Jasmine Su is a 2023/2024 Fulbright 
ETA Alumna with a BS in Biomedical Engineering, plans to attend medical school, and a life-long passion for music. Due to Jasmine’s wide breadth of interests, she was placed at Otokar Březina Gymnázium and High School, a school where students prepare to study a variety of different fields at university. Her school is in Telč, a town of 5000 with a gorgeous historic center, protected and recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Before her program, Jasmine took a month-long intensive Czech language course, which significantly improved her everyday interactions by providing her with basic Czech language skills. However, as an English Teaching Assistant in a small town, Jasmine discovered that there is another language that even more reliably bridges people from various cultures: Music. Jasmine was introduced to Czech music in her youth orchestra through Bedřich Smetana’s Má vlast, a symphonic cycle titled “My Fatherland.” She continued to expand her musical repertoire by learning Czech folk songs such as Anděl (“Angel”) and Severní vítr ("Wind from the North") while in the Czech Republic. In her blog, Jasmine talks about the crucial role Music played during her grant period, “Music was actually one of my most loyal, steadfast friends during my Fulbright experience. Music, it turns out, had actively led me to new situations, won me unique opportunities, and helped me form lasting bonds with others.”
It’s been almost 6 months since the end of my Fulbright grant to the Czech Republic. And although time keeps moving forward, I often find myself looking back and reminiscing. I miss everything, from getting to know my friends, colleagues, and students, to honestly, my schedule (other Fulbrighters reading this will know how awesome it was to have “traveling to see your friends, and by extension, the Czech Republic” in your job description). When I am in my most nostalgic of moods, I hit play on a Spotify playlist titled český. As I listen to the familiar chords and Czech words, that I may or may not know the meaning of, it feels like I am being greeted by an old friend.
Recently, I had a realization. Music was actually one of my most loyal, steadfast friends during my Fulbright experience. Music, it turns out, had actively led me to new situations, won me unique opportunities, and helped me form lasting bonds with others. This epiphany came with a sort of abstract image. In my mind, I saw Music, an anthropomorphic figure, peeking out from my memories, stepping into the picture while I was writing my application, accompanying me faithfully during my early months in Telč, and following me across Czechia on my many adventures.
Okay, that picture might’ve been a bit too abstract, but hopefully we’ll be on the same page soon.
Now, I am by no means a professional musician, and I didn’t pursue a Fulbright related to music. But I do love music. This includes playing flute and piano, and also listening and dancing to music, whether with others or by myself. Being in Czechia also unearthed my love for singing (although ideally when my offkey moments can be hidden amidst other louder voices or instruments). Even though my official title was English Teaching Assistant, and my job was to encourage my students to speak English in whatever ways possible, I have to admit that there were times when words failed. Getting to know my students suddenly seemed a lot harder after I realized many of them weren’t yet comfortable chatting in English. Some of the people that I met didn’t even know enough English for me to start a conversation with them. But I still wanted to connect with them, so I searched for something that we could both understand and enjoy. My answer, ultimately, was Music.
To start at the beginning, I had first heard of the Czech Republic while playing Czech composer Bedřich Smetana’s symphony Má Vlast “My Fatherland” in youth orchestra when I was 17. The second movement about the Vltava river starts with a flute melody, the notes representing the flowing river itself. It is beautiful and lively, growing from a small stream into a great force of nature and then traversing the country through natural and historic sites. Our conductor challenged us to imagine ourselves as the water making its course. Little did I know that five years later, I would actually have the opportunity to do so myself. This time outside of my imagination, but still with Music.
In my Fulbright application, I wrote about how Music had inspired in me a genuine interest in the Czech Republic, leading me to pursue my Fulbright there. I also expressed that I wanted to connect with my community through Music. I’d imagined joining an orchestra or chamber group, and luckily (or rather, precisely because of this, through Fulbright Program Officer Kristyna’s sage matching process) my placement in Telč gave me access to the town’s Základní umělecká škola, a public after-school institution for music and the fine arts. While I didn’t end up joining a group exactly the way I’d envisioned, I did have the chance to play flute and piano with students and teachers alike.
