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One of the more shocking things about Vietnam is the number of people with serious war-related injuries: a woman with her face half burned away, men without legs, children with significant birth defects due to fetal exposure to Agent Orange, which remained in the food chain long after the fighting had stopped. Yesterday I counted seven people. Today I counted four more.
By Earl PikeOctober 1995In the summer of 1958, the summer before I started kindergarten, my family — my mother; my father; my sister, Marie; my mother’s mother; and I — took its first and last family vacation.
By Joseph BathantiMarch 1995February 1995I never get lost because I don’t know where I’m going.
Zen master Ikkya
It may not matter anymore where any of us have actually been. We can now visit our national parks by videocassette, in which, as one company offering such tapes promises, “the remarkable sights and sounds are preserved for you.”
By Keith BromleyFebruary 1995The man was coming down the aisle, swaying to and fro and knocking passengers with his simple bag as though he were on a subway rounding a curve.
By Henry Alan PaperFebruary 1995An overwhelmed train traveler, an Interrail passenger using a Third Reich map, a map aficionado
By Our ReadersFebruary 1995Last year, after Norma and I visited Costa Rica at the invitation of a friend, we vowed to return with our three children. We were certain they’d be as enthralled as we were by this rugged, beautiful country, its tropical rain forests and steaming volcanoes and crowded markets. Mistake number one.
By Sy SafranskyAugust 1994Last fall, after two years of escalating entreaties by my girlfriend, I finally agreed to move from the city to the country. More precisely, from San Francisco to northern New Mexico, to a desert of lunar silences and nights so black that I rediscovered my childhood fear of the dark.
By Gregg LevoyAugust 1994Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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