Cold War Burning

Here was my send-off from 2009 Quang Ngai, and it was much the same as July, 1971.

Just when I was finished with the days writing, one more experience comes along, and this one is so reminiscent of my final days during the war. That war memory involved a Cold Duck drunk that left me with a splitting headache for my final single-digit days left in-country. Below are new found friends, Kelvin from New Zealand, and Morgan and Stefan from Sweden. We spent a busy afternoon on the My Tra terrace.

My cousin from Russell, Kansas, Richard Polcyn, recently commented that my blogs were being read daily by a third grade class of students. Oops, I had better watch my language, so, thanks for the warning, Cousin. Actually, my entire manuscript of fiction can be rated for “any” age group. Although depicting the violence of war and the ugliness in the world, I hope my down-on-the-farm, style of writing, can meet the high level of New York publishing standards when the time comes to find a literary agent and publisher.

Today, the added experience I am writing of involves two Swedish water-cooling equipment specialists, and one pumping equipment specialist from New Zealand, and a table full of empty beer bottles. When will I ever learn that I’m not a young man anymore, but when they challenged this American, well, I was not gonna hold back. Below photo is one of our bar maids that we kept busy on a hot-steamy QN afternoon.

Actually, I don’t feel bad today after the Oktoberfest, Vietnam style. The guys caught me when I was coming down for a break and checking in with the tourist office for further ticketing. I wanted pictures taken of me out on the veranda of the hotel, by the river. I had not met the two men with a table filling up with beer bottles, but thought I should. They looked to be typical Aussies. It so reminded me of my Cold Duck drunk of 1971, where three of us consumed every ounce of that bad-wine-mix, and filled a table with bottles at Kramer Compound Officer’s club, Quang Ngai, Vietnam.

The two Swedes were waiting for a spare part from Houston, Texas. The part was a very expensive heat exchange system they were working on, north of Quang Ngai with their Vietnamese counterparts. The New Zealander, a pumping equipment specialist was just taking a mid-morning break and got caught up in the robust test of international skills, ability and endurance.

We talked of many things, solved many issues of the world, and by 2:00 p. m. the table was filled with beer bottles. I will reflect later on some of those issues we discussed, if I can recall them, lol.

I need to check-out of the hotel tomorrow and get ready for hopefully my final bus ride. This one is a short ride. I booked a two night stay in Hoi An, a scenic city, they tell me, south of Danang along the South China Sea.

How dare I forget My sweet wife, Nancy on her……….. Um, what birthday is this? Wow, are we really getting that old? Well, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Remember our first year together, where six weeks into our marriage, and I shipped out to Vietnam? I recall well that First Anniversary call from the sandbagged bunker in Quang Ngai, just across the river now, from where I write this comment.

More from Hoi An.

Good Morning.

It is another noisy day here at the My Tra Hotel. The Vietnamese language is loaded with inflections of high and a few low pitched sounds, and boy, do the folks love to speak with emphasis. I am recalling many old Vietnamese words, but have such a hard time in the pronunciation. There is little help for this old guy, where English is a challenge. And the slang words, #1 and #10, same-same, etc. Nobody uses them anymore.

I must warn you readers that I cannot resist going back and cleaning up previous dispatches. So, if you read a days activity once, and go back to it, and it sounds a bit different, well, it’s because it is. Sorry, but I’m so used to editing, I cannot help myself. I have edited my book chapters way-over 50 times, so just a warning.

Today, I took a motor bike ride with Mr. An to the display of the My Lai (4) massacre site. The My Tra Hotel is on the road to My Lai. The local villages on the road were busy with rice harvesting. To an old farm-boy from Kansas, the fields of rice looked very plentiful, and many-many fields had groups of family members bringing in the rice crop. I noticed a continued method of removing the rice kernels from stalks not much different from what I recalled thirty-nine years ago. A very labor intensive system, yet today, but the fields were being cleared of this harvest seasons production in a very methodical manner. I also saw many fields of corn, and very good looking corn, I might add. Motor bikes were loaded with bags of rice, where the rice was to be spread out and dried and then made ready for sale.

One of my tour guides mentioned that Vietnam happens to be the number two rice growing countries in the world. Thailand is number one and, yes, the USA is third. I believe it from the good looking fields on the way to My Lai. My Lai is not far from Quang Ngai city, but on a very busy road. I thought I could rent a bicycle and ride over. Whew, what was I thinking?

The Son My Massacre Relic display area is right off the main road east 7-9 clicks from the My Tra Hotel, and close to the highway. I have a military topographical map which shows the area. We arrived early and Mr. An showed me the displays of burnt hamlet homes, and the names of the family members who were killed there. The area covers some 5-7 acres with walkways from one display of a burnt home to another. The walkways are of concrete, with prints of American military boot imprints along side Vietnamese foot impressions. The displays have been built with concrete to keep the displays from deteriorating. A water canal runs through the area, and depicts how some of the people were forced to move into the canal, and then killed by Lt. Calley and his men.

We went into the museum where pictures of individuals involved were shown, from the helicopter pilot who tried to stop the senseless killing to the aftermath of Calley’s Courts Martial at Ft. Benning, Georgia. A senseless and horrendous scene of a military unit gone wild with revenge and a scene held up by antiwar protestors for getting America out of Vietnam.

