Word: opiumeators
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...Mick. Michael is too difficult for them to remember. A month ago, when I was quite ill with a stomach flu, they were constantly there, believing that it was good manners to visit with a sick friend. I was continually excusing myself to throw up. They prescribed hash and opium, saying they would cure anything. I politely declined...
...check into the elegant Victory Hotel on Shamian Island. The hotel was built by the British in the 1920s as the Victoria; in efficient Guangzhou fashion, the postrevolution name change to the Victory Hotel glorified the communists while requiring a minimum of new letters. After the Second Opium War, Shamian became a foreign concession in 1860, and its pedestrian-friendly streets are lined by former consulates and trading offices that lend an aura of faded grandeur. If most of Guangzhou marches at triple time, gentrified Shamian ambles, stopping at bright, breezy caf? like Lucy's at 5 Shamian...
...thin air of the Tibetan plateau and goes with the flow until it reaches the South China Sea. En route through China, Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam?all countries nursing scars from a tumultuous and bloody century?he introduces us to a mElange of characters: yak herders, opium farmers, European backpackers, jaded aid workers, Vietnam vets?and endangered Irrawaddy dolphins. Some of those he meets seem unaffected by the horrors of the region's recent past, others plainly have wounded souls...
These are trying times for Afghanistan's leader. As the dust settles from America's rout of the Taliban, the nation is barely holding together. Its implacable problems, forgotten in the brief moment of triumph, are now front and center. Warlords are trying to carve up the country. Opium is once again the No. 1 crop. And scheming neighbors are attempting to put their own guys in power in Kabul. The strain on Karzai is evident during the several days that I spend with him. The promise of foreign aid helps keep the peace, as do the American bombing raids...
...excrement up and down twisting Phoenix Mountain trails and mine coal from primitive pits, theirs is not just another grim and baleful tale of forced labor. For these pals are merry pranksters at heart whose spirits never falter. At their first meeting with the village headman, an ex-opium farmer turned communist cadre, the narrator's violin is adjudged a stupid and bourgeois city toy. To prove differently he plays a Mozart sonata. "What's it called?" challenges the headman. Mozart Is Thinking of Chairman Mao is Luo's politically correct and resourceful - if grossly inaccurate - response...