czech women with younger partners is impressive. Among them is songwriter

and Česko Slovenská Superstar judge Gabriela Osvaldová, 58, whose boyfriend is 32. In America, we’d

label Osvaldová a “cougar,” or mature, (i.e. 30-plus) predatory woman possessed of a desperate hunger that

only a tender boy-snack can satiate. No such derogatory word exists in the Czech language which speaks to

the level of acceptance enjoyed by Czech women in May-December relationships––in fact the only slang

that gets slung here is for the object of the vintage dame’s affection: the zajíček, or little animal, in question.

9. Quit being afraid of your body.

If you’ve never uttered a catty word at the butt cleavage and bare bellies exposed around town then you’re a

better woman than I. One steamy afternoon while waiting for the bus with a Czech co-worker who was

sporting a halter top that might’ve been specifically engineered to ventilate, I blurted out: “I wish I could wear

something like that.” She stared at me for a pause then said, “Why can’t you?” Because I’ve always been

taught––exactly by whom I don’t remember––that sexy dress is demeaning. Yet as my experiment in

expatriation rolls on, I’ve begun to question rules, like this one, that have made me leery of flashing a little

leg or taking off my top at the beach.

Zuzana Šulajová in Příběhy obyčejného šílenství (2005)

8. Easy does it on the drinks.

In Britain, where binge drinking among young women has recently been called the worst in the Western

world, and the States, where reckless drinking is common among women as a well, it seems like we girls are

trying to keep up with the boys. But Czech women drink two times less than their male counterparts, says

the World Health Organization. Forgetting for a moment the social double standard this implies (e.g. It’s all

backslapping fun when men tie one on, but drunk women are unladylike and shameful), I’ve always admired

how most Czech women choose to sip slowly and, above all, remain in the moment. I find it sensible––and

brave.

7. Play hard to get.

The very fact that the book Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl––A Woman’s Guide to

Holding Her Own in a Relationship (2002) ever needed to get written, suggests the essential difference

between the majority of American women and our Czech sestry. A quick scan of this U.S. bestseller’s table

of contents actually reveals a decent bit of wisdom: Don’t give yourself away. If the American and British

men who decry Czech women as ice queens––and yet still adore and pursue them!––are any indication, it

would seem that Czech women follow this advice to the letter.

6. Take fashion risks.

I’m always amazed by compatriots who apply their clearly homogenized standards of what’s fashionable to a

culture to which they do not belong. One cannot single-handedly blame Czech women for the cast-off

garments foisted upon the East by unscrupulous manufacturers, nor for the decades of political turmoil that

have kept them sartorially disconnected from the rest of the world. Jaunty, mismatched, and daring, Czech

women dress like the Dancing Building looks. The next time you get dressed, ask yourself: What does this

twin set need? Nylon pants with assorted pockets, that’s what.

Jana Hubinská in Nevěrné hry (2003)

5. Go that extra step.

Keeping house isn’t exclusively women’s work and Czech men, at least the ones I know, shoulder their fair

share of the chores. But a few years back when a friend casually mentioned that she planned to spend the

weekend ironing pillowcases and curtains, I was confronted with this hard truth: compared to almost every

Czech woman I know, I’m a lousy housekeeper. Living alongside people like this has made me rethink the

shortcuts I take not just when cooking and cleaning but in all areas of life. Spending extra time making things

nice, not just for the ones I love but for myself, is worth it.

4. Eat a better lunch.

Mireille Guiliano’s 2004 book French Women Don’t Get Fat prompted a heap of studies that highlighted the

differences between the way European and American women eat. Many of them concluded that European

women pack most of their daily calories into large, leisurely lunches, followed later in the evening by a light

dinner, and thereby avoid nighttime binges and battles with weight. I rarely see my slender Czech

officemates lunch at their desks, but when they do the ladies always seem to enjoy a fragrant hot meal (one

that puts my salad to shame) with their backs to the computer.

3. Stop smiling til it hurts.

A new book, Nice Girls Just Don’t Get It, by Lois Frankel suggests that American women are far too nice in

the workplace––and it’s holding us back. Czech women may be notorious for their frosty bearing, but many

outsiders who come to work in the Czech Republic find them better at conflict management, not to mention

less superficial, than their Western counterparts. With their no-nonsense approach to matters both personal

and business-related, Czech women may just be onto something.

