Worst foot forward

If you climb to the top of mount Říp - from where, according to myth, the father of all Czechs observed the flat Bohemian landscape and decided to settle down - you will find a pub and a Romanesque church next to one another. The pub and the church, the two most traditional institutions of Czech culture, symbolize the harmony between the profane and the sacred, the beer mug and the sacramental grail, the goulash and the gown, the dumpling and the miter. But they also show Czech tolerance. On the pub, opposite the church, hangs a sign that states: "As Mecca is to the Muslim, so is Říp to the Czech!"

The slogan encourages Czechs to conduct a pilgrimage to mount Říp at least once in their lifetime, as the Muslim is required to make the Hajj, a pilgrimage to Mecca, at least once in a lifetime. A Muslim who participates in the Hajj must circle the Ka'aba, the cube-shaped black building at the center of Mecca, seven times. Likewise, a Czech on pilgrimage to Říp must buy seven rounds of beer at the pub on the top.

But the affinity between Czech and Muslim cultures goes much deeper. The Muslim must take off his shoes before entering a mosque. There is no such requirement at Czech churches. But try to enter a Czech home without taking off your shoes, and you will face a wrath comparable to what you would encounter if you open a pub specializing in pork dishes and hard liquor outside a Revolutionary Guard base in Tehran. An Englishman's home is his castle. An American's home is her ranch. Israeli homes look like bunkers. But Czech homes are like personal mosques.

This peculiar shoe-removing custom catches newcomers by surprise: You are finally invited for dinner at the home of your Czech boss, colleague or friend. You wash and shave meticulously, wear a nice suit and bring an impressive bouquet of flowers or a good bottle of wine. You join Czech friends also attending the dinner and ring the bell. Then, as the door opens, something surreal happens: Your Czech friends hand over the flowers and wine, and then, without any prompt from the host or other apparent reason, they proceed to take off their shoes, leave them at the entrance and accept, with gratitude, shoes from their host. Old, frayed, stained and smelly home-shoes quickly replace the dress or high-heeled shoes under the suits and evening dresses.

Since Czech home-shoes cannot be washed, and are never thrown away, they just accumulate as new ones are bought and worn, and the old ones are kept in storage for possible guests. Over the years, Czech families accumulate dozens of home-shoes of all sizes reserved for the use of their guests. The literal sweat and toil of a century of Czech history leave their marks on these massive storages of home-shoes. Yet, declining these nests of bacteria and fungi is considered the height of bad manners.

When there are too many guests, there may not be enough home-shoes in the correct sizes. In such exceptional circumstances, Czechs expect their guests to strip to their socks. In return for such magnanimous permissiveness, the very least the guest can do is use his socks to shine the floors of the host's home.

The origins of this peculiar custom remain shrouded in mystery. Some trace it all the way back to Moses and the burning bush. According to the Bible, God instructed Moses to take off his shoes on that holy ground. Unfortunately, the Bible fails to inform us whether God provided Moses with alternative home-shoes and, if so, of their history. For example, had they been worn before, say by Noah in his ark or Adam in the Garden of Eden? The secular Czechs transferred the locus of holiness from the burning bush to the home. When they migrated to the United States, they brought this peculiar custom with them. For example, the grand seal of the University of Kansas depicts a Czech at home.

Émigré Czechs swear that, prior to World War II and the communist takeover, shoes remained firmly attached to feet. Soviet soldiers must have brought the peculiar custom with them. The Russians, who were coming home from muddy fields and snowy tundras, took their shoes off before invading Czech homes and ravishing Czech damsels, passing on the particular custom in a most peculiar way. An even more sinister explanation connects placing street-shoes in front of the door to the control methods of the totalitarian state. The agents of the communist secret police, the StB, were able to infer who was and was not at home by counting the number and types of shoes left outside of the door. If the dissident's shoes were outside, she or he must be at home. If other previously unseen adult shoes were there as well, there must have been a dissident meeting inside. If only the kids' shoes were there, the dissident was away. This led the dissidents to exchange shoes to confuse the secret police about where they actually were.

The recent "War on Terror" offers further reinforcement for this Czech tradition. No shoe-bomber can get inside a Czech home. Even former President George W. Bush can be safe in a Czech home since no Iraqi journalist can take off his shoes and hurl them at him. Home-shoes are less heavy and dangerous than dress shoes. It is also more difficult to aim them precisely. Czech homes, like maximum-security airports, are shoe-safe.

Critics on the left, however, suggest the peculiar custom is a wicked capitalist scheme. Shoe companies, like the Czech Baťa, seek to promote the selling of multiple pairs of home-shoes to each family. Companies that sell socks encourage any practice that leads to a quick turnover.

Irrespective of the origins, contemporary Czech culture has adopted a dualist Taoist philosophy on shoes. There are two forces (like the Yin and Yang): the outside and the inside. The outside is dirt and fuj, cold and dangerous. The inside is clean and warm and safe. The two can live in harmony as long as they are strictly separated. Shoes are for and of the outside. Allowing them into the ultimate inside, the home, would destroy the natural balance and harmony of the universe. No precautions are too severe to preserve the divide. One of my previous neighbors had her children strip to their underwear in the apartment building corridor before allowing them to enter the apartment after school.

Personally, I find taking off my shoes in public as embarrassing as taking off my pants. Who knows what lies beneath? Socks can have holes, not to mention odors. Borrowing other people's home-shoes raises hygienic issues, like wearing somebody else's unwashed underwear.

The question is: How to keep one's shoes and dignity in Czech society?

One of the most pleasant experiences I had in the early 1990s when I taught at a high school in Prague was when, upon entering the school for the first time, the porter (the dreaded vrátná) started shouting at me, incomprehensively at the time. "She wants you to take off your shoes," the students told me. "She doesn't realize you're a teacher." Unlike students, teachers were not required to change shoes when entering the school. The glow of privilege that rose in me can only be compared to the one that filled me upon attending a White House dinner and spotting Audrey Hepburn. If only life were always like that.

Meanwhile, I pretend to forget the local custom on house visits. After all, I am a foreigner, and I have lived in the Czech lands only since 1992. Polite Czechs pretend not to notice. Educated Czechs know their custom is peculiar: President Klaus does not take off his shoes upon entering the White House or No. 10 Downing Street.

Like eating pork and cabbage with dumplings, Czechs do some things at home they would not dream of doing abroad and would not expect others to understand. When I moved with my Czech wife to New York, the custom evaporated. When we returned to Prague, it re-emerged. Educated foreigners come here prepared, as well. My friend Ben, on his second visit from Alaska, brought with him his own home-shoes, which he carried with him wherever he went.

The most daring attempt to explain and justify this shoe-dropping Czech custom was proposed to me by the philosopher Jaroslav Peregrin at a recent conference on evolution at the Czech Academy of Sciences. He suggested it all has to do with reproduction: Taking off shoes increases the chances of procreation with Czechs.

Though I have already achieved that goal, one stern look from my wife Veronika is still enough to have me peel off my shoes and step into my home-shoes.

- The writer is the author of The Philosophy and Politics of Czech Dissidence: From Patočka to Havel and is completing a book titled The Legacies of Totalitarianism: A Political Theory of Post-Totalitarianism.

Aviezer Tucker can be reached at
features@praguepost.com