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The room was very small. All chairs and tables had been neatly arranged aside, and 4th- and 5th-grade girls sat on a paved floor, nearly 100 ten- and 11-year-olds with round eyes, greeting me as if I were coming down from the heavens. I decided to talk instead of lecture. [ more... ]
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I looked at my watch under the flickering light of a match I had lit and held with an unsteady hand. Ten thirty meant that I had already been walking for two long hours through the dimly lit streets of Hanoi in 1990, trying to find my way from a guest house on West Lake, to the house of a new friend I had made that day who lived near Hoan Kiem Lake. [ more... ]
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Exhibits range from bead and pod jewellery made by mountain women to letters and diaries left behind in trunks and secret places to vintage posters from the time of the revolutionary transformation of agriculture [ more... ]
The orchestral part of Autumn Melodies, at the Ho Chi Minh City Opera House, presented by the Ho Chi Minh City Ballet Symphony Orchestra and Opera [ more... ]
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In the very heart and possibly soul of Ho Chi Minh City there resides a grand old dame. She stands serene and as they say in Vietnamese ‘đẹp lão’ (attractive in an elderly manner). [ more... ]
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If there is such a literary genre as visual poetry, then Ba Han is surely a master of it. [ more... ]
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The phone rang at dinner time. The voice said, ‘This is Vietnam Heritage. We want you to do spa.’ [ more... ]
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At home on leave from the war I used to stare out of the windows of my father’s house and watch the yards fill up with snow and know that no one was hiding in the trees who wanted to kill me. I felt safe but I missed Vietnam as well, something I never could have said to my fellow soldiers or even to my own family [ more... ]
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Kim Thuy, Canadian Vietnamese writer, wins the RTL-Lire [ more... ]
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Below a rolling blind of the standard blue and white plastic slats and through a metal balcony fence we look down one floor to a drain with a rectangular concrete lid in the floor of the alley. The lid can be levered up a bit with a stick to allow the escape of floods, if there is a muscular, barefoot nephew on hand. [ more... ]
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Following the tunes (“Spring comes to Muong Hum hamlet high up the mountains with heart-rocking distant singing…” ) of talented composer Nguyen Tai ...
In the heart of the darkness of Saigon's backpacker land,ambling along down raucous Bui Vien Street and wishing I had not come out without my ear ...
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