My Son Ruins
It’s eight a.m. and our car is winding it’s way uphill through a cold, grey drizzle. In the damp of
Continue readingWriting & Other Things
It’s eight a.m. and our car is winding it’s way uphill through a cold, grey drizzle. In the damp of
Continue readingThe arrival of the train from Saigon seems to have brought the small white station in Hoi An to life.
Continue readingIs there anything better than waiting to take a train in a new and unfamiliar land? There’s a distinct buzz
Continue readingGuerrilla. Spanish for little war. A strange word. After all can war ever be a “diminutive” thing? Here in the
Continue readingThe guide from the Sinh Balo tour operator is waiting at the reception desk and I am still not ready.
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