Klára Issová in Indiánské léto (1995)

2. Pipe down.

A few months after starting a new job in Prague, one of my Slovak co-workers, who would eventually

become a good friend, confessed that when we were first introduced she was a bit put off by my animated

presence and booming voice. I laughed about it with her, but her revelation secretly hurt my feelings. In time,

I’ve come to realize that we Western women occasionally tend to chatter, bluster, and blather to our own

detriment––doesn’t talking less and riding out awkward silences allow us to better hear ourselves?

1. “Czech” your inner strength.

Women of all nations, by virtue of the fact that we are women, face adversity, however minor, on a regular

basis. And yet most of the Czech women I know seem to have inherited a certain fortitude wrought of

historical struggle—a National Revival, two worlds wars, 40 years of communism––that while mistaken for

haughtiness, truly sets them apart. Perhaps it’s the trait I hope will rub off on me most.

Lead image: Anna Geislerová and Tatiana Vilhelmová in Návrat idiota (1999)

Images: ©Negativ s.r.o. www.negativ.cz

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Monumental DownfallThe 50th anniversary of the demolition of the Letná Stalin Monument

published 22.11.2012 | comments (1) | log in to post comments

Written by: Ryan Scott

Anyone with some knowledge of Czech history knows Vratislav Karel Novák’s giant metronome on Letná

Park wasn’t always there. Even if you didn’t know exactly what stood there in the past, as soon as you see

the bright red mechanism, it seems so out of place with the rest of the cityscape that you wonder what was

there before. The answer, which may be received with shame or scorn or a mixture of the two, is that there

once stood the largest statue of Joseph Stalin in the world.

An Unexpected Winner

The decision to erect a monument to Stalin was made in 1949, soon after the communists took power. The

design would be decided by competition, and all sculptors at the time were required to enter. “It was a

political duty to take part in the contest,” said Josef Klimeš, who would be one of the team which worked on

the monument.

The winner was Otakar Švec. At the time, he was not considered a serious contender. This son of a pastry

chef, Švec’s most famous statue was “Sunbeam Motorcyclist”, which incidentally sold for a little over

£139,000 last year at Sotheby’s. After competition, his name would be forever attached to the Letná

monument.

The favorite was actually Karel Pokorný, Czechoslovakia’s leading sculptor. “Pokorný probably lost because

he showed Stalin with his arms outstretched,” Klimeš explained. Švec’s design had Stalin holding a book in

one hand and the other hand on his heart. Behind stood socialist archetypes: a worker, a farmer, a female

partisan, and a soldier. It was almost religious in its allegory. Perhaps this was why it was chosen.

According to a story recounted in Rudla Cailer’s slightly fictionalized Žulový Stalin (Granite Stalin), Švec got

the design from his painter friend Adolf Zábranský. After a meal of goulash, Zábranský sketched Švec a

design, and following some changes Švec accepted it.

Klimeš confirmed this account. “He drew the design on a napkin. Švec said that it was good. It would do.”

The Devil in the Details

Despite winning, Švec had to endure visits by an artistic commission, who made many adjustments. Only

after this was done could construction begin in 1953, soon after the winter had thawed. The top of Letná

Park was leveled and deep holes were sunk for the supports. The stones for the monument came from two

quarries, one in Ruprechtice and the other in Rochlice na Libercku.

In the end, 7000 cubic meters of granite was used and 30,000 individual pieces carved. Klimeš explained

that the stones had to be precisely cut in order to fit together. Existing photos from the time show the

stonemasons chiseling away at the huge blocks, copying Švec’s model.

The monument took two years to complete. The pieces were transported to Prague, where a giant crane in

the center would lower them in place. While the outside was made of granite, the inside was reinforced

concrete. As Klimeš said, it was more like architecture than sculpture.

Klimeš was one of the large team of over 600 people who worked on the monument. Sculptors and

stonemasons were teamed together, combining artistic and technical skills. Klimeš worked on the knee of

the second man behind Stalin when the monument was viewed from the south side. He’s the one holding

the wheat. That particular job took about six weeks.

Today, Klimeš works on a much smaller scale. His studio where we met is filled with his stone and bronze

sculptors and plaster reliefs. The forms can be fluid, distorted or sensual. Not a single piece recalls the

massive figure to which he contributed. Which begs the question: why did he do it?

“It was an adventure of the craft,” he said, though he didn’t see it as an honor to work on the monument and

claims he wasn’t motivated by politics. He admits that he might seem like an opportunist. Why anyone would

agree is difficult to judge from so long ago. Stalin’s cult of personality had a grip on all communist countries.

