It’s been two months since I’ve moved to Prague.  By now, I’ve met a lot of expatriates from the U.S. and the U.K.  Prague is reputed to have 25,000 of us.

The first conversation with a fellow expat inevitably includes the question, “so, how did you land in Prague?”  The answers fall into three buckets:

1.  I came for love and stayed for work

2. I came for work and stayed for love

3. I came for adventure (sometimes this is code for “I came for the parties”) and stayed

The recurring theme to these conversations is that arrival in a new and different place set in motion a series of events they never expected.  And that they were universally glad it happened.  Given my fascination with change management, I’m encountering a group of people who somehow welcomed change when many of us don’t.  Or at least were open to where change would lead them.

Maybe that’s what the expats have in common.

If you go back to my first blog entry, I predicted (planned?) that at some point I would write about the differences between life in Boston and Prague.  And that I would start passing judgment on those differences.  Mostly in jest.

A commitment is a commitment, so here goes.

LOVE

1. Beer.  Sausage.  Beer & sausage.  Sausage & beer.  If this isn’t the beer & sausage capital of the world, state your case.  I mean, the local hypermarket must have 40 varieties behind the counter.

2. Bread.  Your basic hypermarket beats the best artisanal bread store in Boston.  Hands down.

3. Countryside.  Green, rolling hills.  Unspoiled forests.  Lots of both.  If you are a cow, or a walker, you’re in heaven.

4.  Architecture.  Another obvious one next to beer.  Doesn’t matter.  It’s beautiful, revered and preserved.

5. Traditions.  Despite a lot of external changes imposed on the country in the last 70 years (first Nazism, then Communism, then global Capitalism), traditions endure.  Did I mention beer?  But also food, manners, the value of friendship and a healthy dose of cynicism/secularism.

6. Public transportation.  It’s everywhere and it’s cheap.  Subways, trams, buses.  You can live without a car.  Easily.

(UN)LOVE

1. Traditions.  I was told, not asked, that my dumplings would not be served at the same time as my Caesar salad.  They are not suitable together, according to some unspoken food tradition.

2. The damned coins you must deposit to obtain a shopping cart. Is 50 cents really a deterrent to theft?  Plus, I had a job at age 14 retrieving those carts from the far corners of the parking lot.  Why take those kids’ jobs away?  The best example was encountering this system in a grocery store located in a basement.  If you can smuggle the cart out via the elevator, more power to you.

3. Smoking.  If the UK can stop smoking in pubs, Czechs can too.

4. Service.  Somehow I long for the fake, plastic smile of the American server.  Many in the service sector here realize that it’s the customer paying the bills.  A few are still immune to this truth.

JUST PLAIN WEIRD

1. ZZSHMP.  This is the name of a local ambulance chain.  Imagine calling 911 and pleading for an ambulance.  Caller: “Help, send ZZSHMP!”  Operator, to co-worker:  “Wow, this dude must be gurgling blood.  Probably too late to save him”.

2. This logo.  Are they trying to sell smoked sausages or a means to extract tapeworms?

I spent four hours last week trying to “liberate” some boxes from the Czech postal service.  It was an enlightening experience that took me deep into the bowels of a bureaucracy.  Don’t get me wrong; this isn’t just about a Czech bureaucracy.  Every nation has them.  But thanks to Ceska Posta, I have the following stories.

My wife took pity on me by sending some boxes by air mail, well in advance of our house stuff’s slow trip by boat from Boston to Prague a few weeks from now.

Weeks after the packages were sent, nothing showed up at my apartment.  The manhunt began…

1. Using an online track & trace (in English thankfully, but with nicely mangled phrases), Ceska Posta informs me that for some packages they had attempted delivery. And that others were in some sort of customs process.

No notice had arrived in my mailbox about this.  Why?

• It turns out my name wasn’t on any mailbox at the apartment for the first few weeks of tenancy.  Why?  My employer rented a short-term flat on my behalf, so their name was on the lease, though I was a named sub-lessor.
• Mysteriously, my name shows up on a mailbox a day later without my asking.  I use my key, but it won’t open.  Why?  The property managers put my name on the wrong box.
• That night, I open the mailbox and voila!  Notices from the post office start spilling out.
• Some of which say (when translated by a co-worker) that items will be returned to sender within days.

Yikes!  The clock is ticking.

2.  Online track and trace had its own arcane messages.  Herewith is one:

(begin)

(end)

“Called upon cooperation”?  Holy sh*t!  What kind of meeting for “ko-operation” am I invited to?

3.  An empathetic co-worker agrees to accompany me to the two post offices where my stuff is being held.  I think his role in our office is a “fixer”, as he seems to relish the forthcoming fight with the bureaucratic machine.

4. We get to the first building.  Outside of office “A” there are chairs.  People are nervously pacing the hallway.  A chime sounds, and the next party is invited to enter.  We enter, only to find another set of chairs, there for no apparent reason.

The sheaf of official notices is presented.  We are directed to office “B” down the hall.

