That would be a great mistake, however. Those numbers are more likely to reveal a new level of sophistication in those who have come west for a better life.

Most of the slick new designer office buildings and luxury flats going up these days in Prague feature the fine craftsmanship of Ukrainian workers, often working without proper safety equipment or taxpayer status. Because of the quality of their labor and Ukraine's solid work ethic, such workers are very much in demand by builders throughout the city and beyond.

Not many of them are likely to be asylum seekers. Or former asylum seekers who have been granted work permits.

One reason, says Vladan Brož of the Center for Migration Issues, is what's known as the Dublin agreement, a controversial 1993 European Union regulation on refugees that requires foreign asylum seekers to apply in the first EU country they reach or the first one to provide a visa, regardless of its regulations. "And since the Czech Republic is no longer an EU border state," says Brož, "the number of applicants is lower than in the past."

So, while the Czech Republic's problems move east, another development has changed the picture.

Undocumented workers have moved seamlessly into the growing gray economy that has created wealth for a handful of slick entrepreneurs. For many thousands of others, it has meant families back home who no longer have to worry about having enough to eat.

In a much-circulated recent edition of the news and current affairs weekly Týden, a list of Czech billionaires proved a hot cover story. It featured not only the founder of the runaway success search engine Seznam, Ivo Lukačovič, who we're told is a national heartthrob for educated women, but an impressive number of Russians and Ukrainians.

Meanwhile, the number of Russian asylum seekers in the Czech Republic has dropped from 4,852 per year in 2002 to 260 last year. Clearly, many of those classed as Russians were Chechen refugees fleeing civil war. But with the number of official Russian refugees at only 81 as of July 31 this year, the clear question is: Where have they gone?

The answer, according to many nongovernmental agencies that work with them, is simple. Underground.

That shouldn't surprise anyone who has ever witnessed the official asylum process up close. Although the Czech Republic's lumbering bureaucracy for handling foreign refugees is infamous for its lack of speed and the dearth of information available to applicants about what they need to do, it is staffed by many dedicated, low-paid professionals who find their work deeply rewarding.

It's also a complete rat's nest of interdepartmental confusion that keeps families on hold for years.

The problem is both global and ancient, with every new war, famine and religious purge causing waves of people to leave their homelands for unknown destinations where everyone believes life will be easier.

It's not going away any time soon. And the red tape, endless forms and proof of qualification required — persecuted Kazakhs are asked for documentation that local police are killing Muslim sons — were probably never intended to make the process quick and easy.