If you were young and ambitious in the 1990s, Prague was the place to be.
The Czech Republic was the most accessible of the newly free Eastern European countries, and Western firms of every description were charging in with elbows flying, looking for market share, brand recognition, or bargain-priced manufacturing facilities. Along with those companies came an army of youthful ex-patriots -- Europeans and Americans, all graduates of respected universities, and all willing to gnaw off their own hands to get a chance at boots-on-the-ground experience in international business.
One evening back then, I sat in a Prague pizza parlor with more than half a dozen such worldly young workers. They were in their 20s and early 30s, and they hailed from the United States, France, Germany and Italy. Only one -- Stefan -- was Czech, and he served as informal master of ceremonies for the get-together.
To an American, Stefan was a remarkable character. It wasn't his obvious intelligence, grasp of issues, or quick wit that impressed, however. It was his ability to slip effortlessly between his native tongue and English, French, Italian, and German. In a pinch, he said, he could muster a few words of Slovenian and Croatian, too.
Stefan's linguistic dexterity was something to see. Then again, everyone present was a polyglot to some degree -- except the two Americans, both of whom held MBAs from prestigious schools of business, and both of whom were employed in managerial positions in the Prague offices of high-powered U.S. firms.
