A downed helicopter at Khe Sanh
November 20, 2004
DMZ - Down the tunnels with Charlie
The trip looked interesting – with various visits to sights that had played significant roles during the war years. However, I obviously hadn’t learnt my lessons about organised tours in Vietnam. After four hours of sitting on a cramped and uncomfortable bus, we realised that we really should have taken a motorbike. Many o the sights were not, as we’d imagined, a short walk from the road. Instead the bus would pull over for 5 minutes at the side of the road, while punters reeled off a few shots of eg. A bombed out church or a hill of strategic importance. We would all then climb back onto the bus for the next stretch of terminally boring highway. There were two stops that I had really taken the trip for – the tunnels at Vinh Moc and the museum at Khe Sanh firebase. I wouldn’t have missed these for the world so it seems churlish to complain about the means of getting there…but a bruised backside and stiff back still say otherwise!
The tunnels at Vinh Moc are a testament to the stoicism and determination of the Vietnamese people. Dug into the cliffs on the east coast, just north of the DMZ, this subterranean labyrinth was home to village community for four years during the height of the American bombardment of the area. The VC found it useful to have a base here to keep supply lines open to a nearby island and no doubt their encouragement persuaded the villagers to persevere. The tunnels are dark and cramped and yet families survived in living spaces the size of your average understairs cupboard. Amazingly, 17 babies were born underground in the maternity room! How were the Americans ever going to win a war against a people that wanted to stay this much? Although the tunnels were bombed repeatedly (the noise underground must have been terrifying for the civilian women and children who endured it for so long), only one of the infamous ‘digger’ bombs ever penetrated the tunnel system – and that didn’t explode. Both the villagers and the VC emerged physically intact, after the Americans withdrew…the psychological scars from their years in the dank, terrifying darkness of the tunnels must still be with the survivors today.
Khe Sanh was an object lesson in the horror, brutality and, ultimately, the futility of war. For many months, American forces had defended the base (on a strategic summit near the supply lines, feeding the VC from Laos) heroically under a constant barrage of heavy artillery. American and South Vietnames forces sustained some of their worst losses here, under the impression that the North Vietnamese Army would be compelled to secure the position, before pushing further south. In the end, these lives were given in vain as the NVA were using Khe Sanh as a diversionary tactic prior to the final, decisive Tet offensive. NVA troops bypassed Khe Sanh altogether as they streamed unopposed into the major coastal city of Danang to effectively end American involvement in the war. The high price paid by Americans to defend the base was a major contributory factor in the withdrawal of public and political support for involvement in Vietnam. Some of the pictures and remnants of military hardware at the museum left us in little doubt that, whatever the outcome, war produces only losers in the end.
After a marathon journey back to Hué, we felt it only right and proper to treat ourselves to another slap-up meal at Xuan Trang. We moved on from there to the DMZ bar – shooting pool with fellow travellers and generally consuming excessive quantities of beer. I can only claim Aussie influence in the decision to move on to a club called ‘Brown Eyes’ (!) when DMZ finally kicked us out at 4am…what on earth I was thinking with a 7.00am bus to Hoi-An, I’ll never know!
The tunnels at Vinh Moc are a testament to the stoicism and determination of the Vietnamese people. Dug into the cliffs on the east coast, just north of the DMZ, this subterranean labyrinth was home to village community for four years during the height of the American bombardment of the area. The VC found it useful to have a base here to keep supply lines open to a nearby island and no doubt their encouragement persuaded the villagers to persevere. The tunnels are dark and cramped and yet families survived in living spaces the size of your average understairs cupboard. Amazingly, 17 babies were born underground in the maternity room! How were the Americans ever going to win a war against a people that wanted to stay this much? Although the tunnels were bombed repeatedly (the noise underground must have been terrifying for the civilian women and children who endured it for so long), only one of the infamous ‘digger’ bombs ever penetrated the tunnel system – and that didn’t explode. Both the villagers and the VC emerged physically intact, after the Americans withdrew…the psychological scars from their years in the dank, terrifying darkness of the tunnels must still be with the survivors today.
Khe Sanh was an object lesson in the horror, brutality and, ultimately, the futility of war. For many months, American forces had defended the base (on a strategic summit near the supply lines, feeding the VC from Laos) heroically under a constant barrage of heavy artillery. American and South Vietnames forces sustained some of their worst losses here, under the impression that the North Vietnamese Army would be compelled to secure the position, before pushing further south. In the end, these lives were given in vain as the NVA were using Khe Sanh as a diversionary tactic prior to the final, decisive Tet offensive. NVA troops bypassed Khe Sanh altogether as they streamed unopposed into the major coastal city of Danang to effectively end American involvement in the war. The high price paid by Americans to defend the base was a major contributory factor in the withdrawal of public and political support for involvement in Vietnam. Some of the pictures and remnants of military hardware at the museum left us in little doubt that, whatever the outcome, war produces only losers in the end.
