ABSTRACT
WASHINGTON, D.C.—When I grew up, a long time ago, I wanted desperately to be a foreign correspondent. Names like Marrakech, Kashgar, Istanbul, Bali and Timbuktu rang like strange church bells in my ears, calling me forth to the worship of discovery. Foreign: That was what I was after. I was besotted with the exotic! And I was lucky. I was able to see all of the strange corners of my dreams.
