March 30, 1959

Manila Airport, 5 am. The I.S.’s [Igor Stravinsky's] count their baggage—ras, dva, tri, chetiry—over and over, like rosary beads. The U.S. Cultural Attaché, a Mr. Morris, accompanies us to the Manila Hotel, where a dozen eager porters pack us into our rooms. Old Manila is black and grim, except for pretty lattices and grilles, and..

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