Klimeš and the others who built the Stalin monument were among many who produced his image. However,

the political climate was changing.

A Short Reign

The statue was unveiled on 1st May 1955. It was 15.5 meters high, 12 meters wide and 22 meters long and

cost around 150 million in Czechoslovak Crowns. For the communists, it was an audacious show of loyalty

to Moscow. Perhaps, Khrushchev’s absence at the opening ceremony should have been a signal.

The party’s efforts to immortalize Stalin’s image had no effect on the physical man. By this time, Stalin had

been dead for two years. Even granite could not preserve his cult. Khrushchev made his so-called ‘secret

speech’ in 1956, denouncing Stalin and the brutality of his rule. The monument and many other tributes to

Stalin were an embarrassment, and had to go.

Changing a street’s name from Stalinova to Vinohradská was easy, but how were they going to get rid of a

several thousand ton eyesore, which some people called it fronta na maso (the line for meat – a joke in

reference to food shortages at the time)? For the communists, the answer was to do so with the strictest

prohibition on any recording. No one was to photograph or film what had to be one of the largest acts of

historical revisionism in history. It was to be as if the statue never existed.

But Klimeš didn’t heed the warnings. He took his camera to the demolition site, which was surrounded by

barbed wire and guarded by police on all sides. He hid behind some nearby trees and documented the slow

destruction from several hundred kilos of explosives used over a period of two months. The final piece was

removed on November 6, 1962. Klimeš’s photos are some of the only visual records of the massive statue’s

reduction to rubble.

Several stories have emerged about both the destruction and the aftermath. Stalin’s head was said to have

fittingly fallen with the first blast, and fragments are alleged to have rained down on people on the other side

of the Vltava. Klimeš dismissed the latter as hearsay. He also doubted that the story that the rubble was sold

to England.

A Final Victim

The other story connected to the statue is the fate of its designer, Švec. He didn’t live to see the destruction.

He didn’t even live for the unveiling. A month before the statue was unveiled, Švec took his own life. The

reasons are disputed, as are the means. Rudolf Cainer claims it was from an overdose of sleeping pills.

And why? Was it because his wife died the year before? Was it, as Mariusz Szczygieł implies in his book

Gottland, because a taxi driver pointed out that the woman was holding the soldier’s crotch? Was it pressure

from the StB – the former secret police – who followed him? Was it the shame of being connected to the

statue?

In a strange way, the regime didn’t even grant him that final reason. No mention of Švec was made on the

monument.

Over the years, the area has served other purposes. A water filled statue of Michael Jackson stood there in

1996. Jan Kaplický’s prize winning design for a new National Library was mooted to stand there. Perhaps

there’s something about the place, because sadly Kaplický passed away before the debate about his library

was reconciled. Now the design is permanently on ice.

For now, the metronome keeps swinging, apart from the occasional power failure, counting the time until

something else comes along to replace it.

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Interview: Martin HilskýBridging the Cultures - The man who translated Shakespeare's complete oeuvre to Czech

published 03.12.2012 | comments (3) | log in to post comments

Written by: Ryan Scott

Earlier this year, Martin Hilský, professor of English Language at Charles University & South Bohemian

University and renowned for his translations of Shakespeare into Czech, released Dílo. Meaning artistic

work, it is the first time all of Shakespeare’s plays have been released in Czech in a single volume. At 4,000

pages, the book is a culmination of a life devoted to English literature. Prof. Hilský spoke with Expats.cz

about this passion and how to keep the essence of Shakespeare in a different language.

To start with something general, where did your interest in English language start?

It started long ago. In fact when I was very very young and I read French and English literature and I loved

English literature. However, I studied English privately. I never studied it formally until I began at Charles

University in 1960. There the interest in the English language developed into a kind of passion or possession

and it still holds me.

Did your ideas about English language and literature change after your time in Oxford?

For me it was a formative experience. Not only professionally, but also from my private point of view

because I didn’t travel much and suddenly in ’68 I became a fellow of Linacre College [a graduate college at

Oxford]. Czechoslovakia was more or less a self-enclosed country. Not entirely but more or less. Suddenly I

was in a multi-cultural environment and there were people from all over the world sitting next to me in the

common room and they were all free thinking individuals.

You’ve translated English writers from a range of eras. Have you found some common thread in

these writers or do you approach each one individually?

