Blue Eyes On The Yellow Sea Welcome To Red China This book is fun yet serious — a true, courageous, entertaining adventure in which the author comes to China, initially on a mission to teach. Wide-ranging in scope, it addresses culture, history, people, politics, art, interesting facts, traditions, economics, philosophies, visa issues, in addition to experiences with work, travel and, of course, romance. A Featurettes section includes a China time line relative to world events, Mandarin language guide, conversion chart, among other things.Pictures help to tell the tale. Tad Miller offers the world a fresh, honest access to this ancient though modernizing place in a humorous style—a really great start for getting to know China—and human nature.

A debut collection of short fiction from this National Magazine Award in Fiction finalist. Set in a variety of Southern and Midwestern landscapes — from Missouri’s Ha Ha Tonka State Park to a crop circle at a Minnesotan farm — the stories in 'Between Here and the Yellow Sea' excavate the ambiguous terrain of the human heart. With a forceful and compassionate voice, Pizzolatto finds beauty in loneliness as his characters attempt to bridge the gulfs between themselves and others, past and present, and, sometimes, between their inner and outer selves. In this both heartbreaking and humorous collection, we meet a base-jumping, samurai park ranger who parachutes off the St. Louis Arch; a stained glass artist who struggles over his masterpiece and learns through great loss what his true subject will be; and a religious elementary school teacher who tries to understand her rebellious, militant son. In the title story, which first appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, an orphaned young man and his former high school football coach set out to kidnap the coach’s daughter from Los Angeles and bring her back to east Texas. With an assured, poignant voice, Pizzolatto places us at the crossroads of memory and desire, somewhere between here and the Yellow Sea.

Early dawn, on June 1950, the North Korean army crossed the 38th Parallel and invaded South Korea. The ten-division North Korean army, spearheaded by 150 Russian-made T-34 tanks advanced, capturing Seoul, the capital of South Korea, in four days and continued advancing to the southeastern corner of the peninsula by August 1st. As the casualties mounted, the U.N. Allied Headquarters sent a landing operation to Inchon in the Yellow Sea to cut off enemy supply lines and take Seoul back from the North Korean Occupation. It shortened the war and saved many lives. In preparation for the successful landing operation, the Allied Headquarters deployed the Under Water Demolition Team of the U.S. Navy and a platoon of Korean Marines. They cleared mines along the shipping lanes, swept the enemy off adjacent islands and reconnoitered the landing sites. At dawn on September 15, 1950, UDT's and Marines led the armada of the landing operation, OPERATION CHROMITE, to the landing site. Under heavy enemy fire, they arrived at the beachhead in the first wave of the landing crafts, spearheaded the fierce firefight against tremendous odds, and finally crushed the enemy. At the summit of Mount Ungbong, they raised the U.N. flag to declare the liberation of Inchon.

Journey made by special artist of the Illustrated London News including travels in Krasnoyarskiy Kray.

In these prosaic days of the nineteenth century one hardly expects a revival of the adventurous expeditions which made the fame of England in the days of Frobisher and Drake. As a matter of fact, the world is almost too well known now for such adventures to be possible, even were the leaders forthcoming, and the “good old buccaneering days” are long past. Still, I could not help thinking, on the day we left Gravesend for the far North-East, bound for a region but little known, and with the uncertainty of ever reaching our destination, that it must have been under somewhat similar conditions that the adventurers of old started on their perilous journeys; with, however, this very great difference—ours was not a filibustering expedition, but a commonplace commercial enterprise, backed up by several well-to-do Englishmen, with absolutely nothing of the romantic about it beyond the fact of its having to traverse these wild and comparatively unknown regions before it could be successfully achieved. We started from the Thames on Friday, July 18, 1890, in the chartered Norwegian steamer Biscaya, eight hundred tons gross, bound for the Yenisei River with a nondescript tentative sort of cargo, consisting of a mixture of all sorts, from a steam sawmill down to the latest toy for children, our ultimate destination being the town of Yeniseisk, which is situated some fifteen hundred miles from the mouth of this mighty river. The object of the expedition was to endeavour to open a trade route between England and Siberia by means of the Kara Sea passage, which was discovered by Nordenskiold in 1875. Nothing of particular interest occurred during the first few days after we left the Thames. We were so closely packed that it required some careful arrangement to get us all comfortably stowed, so to speak. Imagine seven men jammed into a cabin just about large enough to accommodate four, and each man with the usual amount of superfluous luggage without which Englishmen could not possibly travel, this baggage also stowed in the cabin, and you will guess that we were packed like sardines. As, however, no doubt even sardines get used to being packed, after a time so did we; and, although the passage across the North Sea was about as uncomfortable a one as I ever experienced, we somehow managed to settle into our respective grooves long before we sighted the coast of Norway. Our party consisted of two representatives of the London Syndicate, two engineers, a master stevedore (to unload the ship on arrival), an experienced ice-master, who knew the Kara Sea thoroughly, the captain of the Biscaya, and your humble servant. I don’t think I ever was on board a more crowded ship. Even the decks were packed with all sorts of paraphernalia, including a large steam-launch and several pens of live stock; and, so as to obviate any fear of running short of coal in the outlandish parts we were going to, the fore and upper decks had over seventy tons of loose coal on them. We had a head wind and a heavy sea nearly the whole way after passing Harwich, where we dropped our pilot, thus bidding a last farewell to Old England. Off the Dogger Bank we went right through the fishing fleet which congregates there, and took advantage of the opportunity to get some fresh fish—a matter of no small difficulty, as the men had a preposterous idea of its value: they would not take money for it, but actually had the effrontery to want to swop a couple of small cod, a ling, and a pair of soles for two bottles of whiskey and a pound of tobacco! Fish is evidently dearer on the fishing-ground itself than in London. Whiskey, however, was far more valuable to us than fish, so, when the men saw we were not buyers on their terms, they eventually came down to 1½ lb. of ship tobacco (value 2s. 4d.) for the lot, which was reasonable enough. After passing the Dogger Bank the wind freshened very considerably towards evening, and added much to the discomfort of the crowded ship; in fact, so badly did she roll about that not only was all our party busy “feeding the fishes” most of the time, but our cook was also so ill that he could not attend to his duties, and we all had to lend a hand in the galley as well as we could. I had never been a long voyage in a wooden ship before, so could hardly sleep a wink all night, owing to the (to me) unusual noise caused by the groaning of her timbers as she pitched and tossed about. It sounded not unlike what I should imagine it would be sleeping near a lot of new leather portmanteaus which were being continually shifted. During the whole of the following day it was blowing big guns, and the sea was so heavy that the cabin was almost dangerous to remain in, owing to the sort of cannonade of packages from all sides, many things being damaged. There was absolutely nothing to do but sit down and wait events, and, meanwhile, make one’s self as comfortable as one could under the circumstances. By the next day the gale had moderated considerably, and during the morning we got our first glimpse of Norway—a high, rock-bound coast, with a dim vista of mountains in the background. Shortly after, a small pilot-boat hove in sight, evidently on the chance of a job, probably taking the Biscaya for a tourist steamer wishing to pass inside the islands, which is the most picturesque route, though somewhat longer. We had no time, however, to waste on scenery, so, although one of our party, who was suffering from an attack of dysentery, offered to pay the pilotage (about £15) out of his own pocket if the calm-water channel was followed, it was at once decided to keep outside the whole way up the coast, and thus get on as fast as possible, more especially as the weather showed signs of clearing up.