Photo: A picture with Jitka (second from the left), a teacher at the Základní umělecká škola, after playing a concert together, me on flute and her on piano). Afterwards, Jitka invited me to dinner with her family. It was the first of many family dinners which I treasured deeply, both the company and the food. Once I even got a lesson on how to drive a manual tractor from Jitka’s husband, January 2024.
It was, in fact, the only time in my life that I’d had the chance to play with singers, accordionists, recorder players, and guitarists. The icing on the cake was that we performed concerts in historical locations like Kostel Jména Ježíš, a church from the 17th century, and at cultural events like Noc Kostelu, the Night of the Churches celebration. I almost couldn’t believe how fortunate I was for the opportunity to authentically experience Czech culture in this way. I felt even luckier that after some time, these musical partnerships bred some of my closest friendships. I was invited to my friends’ homes for coffee or dinner, ice-skated when the ponds froze, and went on bike trips during the warmer months. The hours spent rehearsing or playing concerts were the common ground which generated a connection that was ultimately much deeper. Music had led me to precious new relationships and experiences, proving to be a much better introduction compared to casual conversation.
Music also found me in surprising ways and places. As I prepared to join my students on their class ski trip, I saw them loading not only skis and snowboards onto the bus, but also a suspiciously guitar-shaped bag. After we arrived, I discovered that they had not only brought TWO guitars, but also a violin, and cajon drum! The first night, after a full day of downhill and cross country skiing, I heard the sound of music. My jelly-like legs carried me to the lounge where students were singing along to what was essentially a live band. I sat next to one of my students who had the lyrics pulled up, and despite my Czech being nowhere near fluent, I sounded out most of the words to the approximate melody and rhythm of the songs. One might even call it singing.
Photo: Having grown up skiing, I was beyond excited for the opportunity to join my students on their ski trip to Pec pod Sněžkou, a Czech ski town near Czechia’s highest peak. I hadn’t yet started teaching the students who went on the trip at that point in the school year, but skiing by day and singing by night proved to be an excellent way to get to know each other, March 2024.
Some students noticed me in surprise. I was usually so insistent that we only speak English, many of them didn’t realize that I knew any Czech. New smiles were shot in my direction, and I felt like I had gained a bit more of their interest and trust. Every night, we gathered to sing, and I found myself exclaiming joyfully in recognition when some of the songs were repeated. There, I hastily started a Spotify playlist which I titled český, which just means “Czech”, since that was the only descriptor I could think of at that moment. I collected the songs because I wanted to make sure that I could come back to those moments and remember the priceless experience, the amazing people, and the joy that I felt.
In the following weeks and months, I continued to listen to this playlist, learning the songs because I liked them, and also because I was inspired by how connected I felt with my students as we sang together. Since the songs were in Czech, it was now my turn to step out of my language comfort zone and experience a bit of what they were facing as they learned English. I was putting into practice the age-old advice which cites that relationships require both give and take.
The hours that I accumulated listening to those songs eventually proved fruitful. The songs became a sort of secret weapon that I would whip out, to the delight of many Czech people that I met, somehow forming a bond that was that much stronger. This was how I ended up singing in my students' living room with their families and in a wine bar until 3 am on a Wednesday (with heavily discounted wine). To bring things full circle, I also found myself singing with my students while canoeing down the Vltava river, the same river through which I was introduced to Czech music.
Photo: Music permeated many aspects of this trip which included 2.5 days of biking a total of 120 km through Czechia and Austria and 2.5 days of canoeing 50 km down the Vltava river. During the day, we sang as we biked and canoed. At night, we sang while gathered around a bonfire at our various campsites. And after experiencing major delays on our journey home, we took over the train station singing and dancing until our train arrived, May 2024.
