Author Archives: Kurt's Fulbright

A couple of trips outside of Rome took us to Florence and Venice.

Everyone loves Florence. We were there for much too brief a time (e.g., I didn’t get to see Michelangelo’s David). Climbed Il Duomo, toured the Uffizi, ate some gelato.  Sounding like Douglas MacArthur, with a different attitude: “I will return.”

Everyone hates Venice. It has been turned into a theme park, invaded by enormous predators, unloading their locust-like cargo to overwhelm the small area and the small population of actual Venetians. These predators are called cruise ships. They are not popular with the locals. On the other hand, I had a great supper, saw some fabulous art and St. Mark’s Basilica, and, why yes, ate some gelato. My Roman friends said “you have to go to Venice. Once.” Seems about right.

Eventually, I had to leave Rome and head back to the States. I had not realized at the time that Air Canada took so literally the term “eventually.” 40 hours between Rome and Albany, NY.

Il incubo.

I then headed to Charlotte, North Carolina for my Fulbright orientation. On the way, I spent the night in Lexington, Virginia, saw the cemetery where—among others—Thomas Jonathan “Stonewall” Jackson is buried, and toured his house. I don’t think of Jackson as a saint, but the tour guides apparently did, complimenting him on just how wonderfully he treated his slaves while also neglecting to mention that he died after his own troops accidentally shot him at Chancellorsville. Details, I suppose.

In Charlotte, we had our Pre-Departure Orientation. Normally, if I have to wear a name tag and participate in “team building” exercises, I flee or at least find some place to hide. But this orientation was remarkably well-run, all the people attending were fun to talk with, the staff was professional and efficient, and I learned a lot. I heard some great stories, including one about a scientist in Antarctica who went mad, barricaded his part of the site and proceeded to make his own meth and weapons. This combination of The Thing and The Shining, however, ended well. I did, on occasion, wonder how I got included in a group of such talented people.

I must compliment one staff member, who shall remain nameless since I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want it known that she has been seen with me in public. The last session was a 2-hour discussion of all remaining questions about going to China. This quickly turned into 35 over-educated, naturally inquisitive academics asking remarkably detailed questions about tax liability. The staff member fielded all questions with aplomb, professionalism, and extraordinary patience. I’m pretty dubious about the political appointees in the State Department and related areas, but the permanent staff members I met, including Field Officers, were as good at their jobs as anyone I’ve met.

The next blog entry will be written from Beijing, and the actual Fulbright will begin.

But, of course, before leaving the USA:

Baseball. Hot Dogs. Bluegrass.

Not that much. I mean, if I asked a random person sitting in a random waiting room with me “So, what do you think about the Taiping Rebellion?,” I’d probably sound informed. But, generally, I started the China game pretty late in the day—not advisable when trying to catch up on 3,000 (4,000 or 5,000: take your pick) years of history. Especially when that history involves 56 ethnic groups,  a bunch of surrounding countries, quasi-permeable national boundaries that change from time to time, approximately two zillion names and locations, and all of it wrapped within the Chinese language(s). And the latter itself has its own ridiculously complex history.

There is a game some academics play called “Humiliation™.” The idea is to sit around and identify books in one’s discipline that you haven’t read; the most embarrassing lacuna wins. I used to win with Plato’s Republic, but then I screwed up my substantial competitive advantage by reading it.

This blog will have a bit of that about it. I first went to China in 2007, and I’ve been trying to learn Mandarin/Putonghua/HanYu since then. I can say a few things, I can read a few things, I can write some characters. But when someone says something to me, I often haven’t the slightest idea what he or she is saying. Things are improving, but it is a bit embarrassing to be so bad at a language after 12 years. I do, however, persist, so I have obstinacy on my side. I told my Chinese tutor, the lovely and wise Xiao Shu (who will be discussed again, no doubt) that I was confident I would be fluent by the time I was 187 years old. She gave me the same look she usually gives me when I say something, regardless of the language in which it is said.

But I’ve read a lot, listened a lot, watched a lot, and lived about a total of two years in China; this academic year will be the longest (11 months) continuous period. I’m just about ready to identify the tip of the iceberg. If I understand just part of the tiniest part of that iceberg, that may be all I can hope for.  

Mostly I just want to be prepared in case someone behind me taps me on the shoulder at the grocery store and asks “”So, what do you think about the Taiping Rebellion?”

I’ll be ready.