Ukrainian Idyll

We are at the end of almost ten months in Ukraine - time to reflect, to ponder, to sober up for the trip home. Time to decide what to do with the small army of vodka-filled Cossack warrior decanters I have been given. Time to start the painful process of saying goodbye to the new friends that we have made here.

It has been a wild ride. I taught eight classes at Kherson State University, two courses to local entrepreneurs at the university's small business center, and gave a set of lectures on American culture (I didn't know we had any) to the students of the Lyceum (College prep high school attached to the university and filled with the kind of overachieving Type A kids that we all hope our kids will marry). I also gave guest lectures at five other universities (Thus the vodka-filled Cossacks and a great set of pocket calendars with university logos on them.) I taught a lot but learned even more.

The most important lesson I learned is: “â Óêðà¿í³ âñå ìîæëèâå” [in Ukraine, everything is possible). Even if the train is completely full, you can still get a first class compartment if you have a friend in the Rector's office, who has a friend in the Oblast administration, who has a friend at the train station. It is possible to have your article added to the journal after the journal has been published. “No, this bus does not go to the university, but for you (and 20 hryvnias), it will.”

We live in Kherson where the Dnipro River meets the Black Sea. A Russian-speaking, ex-Cossack country between the steppe and the sea, Kherson is described as a provincial capitol. This means that we have a drama theater that gets occasional performances from Moscow or Kyiv, but we also graze goats in the central park and one encounters the occasional chicken trying to cross the road. Kherson has kept its Soviet past alive, with a giant Lenin statute in the central square and streets with names like Komsomolskaya and October Revolution Avenue. I sometimes like to stand at Commie Ground Zero - the corner of Lenin Street and Karl Max Boulevard and stare at the weedy monument to Lenin in front of the hottest new nightclub in town: the stern dictatorship of the proletariat overthrown by rap music videos. Our airport only works when the President comes to visit us.

There are still some unanswered questions about Ukraine. Why, in a building with an entrance row of six doors, is only one unlocked? Why are the berths in trains 190 cm long but the sheets are only 170 cm? How many people (and potatoes) can actually fit in one marshrutka [minibus]? How short can young women's skirts get? - how high their boots? How many Russian verbs are there, anyway? And what is up with salo [bacon]? How much vodka can one drink at a faculty birthday party and still teach in the afternoon? Clearly my research here is not complete and I will have to return.

The most common questions my students asked were about how they compared to their counterparts in New York. The answer is complex in detail but simple in concept - like economics itself. I found my Ukrainian students to be much like students everywhere - sometimes eager to learn, sometimes brilliant, sometimes lazy, and always a bit concerned with the future. I tried to convince them that their future would be what they built, not what my generation gave them. I also tried to convince them that salo will never sell as a snack food in the US. Sorry, but we are just not going to eat it - even on a stick. I will miss them most of all.

I have learned to love and hate the Ukrainian and Russian languages. Beautiful and powerful, but I will be dead before I can master either. I finally presented one paper in Russian at a finance conference at the Dnipropetrovsk National University. After weeks of work, I managed to stumble through the paper in childlike Russian. I either called for the National Bank of Ukraine to float the hryvnia or suggested that bacon be adopted as the national currency - depends on where I put the stress in some key words. The audience applauded politely and suggested that I use the rest of the conference to practice my English.

We have been treated like rock stars throughout Ukraine. Everyone has been kind and helpful, and has shown real interest in our impressions of Ukraine and her wonderful people. Even police officers extracting bribes and taxi drivers jacking up their fares have been genuinely friendly about things and interested in how we find Ukraine.

I have a few pieces of advice for new Fulbrighters in Ukraine. Vodka for breakfast is better than it sounds at first. Fastening your seat belt in a taxi is not a sign of cowardice. Those designer clothes are not real. If possible, always travel with someone like my wife Jeannie - resourceful, fearless, and always open to adventure. I would not have lasted a day without her. If you have access to teenagers, bring them. If you don't have children, borrow some. My 20-year-old son Keir has been a more exciting representative of American culture and hope than I ever could have been; he has learned things that cannot be taught in American universities. Óäà÷³! [Success!]