Is Prague finally ‘over’? Before you answer, one word: Hooters
Filed under: Czech Republic
Topics covered : Boners & Boobs, Evil Capitalism, Expats
2 Comments
Even when I lived in Prague in 2002, the Czech capital was said to be ‘over.’ That is, overexposed, overdeveloped and overrun by newcomers who weren’t there when shit was still real, man. If you believed the guys who left the U.S. in the late 90s, there was no sense of mystery anywhere in Europe. There was no adventure. And worse yet, no longer anywhere to hide from the creeping American culture.
That’s how it goes in the vast land known as Expatria. Whoever gets there first earns bragging rights for discovering that particular corner of the world. Of course, the problem is — someone else was always there first. In Prague circa 2002, for example, my generation of expats was (at the very least) fourth wave. Then there’s the whole issue of, you know, the local population. While I see great value in living outside of one’s native culture, too many expats are just running away — from their problems, from their uncaring home town, from their mommies, from lots of things. Too many expats treat the world like their playground.
That said, is Prague really, truly, finally, once and for all — over? Here’s why I ask:
T.G.I. Fridays, soulless as it is in the United States, becomes even emptier on Na P?íkop?. Ben & Jerry’s, pared down to 10 or so flavors on that same street, becomes muted and out of place, its endearing ice-cream names lost in translation for customers who have never heard of jam-band Phish or Jerry Garcia.
It quickly becomes apparent that the same, strained commercial cultural exchange is taking place at Hooters Prague, which opened June 4. Actually, “exchange” might be the wrong word. Delivery and assembly is the directive from the “black shirts,” Hooters girls from the United States who lead and bark orders like tawdry drill sergeants to slightly bewildered-looking local Hooters recruits.
This produces some very strange scenes. On our visit, a waitress appeared with a plate held aloft and asked, “Calamari?” There were no takers in the small back room, which didn’t seem to register with her. “Nobody ordered calamari?”
What happened next seemed almost scripted, as if management had given the girls cute scenarios to act out, so that smug patrons could swoop in and set them straight. The waitress was in fact holding a plate of onion rings. When that was pointed out to her, she hilariously stood her ground, insisting for a good 15 seconds that it was calamari.
In the end, an American eye for fried circular foodstuffs prevailed. The waitress blushed, giggled and set down a plate of doughy but passable fried onions, which were enjoyed with a side of tangy Thousand Island dressing.
I’m not one of those arrogant, annoying travelers who condemns anyone with a craving for a Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino in, say, Thailand. I’ve savored a Big Mac in Korea, pounded pints of Bud at a TGIF in Trinidad and devoured Pizza Hut in Pakistan. (Yeah, there’s one in Lahore.) Naturally, most of my meals and drinks are sourced locally, but I have no problem with the occasional franchised indulgence.
Still. A Hooters in Prague sounds…awful. And unnecessary. Hooters belongs in Florida, where henpecked husbands need to see titties — any titties — at any cost. For all its midwinter dreariness, Prague is a sexy city. The women are beautiful, smart and sassy. Seeing them dressed in Hooters orange must be like watching a Triple Crown-winning thoroughbred giving pony rides at the state fair.
Maybe they were right, those protesters who smashed the plate glass windows at Prague’s first McDonald’s. Maybe the world is dying — one KFC Twister…one BK Quad Stacker…one order of buffalo wings at a time.
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I was living in Prague the the early eighties when they opened the first McDonald’s…this was quite an event because the country was still communist getting any meat that was not encased in a sausage was quite a feat.
The restaurant has an immediate problem and it had nothing to do with poor sales or procuring meat for the burgers: It was that its hoard of customers still lived in a very old Europe and were accustomed to a leisurely cafe society. Customers would take their burger and shake to a table to eat and talk for hours getting up only to order a coffee. There was no fast food or rush to eat and drive. There were ex pats there then, there for the same reason foreigners travel to Cuba; it was cheap and filled with young pretty women who wanted a good time. But mostly it was cheap and one could get anything on the black market.
Now the west has arrived and the cabarets that once entertained with comedy and puppets and dancing like an old Lisa Minnelli film have been turned into crass and dangerous strip clubs. The old hotel cafes are now discos and American fast food is a reality in every neighborhood. The black marketeers of old were the only ones who understood capitalism and now they flourish.
Reality has caught up with the place that I first viewed as a living museum of art deco. It had to come the people were suffocating under the repression of spirit and ideas. Let us hope that the new ambitious citizens and ex pats do not forget the treasures and traditions of old because they too hold value.
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