From Ho Chi Minh’s fictional Diary:

9 January 1937
Sochi, Black Sea, USSR

I don’t know who got me here or how, as I was partly delirious from fever. The doctor tells me I must stay at least a week, and I don’t feel like arguing. He also doesn’t allow me to see visitors - at least no official ones. Yesterday, however, a woman came, a kind of missionary like those in Indochina, but this one was Russian, of course. She talked about “saving” me, but this doesn’t mean from death but from “hell.” What was so wonderful was that she gave me some oranges. I’m torn between keeping them to look at and destroying them by eating.

Ho’s extensive travels and the continuous hardship of his life must have repeatedly challenged his endurance. He could not have been sent to Sochi, the Soviet “spa” on the shore of the Black Sea, had he not been dangerously ill, once again being diagnosed a victim of tuberculosis. That he emerged from this and subsequently led a life that seems to have defied all challenge for thirty more years is another testimony to his astounding fortitude.
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