Taylor St. John

Inside the train car a few hours out of Saigon, I ate pitted grapes Richy had bought from a train vendor and watched bright patches of green roll past the window. The triangle “non la” hats of the rice paddy workers poked out here and there, little mountains broke through the flat land, and the closer we got to NHA Trang there were glimpses of the shimmery blue South China Sea. This land we were traveling through felt so very different from our bus trips through the dusty country of Cambodia and a lot tidier than the overpopulated Mekong Delta… continue reading at An Alternate Route