Admittedly, I had been anticipating this week’s Gentleman’s Time subject for over a week. A slough of professors was arriving on campus for the Media Studies conference, and I was determined to have at least one of them take a break from the rigors of academic discourse for a quick bite or a leisurely glass. I had even chosen a potential subject named Meaghan Morris, but more for self-serving interests involving my thesis than anything else. After meeting the impressive faculty group, I dabbled with inviting one of the other guests, but I could not resist an Australian professor teaching in Hong Kong.

I knew that my professor of choice would be Professor Morris when, while at lunch, she expressed her gripes about the hotel at which she was lodging. She could not seem to acquire a bottle of scotch from the hotel’s concierge. In days of old, a gentleman would be quick to note that nary but a few ladies enjoys a glass of fine scotch. In light of twentieth century developments in gender relations and personal experience it seems that almost no one, male or female, enjoys scotch. Therefore, I was quite pleased to find even one other soul who truly enjoys the fineries of scotch.

Ms. Morris was “simply delighted” that she would not be waiting idly for an airport shuttle but could instead “do some touring.” She decided that since the conference ended early, and she and I could take an impromptu architectural and driving tour of Los Angeles. This was mainly because Ms. Morris noted that while she had been to Rodeo Drive, “Los Angeles is just a series of dislocated places where I’ve done academic conferences, so this is just splendid to put it all together.” The delightful nature of an Australian accent gave the whole affair the feeling of something some European would call “Continental Touring.”

As we lazily wandered through the Los Angeles’ new cathedral, we received more than a few strange looks. Apparently it is strange for a young man to be strolling side by side with a short, middle-aged, slightly frazzled Australian woman, especially when both of them are giggling with amazement at the building. It was so pleasant to see a professor, after an intense weekend spent discussing nothing that I understood, stumbling around in awe, eyes wide, mouth agape like a child. Nothing, in the course of three decades of researching the Media and living in two of the world’s most cosmopolitan cities, had jaded her to the charms of the amazing cathedral. The amazing way that Ms. Morris remained so grounded and accessible compared to a majority of her other academic cohorts is an elusive quality amongst the hoity-toity world of academia.

It is inexplicable but, Australians, similar to their British counterparts, have some indefinable charm because they are English speaking, but curiously un-American. While climbing around the playground-like exterior of the new Disney Hall of Music, she casually stepped around a security rope intended to keep us off some stairs. Ms. Morris joked that if we were caught, she would just “play the dumb Australian,” and we would certainly get off the hook. Our conversation was mockingly self-aware and sarcastically biting, full of fully intellectual jokes sprinkled with the occasional off-color comment that only redneck intellectuals like her and I could truly enjoy. We refreshingly discussed American politics, and she informed me about the situation in Australia, which I was stereotypically unaware of. Ms. Morris was never impatient with my Imperialist Ignorance, and was remarkably forgiving of it as well. Throughout the afternoon, the laughter was prominent and the silence was scarce.

After walking around downtown’s newest landmarks, we took a brief driving tour around some Los Angeles neighborhoods before quickly catching a pre-flight appetizer and drink in Manhattan Beach. She was “simply dying for” fried calamari, which is apparently difficult to come by in Hong Kong. A Southerner like myself can not pass on fried food, so the evening waned on amidst laughter over the local residents frequenting the restaurant. In a moment of honesty, while discussing some of the more seedy things she and I had encountered while abroad, she silently and nervously admitted that the town she grew up in did not have running water as a child. She was very happy that some students still go abroad and “get their hands dirty,” showing a sort of sentimentality toward her more rural upbringings. Their was a certain pride in her eyes of being a tough Australian, even after being so valued an intellectual as to be the director of a program in Hong Kong’s first ever liberal arts school.

After guiltily laughing through our entire people watching session, Ms. Morris and I argued over the bill at length. She eventually won because my American dollars will have more use than hers would. She was clever though, to distract me we began talking about our experiences while living in Asia and arguing over the bill. It dawned on me what had made our afternoon so comfortable— Ms. Morris and I were both inquiring minds on a similar journey of cultural understanding. I had naively assumed that at her age and status, she had reached some plateau of expertise and comprehension that would lend her an authoritarian position on culture as a whole. However, while she was certainly on a much higher conceptual level than I, she was still just as enthusiastic and confused as I was.

Even as I dropped her off at the airport, Ms. Morris maintained her calm composure, even in the face of a fifteen hour flight, and returning directly to work from the airport. She was casually confident about leaving her home country to establish a new program at a new college in a recently returned British colony. This process was just as fine as any, especially as long as you’re laughing.