After a marathon journey back to Hué, we felt it only right and proper to treat ourselves to another slap-up meal at Xuan Trang. We moved on from there to the DMZ bar – shooting pool with fellow travellers and generally consuming excessive quantities of beer. I can only claim Aussie influence in the decision to move on to a club called ‘Brown Eyes’ (!) when DMZ finally kicked us out at 4am…what on earth I was thinking with a 7.00am bus to Hoi-An, I’ll never know!
November 19, 2004
Hué
Arriving in Hué at seven-thirty after a restless night in a hard sleeper berth (2 feet of head room from the carriage ceiling and less padding than the ‘soft’ sleeper!), I found a decent hotel room with en-suite for $6. I then set about finding the hotel where I’d arranged to meet the Aussies. There was no sign of them at the agreed place and, with the Vietnamese predilection for copy-catting anything that sells well, there were at least half-a-dozen hotels in the vicinity with similar looking names. I didn’t hold out much hope of us all managing to congregate in the same place so, rather than leaving hopeful notes in every reception, I decided to send them an e-mail with my hotel’s details and a few rendezvous suggestions for later in the day. It was then that I discovered just how lucky I’d been with internet connections thus far in Asia. After trying four different internet cafes with snail-like results, I was starting to get more than a little vexed. I didn’t end up paying for any of them at least, as my patience tended to run out after 3 or 4 minutes of waiting for the Hotmail sign in page to load up. I had given up on the e-mail plan and was walking disconsolately back to my hotel, when who should I run into, but Mel and Mark with a cute girl sporting masses of curly blonde hair. Their bus had arrived rather later than expected and they and their new companion, Kate, were just heading up to our original meeting point. Kate it turned out was from Barrow-on-Soar…literally ten minutes from my old front door in Syston. Amused by the co-incidence, we were just discussing former haunts and hang-outs when we were accosted by a tout on a motorbike. It turned out that he was offering hotel rooms at a very reasonable $5 and the other three decided that they should at least go and check the place out. The rooms looked decent enough and, as they were all checking in, I made a reservation to move up there myself the following night.
Russ, it turned out, had disappeared straight off the bus on the back of a motorbike for a tour of the local sights. The idea had a vague appeal, as Hué seemed a lot less chaotic than Hanoi and I for one was itching to get out of town and see some of the local countryside. It turned out that our hotel tout, Tanh, actually ran motorbike tours around Hué and, at a cost of $5 it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We agreed to meet him at the hotel at 9am the following morning, giving us the rest of the day to get our bearings and deal with mundane matters such as laundry and feeding ourselves. After a tasty bowl of noodles, I set about conquering the internet challenge once again. I managed to send an e-mail to Fleur detailing our whereabouts before Hotmail crashed and I lost my rag – as an added precaution - in case the crash had lost my e-mail - I left a note at reception in our agreed rendezvous, on the off-chance that she might find us.
It had started to rain quite heavily by the time I met Mel and Mark for lunch and this had put an effective dampener on any sight-seeing plans for the afternoon. We passed the time with a few hands of cards and I also brought up the possibility of taking a tour into the central highlands to try and get away from the Highway 1 tourist route. Both Mel and Mark seemed very keen on doing it by 4WD and I agreed to send an e-mail to Tin to see if this might be a possible alternative to a motorbike tour. After another frustrating half hour completing this task – and with no let up in the rain - I ended up heading back to my hotel and making a start on Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch 22’ to pass the time. Outside the hotel I ended up running into Fleur who had, unwittingly, booked into the hotel across the street, before getting my e-mail. I arranged to meet her with the others for dinner later on at a place called the DMZ bar.
