Along the tranquil shoreline of Hanoi’s Trúc Bạch Lake, where, half a century ago, John McCain was pulled from the water with his parachute, there’s a humble little restaurant that McCain himself might have found amusing, if decidedly odd. State-Run Food Shop #37 is an homage to the post-war bao cấp era (1976-86), a period of scarcity and unspeakable hardship in Vietnam.
“I think we’re going to need a new waiver,” says Barbara Muckermann, her beige Nikes plunging into foot-deep mud. We are traipsing across a rice paddy, balanced on a too-narrow dirt path, trying vainly not to slip into the muck on either side. A humid breeze sets the bright-green blades ashimmer, and they ripple like waves on an emerald sea.
Probably the most holistic adventure-wellness setup in the country right now, Blackberry Mountain looks set to make the same heavyweight game-changing impact on the spa scene as its sister property, Blackberry Farm, did for feasting weekenders. “We’d been gazing at that mountain for years,” says Mary Celeste Beall. “It’s the first big peak you see from the porch at the Farm,” her family’s epicurean retreat in the foothills of Tennessee’s Great Smoky Mountains.
What’s esp terrifying is there are at least a half-dozen “foreign leader X’s” that fit this scenario—and 10x as many plausible compromises Trump could’ve gotten himself into. Spin a globe at random to find some sordid regime this shitwitted netherbeast has tawdried us with.
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