My small, beat-up suitcase in hand, I stood on a sun-drenched sidewalk in downtown New Philadelphia, Ohio, pondering what to do next. Surly buildings loomed over blocks of deserted streets, a reminder that it was sabbath Sunday, on a glorious summer weekend that warranted celebration, except when one had no idea where one would be sleeping that night.

Just hours earlier I had startled up from a restless night, my last one in my room above the bar, and rushed to get dressed with my eyes half closed. Then, throwing all the remaining loose stuff in my suitcase, I had zipped it shut and dragged it downstairs and along the uptown blocks to the Greyhound station. Read More

Grandma hugs Kimmie tighter. “You see, sweetie, someday when you grow up and have your own family, you may have to move away from the place you’ve lived all your life, away from your parents and other people you love.”

“But I don’t want to,” the little girl protests.

“Sometimes it just happens, baby,” Grandma says, soft as a sigh. “As it happened to Ông Ngoại and me many years ago, when we had to leave our families and our home in Việt-Nam.” Read More

A little way down the block, Trí stops in front of what looks like an ornate temple gate. “This is the Phúc-Kiến Assembly Hall, the grandest example of the type of community halls built by Chinese merchants who settled in Hội-An,” he says. “Let’s go in and have a look around, and while we’re here I will pay so we can use their restroom facilities.”

Phúc-Kiến is the Vietnamese-sounding name for Fukien, or Fujian, a Chinese province. Many of the merchants who migrated here had fled from their native provinces in China after the downfall of the Ming Dynasty in 1644. Read More

Dick had provided some options for where to go downtown. “The main pastime, of course, is people-watching,” he had declared with the self-assurance of an old hand. “The Shelf is a great spot for that, but it’s all foreign correspondents, and you won’t find a table after two o’clock anyway. La Pagode nearby also has a nice café terrasse, but mainly for locals, so you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Forget Givral as well. It’s the favorite haunt of spoiled brats from rich families in the city. That leaves Brodard as your best bet.” Read More