At the agreed time, there was no sign of Fleur and still no sign of Russ so the four of us ended up going for supper at the Lonely Planet recommended Mandarin Café. While Mark and I got stuck into traditional Vietnamese fare, the girls obviously felt like a taste of home and the kitchen produced excellent results in both respects. The two Aussies had spent the afternoon at the market but had eventually left in disgust, after realising they’d been ripped off over a couple of T-shirts they’d bought. To be fair to them, they hadn’t really had too much experience with the local currency at this point (Halong Bay was virtually all-inclusive), but it was too good an opportunity to miss taking the mickey. Kate and I both vowed to go to the market the next day and to try and procure the same T-shirts for as little as a quarter of the price. Fair play to Mel and Mark – they took their ribbing well…and I knew they’d be more than willing to give it back when the time came. Our only real concern at this point was that we still hadn’t caught up properly with Russ or Fleur and, as we headed back to the DMZ bar for night-caps, we were wondering what to do about the situation.
Of course, there was no need to worry…at the DMZ we found Fleur drinking with the two girls she’d met on the train, with whom she’d just been out for dinner. Not twenty minutes later, Russ walked in with the Danish girls from his motorbike tour. It turned out he was already booked in the same hotel as the others, having found my note to Fleur at the original hotel. After a couple more beers, I headed off to my hotel with promises to meet the rest of them bright and early the following morning.
The sky was still dark and gloomy when I rolled out of bed…not a promising start to the day. As I was humping my kit up to the new hotel, a steady drizzle began the slow, but inevitable, process of soaking everything through. For the first time on my travels, I was glad of my poncho – a last-minute purchase before I left – which I hadn’t really envisaged having much use for. While I wouldn’t bother donning it whilst wandering (preferring cool rain to the sticky perspiration the non-permeable material traps inside), I wouldn’t fancy riding around on the back of a motorbike all day without protection. All thus suitably attired, our mini-motorcade of five bikes headed off through the narrow side-streets.
As we headed into the country, we were greeted with the daily sights of Vietnamese rural life: Deluged paddy fields populated by conical-hatted workers; cyclos and bicycles laden to breaking point with fresh produce, furniture and live animals (one bike rode past with as many as 30 ducks tied to a cage – looking for all the world like some mythical, many-headed duck god!); a local woman on a motorbike with her foot on the stanchion of her husbands cyclo, giving him a boost up a steep hill with his heavy load of firewood. Children actually ran out into the streets to wave at us and parents turned the heads of toddlers to catch a glimpse of the round-eyes. Within ten minutes, I felt like I was seeing something of the real Vietnam and, despite the British-style weather, my spirits soared. Wherever we went and whatever we did, it was refreshing not to be doing it at the bidding of a tour-guide and on some kind of timescale. We visited an old covered bridge, war bunkers situated on a peaceful bend of the Perfume river, a Buddhist monastery and the tomb of one of the ancient dynastic kings. The calm and serenity of the temple as the monks gave thanks for their morning meal was matched by the still mist over the meandering river; the austerity and splendour of the vast burial complex contrasting the air of rustic simplicity in the small market town by the bridge. Gliding effortlessly along the rice paddy dikes, it seemed we had been transported back in time to an era without machinery and intensive agriculture…of course, we had merely left the confines of city life. It became apparent to me that this kind of travel was what I’d been looking for in Vietnam and I was all the keener to pursue an off-road adventure into the mountains.
As the day progressed, the sun eventually began to burn through the brooding clouds. The burgeoning sunshine, coupled with our shared pleasure at the freedom of the open road (as opposed to the stale, air-conditioned environment of the tour bus), soon had us all smiling and joking. When we stopped to see local girls rolling sandalwood incense sticks, Russ even had a pop himself. His first effort looked more like hot dog than an incense stick and provoked further merriment and a good round of piss-taking. However, with a little help from a pretty local (which I’m sure he didn’t mind at all!) he was soon knocking them out like an old pro. We offered to leave him there to earn a days wages, while we took the girl with us…but he blanched a little when told that on an average day, she rolled out around 12,000 of the buggers.
After a fine lunch at a local eatery suggested by Tanh, we headed back into town to inspect the Imperial Enclosure of the Nguyen dynasty. Once again, the buildings and their layout were on a grand scale and it was possible to imagine being the emperor and strolling around the massive Forbidden Purple City, surrounded only by Eunuchs and a harem of 143 wives. It’s hard to say whether he was a very lucky or very unfortunate man…although I somehow doubt that a feudal emperor would have put up with nagging on that scale!