In office “B” several supporting pieces of paper are retrieved from a file.  They are stamped in multiple places and given to us.  We are invited to return to office “A”.

In office “A”, my passport is requested for review (your passport is asked for everywhere.  I’m waiting to be asked for it in a coffee queue).  I’m asked for a copy of my lease.  Thankfully, I had read up on the topic of immigration and knew that proof of accommodation was another common requirement for various government processes.

The official then asks for me to fill out an affidavit that these are personal belongings, meant to accompany me as a (now semi-official) resident.  The purpose of which is to avoid any customs or excise fees.

However, there is no form.  Instead, the official pulls out a binder and begins reading phrases, which my Czech co-worker is furiously writing on a clean sheet of paper.  My affidavit is thereby constructed.

Some of the other documents are stamped.  By then, these papers are a sea of ink; there had to be 10 stamps on each.  We are asked to proceed to office “B” for further processing.

After more furious stamping in office “B”, we are done.  Four of my 8 boxes are released.  They are crushed, and wrapped like mummies in Ceska Posta packing tape in an apparent effort to stop the contents from spilling out.

“Have a nice day!”, everyone says to each other in pleasant, singsong tones.

5.  Off to the other post office, located in my neighborhood.  Apparent, these four boxes passed through customs without any affidavit needed.  Though the contents we nearly identical.  A little while later, after struggling with a computer system from a bygone era, the clerk presents the packages.  Crushed.  Mummified.

“Have a nice day!”

6. Two more boxes were still being processed by customs.  I asked my co-worker if he wanted to bet on the outcome: would they both pass customs and proceed to the neighborhood post office?  Would they require another visit to the affidavit-takers?

NE!  (No.)  One box went to customs for affidavit-retrieval, and the second to the neighborhood depot.  The arbitrary processing was a beautiful thing.

7.  So why does this bureaucracy still exist?

One has to keep in mind the central role of the Czech post office and its legacy as the main interface to the government on many matters.  For example, you can still go to the post office to pay your rent, utility bills, mobile phone bill, etc.  They are in effect the central payment processor for the whole economy.

So the post office is designed to remain involved.  Processes are designed to ensure full “utilization” of its employees.  Ceska Posta was never, and is still not, about getting money from you.  Such is the legacy of the communist era.  Heck, this whole experience of mine cost me nothing in fees but for a few taxi rides.

No, it’s about ensuring the bureaucracy justifies its existence with mandatory, arcane policies and processes.

And that, my friends, we can find in our governments the world over.

Oh yeah, for a “documentary” on how this all works, watch the movie Brazil

Postscript:

My wife, in parallel, had sent a desperate email to a general mailbox at Ceska Posta.  In it, she made a plea for help in locating the boxes and telling us how to get them.  Days later, a thoughtful reply arrived.  The email had been forwarded through multiple people.  It was clear that with each reading, someone had made an effort to get it to the right person.  They might be working for a bureaucracy, but they’re nice people.

I made the first of many coming train journeys between Prague and Brno this week.  Life in the Czech Republic for now is a series of first impressions.  And the first impressions you get from a train ride can be quite different than a car.  Maybe I was in a reflective mood, but the things I saw led to further reflection on what it means to be part of the global economy today.

So here goes….

The landscape

The Czech countryside is beautiful; full of rolling hills that are especially green as it’s now Spring.  Little villages and hamlets are tucked in valleys formed by larger hills or small rivers.  Pastures surround others.  You can imagine a simple, agrarian lifestyle here.

However, many villages have small factories within.

What has become of the factories?

Reflecting on the villages led me to think about those factories.

One can imagine the fate and prosperity of the village as being tied to the financial health of the factory.  Certainly this was the case in Massachusetts.  Across the state,  you see evidence of bygone prosperity in the mill towns that were once leading the Industrial Revolution but have since been left behind.

It could be worse for the Czech factories.  After all, under the communist regime in Czechoslovakia, production (“produktion”?) was determined by the State.  So, a factory in many respects had its life assured so long as the apparatchniks decided so.

Fast-forward to today, where these factories at a minimum have to compete with any others in the European Union.  And perhaps the world.  How would they survive?

Business literature is full of material on the need to specialize in the face of global competition.  Perhaps one narrows the products offered to create a very strong niche.  Or uses skills resident in the workforce but applies them to another type of product.  I’ll leave it to you to explore the topic.

Change and change management

The more I thought about those little factories, the more I realized the role that change management would play in their survival.  Imagine the upheaval of changing the products that a factory produces, and the skepticism in the workforce that it’s needed.  Or disbelief that it’s even feasible.

What might be necessary might not be what happens.  Such is our innate resistance to change.  I’m willing to bet lots of those factories are making it: the ones that embraced change.

I’ve come to believe that virtually every business challenge is about change.  More specifically, the immense difficulting of change.

I’m going to leave it at that for now.  Change management is a rich subject, and I’ll be writing about it more.  In my own company, change is afoot with the arrival of non-Czechs such as myself.  So I’m getting the experience first-hand.

Stay tuned.