But still, even more memorable was the time when Music helped me to win over an entire village — no small feat, even if the village only consisted of 30 people. On the night of April 30th, I found myself in Bělčovice, a village so small that most Czechs have probably never heard of it. We were celebrating Čarodějnice, the Czech witch burning holiday, and První Máj, or May Day, a celebration of spring that involved manually putting up a giant maypole in the village center/playground. Everyone gathered to eat and drink (of course) in the pavilion which was also situated in the center/playground. When I arrived, speaking English with my colleague who had brought me there, it became immediately apparent that they weren’t used to having foreign visitors. The village men emitted disgruntled, clearly disapproving comments, “Why isn’t she speaking Czech? We are in the Czech Republic, for crying out loud!” In an attempt to overcome this poor initial impression, I struck up a conversation in Czech. Unfortunately, this ended quickly due to my limited Czech, and I could sense a wall going up between us: the language barrier. But with one more trick up my sleeve, I wasn’t going to give up just yet.
It was, in fact, the only time in my life that I’d had the chance to play with singers, accordionists, recorder players, and guitarists. The icing on the cake was that we performed concerts in historical locations like Kostel Jména Ježíš, a church from the 17th century, and at cultural events like Noc Kostelu, the Night of the Churches celebration. I almost couldn’t believe how fortunate I was for the opportunity to authentically experience Czech culture in this way. I felt even luckier that after some time, these musical partnerships bred some of my closest friendships. I was invited to my friends’ homes for coffee or dinner, ice-skated when the ponds froze, and went on bike trips during the warmer months. The hours spent rehearsing or playing concerts were the common ground which generated a connection that was ultimately much deeper. Music had led me to precious new relationships and experiences, proving to be a much better introduction compared to casual conversation.
Music also found me in surprising ways and places. As I prepared to join my students on their class ski trip, I saw them loading not only skis and snowboards onto the bus, but also a suspiciously guitar-shaped bag. After we arrived, I discovered that they had not only brought TWO guitars, but also a violin, and cajon drum! The first night, after a full day of downhill and cross country skiing, I heard the sound of music. My jelly-like legs carried me to the lounge where students were singing along to what was essentially a live band. I sat next to one of my students who had the lyrics pulled up, and despite my Czech being nowhere near fluent, I sounded out most of the words to the approximate melody and rhythm of the songs. One might even call it singing.
Some students noticed me in surprise. I was usually so insistent that we only speak English, many of them didn’t realize that I knew any Czech. New smiles were shot in my direction, and I felt like I had gained a bit more of their interest and trust. Every night, we gathered to sing, and I found myself exclaiming joyfully in recognition when some of the songs were repeated. There, I hastily started a Spotify playlist which I titled český, which just means “Czech”, since that was the only descriptor I could think of at that moment. I collected the songs because I wanted to make sure that I could come back to those moments and remember the priceless experience, the amazing people, and the joy that I felt.
In the following weeks and months, I continued to listen to this playlist, learning the songs because I liked them, and also because I was inspired by how connected I felt with my students as we sang together. Since the songs were in Czech, it was now my turn to step out of my language comfort zone and experience a bit of what they were facing as they learned English. I was putting into practice the age-old advice which cites that relationships require both give and take.
The hours that I accumulated listening to those songs eventually proved fruitful. The songs became a sort of secret weapon that I would whip out, to the delight of many Czech people that I met, somehow forming a bond that was that much stronger. This was how I ended up singing in my students' living room with their families and in a wine bar until 3 am on a Wednesday (with heavily discounted wine). To bring things full circle, I also found myself singing with my students while canoeing down the Vltava river, the same river through which I was introduced to Czech music.
But still, even more memorable was the time when Music helped me to win over an entire village — no small feat, even if the village only consisted of 30 people. On the night of April 30th, I found myself in Bělčovice, a village so small that most Czechs have probably never heard of it. We were celebrating Čarodějnice, the Czech witch burning holiday, and První Máj, or May Day, a celebration of spring that involved manually putting up a giant maypole in the village center/playground. Everyone gathered to eat and drink (of course) in the pavilion which was also situated in the center/playground. When I arrived, speaking English with my colleague who had brought me there, it became immediately apparent that they weren’t used to having foreign visitors. The village men emitted disgruntled, clearly disapproving comments, “Why isn’t she speaking Czech? We are in the Czech Republic, for crying out loud!” In an attempt to overcome this poor initial impression, I struck up a conversation in Czech. Unfortunately, this ended quickly due to my limited Czech, and I could sense a wall going up between us: the language barrier. But with one more trick up my sleeve, I wasn’t going to give up just yet.