Our trusty guides met us once again outside and took us on the final leg of our tour to the local market. As with most markets I’ve experience in Asia, the smell inside varied from pungent to overpowering, depending on the kind of produce you were wondering past. More so than anywhere else I’d seen in Vietnam, there was also a surfeit of begging children. Many looked hungry and dirty, but refused offers of food – persisting in asking for money. I have my reservations about handing out cash to youngsters who quite obviously ought to be in school…it seems their parents – or organised gangs – try to take advantage of their cute appeal and prey on the sympathy of affluent tourists. If they are unwilling to take food my suspicion is that there is an adult waiting around the corner to pocket the proceeds…and I’m loath to encourage the abuse. Even more distressing were the deformed or mentally impaired kids, encouraged to play up to tourists by wailing and moaning at a prod from a watchful minder. Again it was hard not to give them something, but for the knowledge that they would see very little of their day’s ‘work’. If they made less money from begging there’s a chance their parents may send them to school or have them properly cared for. We didn’t stay in the market long – our pale skin attracting too much attention from anyone with a cause to plead. My only purchase was a quick snack of Nem Lui from one of the trolley food stalls: a rice pancake wrapped around fresh herbs and pork sausage and dipped in a delicious peanut satay sauce.That evening we feasted on more of the same at ‘Xuan Trang’ – easily the best restaurant so far in Vietnam. The local brew, Huda, was tasty and refreshing…and at 9000 dong a bottle (about 40p) we sank a few to wash down dinner. Mark, Mel and I had decided to take a tour bus around the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) the following morning and, with an early start at 6am, we made an early night of it to ensure we didn’t miss the bus.
Russ, it turned out, had disappeared straight off the bus on the back of a motorbike for a tour of the local sights. The idea had a vague appeal, as Hué seemed a lot less chaotic than Hanoi and I for one was itching to get out of town and see some of the local countryside. It turned out that our hotel tout, Tanh, actually ran motorbike tours around Hué and, at a cost of $5 it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We agreed to meet him at the hotel at 9am the following morning, giving us the rest of the day to get our bearings and deal with mundane matters such as laundry and feeding ourselves. After a tasty bowl of noodles, I set about conquering the internet challenge once again. I managed to send an e-mail to Fleur detailing our whereabouts before Hotmail crashed and I lost my rag – as an added precaution - in case the crash had lost my e-mail - I left a note at reception in our agreed rendezvous, on the off-chance that she might find us.
It had started to rain quite heavily by the time I met Mel and Mark for lunch and this had put an effective dampener on any sight-seeing plans for the afternoon. We passed the time with a few hands of cards and I also brought up the possibility of taking a tour into the central highlands to try and get away from the Highway 1 tourist route. Both Mel and Mark seemed very keen on doing it by 4WD and I agreed to send an e-mail to Tin to see if this might be a possible alternative to a motorbike tour. After another frustrating half hour completing this task – and with no let up in the rain - I ended up heading back to my hotel and making a start on Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch 22’ to pass the time. Outside the hotel I ended up running into Fleur who had, unwittingly, booked into the hotel across the street, before getting my e-mail. I arranged to meet her with the others for dinner later on at a place called the DMZ bar.
At the agreed time, there was no sign of Fleur and still no sign of Russ so the four of us ended up going for supper at the Lonely Planet recommended Mandarin Café. While Mark and I got stuck into traditional Vietnamese fare, the girls obviously felt like a taste of home and the kitchen produced excellent results in both respects. The two Aussies had spent the afternoon at the market but had eventually left in disgust, after realising they’d been ripped off over a couple of T-shirts they’d bought. To be fair to them, they hadn’t really had too much experience with the local currency at this point (Halong Bay was virtually all-inclusive), but it was too good an opportunity to miss taking the mickey. Kate and I both vowed to go to the market the next day and to try and procure the same T-shirts for as little as a quarter of the price. Fair play to Mel and Mark – they took their ribbing well…and I knew they’d be more than willing to give it back when the time came. Our only real concern at this point was that we still hadn’t caught up properly with Russ or Fleur and, as we headed back to the DMZ bar for night-caps, we were wondering what to do about the situation.
Of course, there was no need to worry…at the DMZ we found Fleur drinking with the two girls she’d met on the train, with whom she’d just been out for dinner. Not twenty minutes later, Russ walked in with the Danish girls from his motorbike tour. It turned out he was already booked in the same hotel as the others, having found my note to Fleur at the original hotel. After a couple more beers, I headed off to my hotel with promises to meet the rest of them bright and early the following morning.
The sky was still dark and gloomy when I rolled out of bed…not a promising start to the day. As I was humping my kit up to the new hotel, a steady drizzle began the slow, but inevitable, process of soaking everything through. For the first time on my travels, I was glad of my poncho – a last-minute purchase before I left – which I hadn’t really envisaged having much use for. While I wouldn’t bother donning it whilst wandering (preferring cool rain to the sticky perspiration the non-permeable material traps inside), I wouldn’t fancy riding around on the back of a motorbike all day without protection. All thus suitably attired, our mini-motorcade of five bikes headed off through the narrow side-streets.
