Can't we all just get along?

by Karl

Back when there was a Czechoslovakia, American students learning geography might naturally assume that there were people called “Czechoslovaks,” just like in Italy there were Italians and in Germany there were Germans. But this was a long name, with weird spelling to boot (“cz” pronounced like “ch,” and “ch” pronounced like “k”—what’s that about?), so “Czechoslovak” was often shortened to “Czech.” This didn’t get rid of the weird spelling issues, but it did save three syllables, so its use was widespread. If there were an Olympic hockey match between the U.S. and Czechoslovakia, the Americans were said to be playing “the Czechs.”

This seemed innocent enough to Americans—after all, people from other countries in the western hemisphere might object to the way we hogged the title “Americans,” but what were we supposed to call ourselves? “U.S. Americans”? Ungainly. “North Americans”? Well, that would still include Canada—and Mexico, too, technically, though they were part of “Latin America,” and so not really in North America, except to some stickler of a geography teacher.

So we were equally comfortable calling ourselves “Americans” and referring to people from Czechoslovakia as “Czechs.”

But if you happened to study the history or geography of the region more closely, at some point you had the surprising discovery that there were actually two different … peoples in Czechoslovakia: Czechs and Slovaks. What’s the difference? It can be summed up with history, religion, economics, and language.

Mluvíš česky?

I just finished a two-week intensive Czech class through Czech Language Training that I've been attending three hours each weekday since Garrett's birthday. Because I didn't have enough going on this past fortnight.

And after focusing on česky jazyk (Czech language) for almost 30 hours of class time -- and the odd evening minutes here and there -- I'm starting to understand a little of the buzz around me.

Petra, the instructor, was great. Very laid back and cheerful, she made the classes fun.


That's right, taking Czech classes was kind of fun. I mentioned this to an acquaintance I bumped into last weekend.

"In the four and a half years I've lived here, that is the first time anyone has said learning Czech was fun," she replied.

I credit Petra.

But we had a good mix of folks, too.

Here we are, a veritable melting pot. We represented five continents and languages, lacking only Australia. And Antarctica.


Mohammed (from Tunisia) arrived in the fall. His wife is Czech. Luis (Colombia) is engaged to a Czech woman. They met in Australia, so perhaps he's our Australia connection. He's committed to giving Prague a year before he decides whether or not he can abide the climate. And the language.

Celine (France) is a student getting a masters in education. The Czech class helped her fulfill course requirements for her degree. And Sanoj (India) arrived just a day or two before the class started. He is a social worker and starts his job in two weeks helping disadvantaged children at a local facility.

It was a relief, if humbling, that our common language was English. Which means all of these guys were learning their third language, if not fourth. I have some knowledge of Spanish, but I couldn't claim any level of fluency. Ah, America.


The class actually finishes tomorrow, but my book group gathers in the morning I decided I'd rather discuss Three Cups of Tea over homemade goodies and a Christmas book swap than conjugate irregular verbs in the future tense.

Go ahead, you can say it: slacker.