This is an interesting question. Basically, I approach them individually but later on I realized I was more

interested in books based on dialogue. One of my earliest translations was The Darling Buds of May by H.E.

Bates, which is based on dialogue. I think it was from this interest in dialogue that I began translating the

plays. First was Peter Schaeffer’s Amadeus for ABC Theater. Because it was a success the same director

asked me in 1983 to translate A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I must say that I refused at first because I didn’t

have the courage to do it. Then I began sketching the dialogue and realized that it came out differently and

the play was slightly different to the previous translations. The director liked it and the audience liked it so

this is how my Shakespearean journey began.

How do you bring Shakespeare‘s work into the Czech audience? What do you preserve? What do

you have to change?

Shakespeare’s work is 400 years old. There are layers and layers of language between him and us. Many

changes have happened in those 400 years, both here and in England so I realized that to translate

Shakespeare means [not just] to translate words but to translate the two cultures. You’re translating the

English culture of the Renaissance into contemporary Czech culture. The puns and slang are based on

aspects of everyday life which are irretrievably lost. The challenge of any translator of Shakespeare into any

language is to somehow preserve this wordplay. Oddly enough it can be done, though it is difficult.

Would you be able to give me an example where your translation has been successful?

It’s from sonnet 86 in which Shakespeare is addressing a rival poet. The word play is based on two words –

womb and tomb, the womb meaning the beginning of life and tomb, which is obviously connected with

death. When I came across this I thought I’d stop translating. Womb in Czech Is lůno and tomb is hrob and

there is no possible way to find two words which would have those meanings and have that beautiful sound

– tomb and womb it’s like an organ. It took several days if not weeks, I’d almost forgotten about it, when

suddenly I realized there was one word in Czech – kolébka, which means cradle – and it’s the beginning of

life which had in it another word – lebka, which means skull. I discovered the way to go about this. [Note:

You can read and hear the original and Hilský’s translation here.]

So the loss of music is substituted for the music of márnice and marný and the meaning of womb tomb is in

line three. A translation must be related to the original in the way a child is to a parent. Children take after

their parents but they also talk back. So I see all the Shakespearean translators of the world to be like

Shakespeare’s children, each in their own way different each trying to do what they can.

As well as being a translator, you are a university lecturer. How do you teach Shakespeare in the

university setting?

I try to present Shakespeare as though he wrote those poems to address us. When I do the plays its

obvious. You may make it into a drama, a great adventure, discovering the meaning of these plays, so I want

to make it interesting, but not in a superficial way. You see, no single reading of Shakespeare – either a play

or poem – is the same. Each person understands him differently and that’s the great adventure. I do not

instruct my students. I share my experience of Shakespeare with them and it becomes a common pursuit

and together you try to discover the meaning of his work.

You describe your current approach to teaching as sharing. I can’t help but imagine it was different

when you were teaching during the ‘normalization’ period. How did the former regime have an effect

on your work?

Oddly enough, not much. I taught what I wanted and I could do that only because I was in the Department of

English. If I were in the Department of Czech I would have no chance. This could be done, especially with

Shakespeare, because in the 40s, 50s and 60s Shakespeare’s plays were often produced. Shakespeare

can survive all regimes. So I was almost free but not free as I am now. I couldn’t have a seminar on Orwell

but you could still teach a huge number and you could definitely teach Shakespeare. So it was an island of

freedom.

Since 1989 you have done more translations. Dílo must be the culmination of everything that you

know about the language and literature. How does it feel to have finally completed this?

On one hand, it is a great joy because it was not easy. In fact, it wasn’t my goal at first at all. All I wanted was

to translate each play as well as I could. The further ambitions came later. When I’d translated more than

fifteen plays, which is about half of Shakespeare’s canon, then I thought what about doing the whole body of

work. It’s like climbing Mount Everest. You start climbing and then you find that you can’t go down, you must

continue. But this was the book which for many years I wanted to have. And it’s special way. In its modest

way, it may help to bridge the two cultures.

The interview has been edited for publication.

Photos: Wikimedia Commons

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Vietnamese New Year starts on Feb 10How does the Vietnamese community celebrate in the ČR?

published 05.02.2013 | comments (0) | log in to post comments

Written by: Ryan Scott

For the approximately sixty thousand Vietnamese people living in the Czech Republic, New Year (Tết

Nguyên Đán) is drawing near.