As we headed into the country, we were greeted with the daily sights of Vietnamese rural life: Deluged paddy fields populated by conical-hatted workers; cyclos and bicycles laden to breaking point with fresh produce, furniture and live animals (one bike rode past with as many as 30 ducks tied to a cage – looking for all the world like some mythical, many-headed duck god!); a local woman on a motorbike with her foot on the stanchion of her husbands cyclo, giving him a boost up a steep hill with his heavy load of firewood. Children actually ran out into the streets to wave at us and parents turned the heads of toddlers to catch a glimpse of the round-eyes. Within ten minutes, I felt like I was seeing something of the real Vietnam and, despite the British-style weather, my spirits soared. Wherever we went and whatever we did, it was refreshing not to be doing it at the bidding of a tour-guide and on some kind of timescale. We visited an old covered bridge, war bunkers situated on a peaceful bend of the Perfume river, a Buddhist monastery and the tomb of one of the ancient dynastic kings. The calm and serenity of the temple as the monks gave thanks for their morning meal was matched by the still mist over the meandering river; the austerity and splendour of the vast burial complex contrasting the air of rustic simplicity in the small market town by the bridge. Gliding effortlessly along the rice paddy dikes, it seemed we had been transported back in time to an era without machinery and intensive agriculture…of course, we had merely left the confines of city life. It became apparent to me that this kind of travel was what I’d been looking for in Vietnam and I was all the keener to pursue an off-road adventure into the mountains.
As the day progressed, the sun eventually began to burn through the brooding clouds. The burgeoning sunshine, coupled with our shared pleasure at the freedom of the open road (as opposed to the stale, air-conditioned environment of the tour bus), soon had us all smiling and joking. When we stopped to see local girls rolling sandalwood incense sticks, Russ even had a pop himself. His first effort looked more like hot dog than an incense stick and provoked further merriment and a good round of piss-taking. However, with a little help from a pretty local (which I’m sure he didn’t mind at all!) he was soon knocking them out like an old pro. We offered to leave him there to earn a days wages, while we took the girl with us…but he blanched a little when told that on an average day, she rolled out around 12,000 of the buggers.
After a fine lunch at a local eatery suggested by Tanh, we headed back into town to inspect the Imperial Enclosure of the Nguyen dynasty. Once again, the buildings and their layout were on a grand scale and it was possible to imagine being the emperor and strolling around the massive Forbidden Purple City, surrounded only by Eunuchs and a harem of 143 wives. It’s hard to say whether he was a very lucky or very unfortunate man…although I somehow doubt that a feudal emperor would have put up with nagging on that scale!
Our trusty guides met us once again outside and took us on the final leg of our tour to the local market. As with most markets I’ve experience in Asia, the smell inside varied from pungent to overpowering, depending on the kind of produce you were wondering past. More so than anywhere else I’d seen in Vietnam, there was also a surfeit of begging children. Many looked hungry and dirty, but refused offers of food – persisting in asking for money. I have my reservations about handing out cash to youngsters who quite obviously ought to be in school…it seems their parents – or organised gangs – try to take advantage of their cute appeal and prey on the sympathy of affluent tourists. If they are unwilling to take food my suspicion is that there is an adult waiting around the corner to pocket the proceeds…and I’m loath to encourage the abuse. Even more distressing were the deformed or mentally impaired kids, encouraged to play up to tourists by wailing and moaning at a prod from a watchful minder. Again it was hard not to give them something, but for the knowledge that they would see very little of their day’s ‘work’. If they made less money from begging there’s a chance their parents may send them to school or have them properly cared for. We didn’t stay in the market long – our pale skin attracting too much attention from anyone with a cause to plead. My only purchase was a quick snack of Nem Lui from one of the trolley food stalls: a rice pancake wrapped around fresh herbs and pork sausage and dipped in a delicious peanut satay sauce.That evening we feasted on more of the same at ‘Xuan Trang’ – easily the best restaurant so far in Vietnam. The local brew, Huda, was tasty and refreshing…and at 9000 dong a bottle (about 40p) we sank a few to wash down dinner. Mark, Mel and I had decided to take a tour bus around the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) the following morning and, with an early start at 6am, we made an early night of it to ensure we didn’t miss the bus.
November 17, 2004
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)