Photo: One last picture taken in Bělčovice during the Čarodějnice/První Máj celebration with my colleague, Olča, her husband, and some of the neighbors. The smiles on our faces speak to how much fun we ended up having by the end of the night, April 2024.
Once everyone was full of barbeque meat and the slivovice/pivo/insert-your-drink-of-choice had started flowing in earnest, someone connected their phone to a speaker. It was the perfect assist. Taking my chance, I pointed to the phone and asked, “Můžu?” “May I?” I grinned back at the man’s surprised, but curious, expression as he handed over the phone. Severni Vitr started playing, and suddenly, I had captured the attention of everyone there. “How does this American girl know THIS song?” I did my best to sing along and continued to queue up my favorites. Cheers went out every time everyone recognized another song, and soon, I was being asked to dance. I didn’t know the waltz or whatever they were doing, but we certainly had crossed a bridge. Stumbling through the steps with laughter ripping through the air, it finally felt like a party. When 2 AM rolled around, my new friends were begging me not to leave.
Now, as the opening chords of Karel Kryl’s Anděl come through my headphones, the first song on my český playlist, I feel a tug in my heart. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe that when I open them, I’ll find myself looking out the window on a České dráhy train or crowded around a bonfire with my Czech friends while roasting špekáčky. I am so grateful that Music somehow led me to such a wonderful country where I hold many of my fondest memories. And I am even more grateful for all the people that I had either met or grown closer to thanks to Music. Even more, I am thankful that I can still keep Music close to me, despite the passing of time or many miles separating me from the Czech Republic.
True to what I had written on my application more than two years ago, Music proved itself to be “a different kind of language that transcends spoken language barriers.” My experience speaks to the truth of this conjecture, and I will continue to wield this not-so-secret weapon, no matter where I go.
Once everyone was full of barbeque meat and the slivovice/pivo/insert-your-drink-of-choice had started flowing in earnest, someone connected their phone to a speaker. It was the perfect assist. Taking my chance, I pointed to the phone and asked, “Můžu?” “May I?” I grinned back at the man’s surprised, but curious, expression as he handed over the phone. Severni Vitr started playing, and suddenly, I had captured the attention of everyone there. “How does this American girl know THIS song?” I did my best to sing along and continued to queue up my favorites. Cheers went out every time everyone recognized another song, and soon, I was being asked to dance. I didn’t know the waltz or whatever they were doing, but we certainly had crossed a bridge. Stumbling through the steps with laughter ripping through the air, it finally felt like a party. When 2 AM rolled around, my new friends were begging me not to leave.
Now, as the opening chords of Karel Kryl’s Anděl come through my headphones, the first song on my český playlist, I feel a tug in my heart. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe that when I open them, I’ll find myself looking out the window on a České dráhy train or crowded around a bonfire with my Czech friends while roasting špekáčky. I am so grateful that Music somehow led me to such a wonderful country where I hold many of my fondest memories. And I am even more grateful for all the people that I had either met or grown closer to thanks to Music. Even more, I am thankful that I can still keep Music close to me, despite the passing of time or many miles separating me from the Czech Republic.
True to what I had written on my application more than two years ago, Music proved itself to be “a different kind of language that transcends spoken language barriers.” My experience speaks to the truth of this conjecture, and I will continue to wield this not-so-secret weapon, no matter where I go.
Photo: My students and I pictured at my final “Goodbye Party” that I hosted at the end of the year. Many of my students came to hang out and say goodbye. Of course, it could not be without music, and two of my students (who have their own band!) graciously agreed to play guitar, June 2024.