Tết Nguyên Đán, or Tết as it is often simply referred, is considered one of the most important holidays in the

Vietnamese calendar. Coinciding roughly with the beginning of Spring, it is a time to celebrate what the new

year has in store as well as an opportunity for Vietnamese people to honor their ancestors. This year’s

celebration is on February 10.

In Vietnam, Tết is marked by parades, fireworks and visiting of temples. In the Czech Republic, Tết tends to

be more of a family affair reflecting the living situation of many Vietnamese people here.

Tran Vu Van Anh from Integrační Centrum Praha said the biggest difference was the amount of time people

spent celebrating.

“Compared to people in Vietnam, we celebrate here much less,” she said. The main reason is that most

people have to go to work or school the next day. Other factors could also be that there are fewer places of

worship to make traditional pilgrimages, and people are separated from their extended families.

“Many families in the Czech Republic are just couples. Or couples with kids, so they try to make it easier,”

explained Do Duy Hoang, a Vietnamese-Czech who has grown up here.

Food is an important part of the celebration. The two main food items prepared for the holiday are bánh

chưng, described as a rice “cake” or “loaf”, and the other is a boiled hen. Most often, the bánh chưng

prepared here is in a square shape, following northern Vietnamese traditions, and consists of sticky rice

filled with pork or beans wrapped in banana leaves.

The hen is especially important. Ms. Tran explained that it is part of the offering to the ancestors.

Traditionally, the chicken is boiled whole, with head and feet and served with sticky rice and bánh chưng.

If you’re curious about trying these dishes, you can order them from Dong Do restaurant, located at

Libušská 126, Prague 4, in the Sapa complex. The waitress I spoke to advised that the dishes might not be

to everyone’s taste because they are, in her words “very soft.” Ms. Tran and Mr. Do were equally unsure as

to whether they would be suited to “European” tastes.

While these meals form the base, celebrations are in no way limited to them. Ms. Tran said that other foods

can include salad, spring rolls, Vietnamese ham, and candied fruit. Both pointed out that while

accommodations were made to living in Czech society – such as the shorter length of the festival, and that

they started at 18:00 to correspond with midnight in Vietnam – Czech food was not incorporated into the

celebrations, at least not as far as they noticed.

However, one area in which some compromise had to be made was the use of flowers, which are used to

decorate the house. The flowers that traditionally form part of the ceremony aren’t locally available. Many

families make do with paper flowers. However, Mr. Do said his wife uses locally available flowers, like golden

rain.

Photo from LaCultura.czPhoto from LaCultura.cz

Over the years, Czechs have become increasingly interested in Tết. Ms. Tran puts this down to a mixture of

natural curiosity and the gradual lowering of social obstacles.

“The younger generation is able to tell people we celebrate. The older generated would have liked to, but

there were language barriers,” she said as to why there is more local discussion of the holiday in recent

years. She also noted that Tết was moving out of people’s homes as the community grew and more people

came together. The growing interest was, in her words, a part of a globalized world.

Mr. Do welcomed the media attention on Tết. He said it was the one time in the year when the media had a

more positive attitude toward the Vietnamese community.

For members of the public who are curious, the best opportunity to get a sense of Tết, as well as other

aspects of Vietnamese culture, is to visit the event organized by Integrační Centrum Praha on February 8.

The evening includes a mix of cultural activities from around Asia, including a celebration of the Vietnamese

New Year. It starts at 16:00 at Modřanský biograf (a cinema) located at U Kina 44/1, Prague 12.

Program:

16:10 – Opening, introduction,

16:30 – Declaration of winners of art competition and a warding,

17:00 – Celebration of the Asian new lunar year,

17:30 – Concert Jagalmay - “the Central Asian Prague ensemble”,

18:00 – Exibition of pictures from Pamir and narration about New year celebration in Central Asia,

18:30 – Concert Marimba Mama – „a mixture of the South and West African music, Latin waves, r´n´b,

reggae and current electro-dance“,

19:00 – Concert Annas Ekvator –“a modern Arab and Iraqi music, hot Arabic rhythms”,

19:30 – Lotus dance and music accompaniments from the Far East,

20:00 – End of the offi cial program, free entertainment

During evening various traditional foreign dishes and beverages for New Year’s celebrations will be

available. The Event will be accompanied by an exhibition of pictures the most beautiful corners of the world.

Mr. Do has also prepared a short lesson on how to say “Happy New Year” in Vietnamese.

So, Chúc mừng năm mới