I have studied the senseless slaughter of civilians at My Lai and know that this one event has always been held up by opponents to the USA involvement in Vietnam. When I told Mr. An that My Lai was an isolated incident, he mentioned another massacre by S. Korean soldiers in Binh Son district, where over 600 civilians were killed, and also a killing of over 60 civilians by an American force in Nghia Hanh district. I was not aware of those incidents.

We did not get into the communist side of massacre activities, however. When ready to leave the museum, a book was available for comments and opinions. A person writing in English on the last used page wrote of My Lai as a typical example of the terrible Americans, and what oppression and killing America had committed around the world. The person signed his name, and his/her country as Cuba, of all places.

Well, I could not leave that unchallenged. If my comment is to be torn out, the person from Cuba’s will also have to go, for I wrote a one-pager on the back side. I wrote of Communism and the estimated 100 million killed under the stain of that hideous system, and that the system or “Party” as it is called here, was thankfully, barely alive in such places as Cuba and Vietnam, to name two. I left my email address and name for anyone caring to respond. We shall see.

I left My Lai saddened but I knew of My Lai 39 years ago. It was not new to me, but the actual event and who was killed was not known until later. In 1970, on my assignment at Tu Binh village area, we were having constant problems with movement of small enemy forces coming through the Son Tinh district and Son My area for resupply purposes and staging more attacks on Vietnamese outposts and civilian groups in Tu Nghia district. We were directly south across the river from My Lai. My counterpart, Dai Uy Hai, hated the Son My area, and that was two years after the massacre. Below photo is the memorial at the Son My massacre site.

It is terribly wrong to line up anyone, civilian or military and kill them in cold blood. I found out from working in the field at Tu Binh and the S-2 intelligence shop at Quang Ngai that some useful information comes from prisoner interrogation, but the best comes from people in the field, sitting next to the enemy, and that information did not come easily.

We drove from My Lai further east, out to the beach of My Khe. Beautiful beaches up and down the coast, just as I recalled. A few buildings by the road looked to have once been a small hotel, and according to Mr. An, the area is to be rebuilt into a resort.

We returned to my hotel, and talked a little by the river with Ms. Cam, who came down from her tourist office. She has been so helpful. Mr. An had another tour with two returning veterans from America. I had many questions I have for him, and he gave me his email address. I hope I can get more information on his experiences during the war and after.

It is now the 24th, and I have an “open-day.” I need to get ready for my third leg of this journey. I booked the Indochine Hotel on the Cua Dai Beach in Hoi An for two nights, cost of $45/night. The My Tra hotel is $20/per night. Ms. Cam is getting me a bus to the QL#1 junction with Hoi An. From there, I need to catch a motor bike or taxi out to Hoi An. I booked in Danang two nights at the expensive Furama Resort on China Beach at $145/night. I had to do it, for the resort is in my fictional storyline. Then, I have three nights booked at the Hanoi Paradise Hotel in downtown Hanoi, in the Hoan Kiem Lake district, price of $65/night. I only need to book my Air Vietnam flight from Danang to Hanoi, and I should be set, leaving Quang Ngai tomorrow morning by bus.

Okay, here are a few catch up thoughts.

John Daub, I left your district picture and the Vietnamese family picture with Mr. An, my tour guide in QN. He was going to keep checking when he can. Maybe he will find something. He was born in Nghia Hanh and knows many people there.

I want to thank again the Hays Daily News in Hays, Kansas, and, Fred Hunt, in particular, for assistance in setting this blog up. I hope the information I am writing has been useful, Fred. The Song Tra river here somewhat reminds me of my old farming days along the Smoky Hill River where I grew up on a Kansas farm near Russell. The river here brings in rich produce for the people of Quang Ngai, always something new is washed up, or dug out of the constantly moving sand and silt.

Speaking of Kansas reminds me of the noise of locust. You cannot believe the very noisy sound of bugs along the roads here, especially the schools. I have not found out the name of the bugs yet. The sound is almost deafening when we rode along the roads, and yet, have not found out why they bugs are worse near schools. It was not that way during the war, that I recall.

Now, here is one more story. Yesterday, I asked to be driven to a market where I could buy a large suitcase. My purchased gifts were too big to store in the suitcases I brought along. So, Ms. Cam set me up with a taxi cab driver, and we zipped over to a three story very large and well stocked department type of store. I found a suitcase barely big enough, for 540,000 dongs, or around $30 USDs. They would not take dollars, or a credit card, and of course, I did not have enough VND money. At least five people came over, and all were chatting with my cab driver. Finally, the driver pulled out his billfold and paid for the suitcase. I was asking him to take me back to the hotel, where I could get more dongs, but he knew that would cost me more for a cab, so he paid for my suitcase until we returned to the hotel. Can you believe a cabby doing that anywhere in America. I don’t either. I gave him a five dollar tip. What a nice man.

Okay, another short story to add authenticity to my novel and its storyline. Back in Nha Trang, I was walking back to my hotel from Sunday Church, of all places, and I was confronted twice with the offer of ”a nice young lady for you, big American man.” I missed asking about that subject when in Saigon, where Tu Do street was once a popular downtown area for that type of business. Well, it looks as if prostitution is alive and well in 2009 Vietnam. Two young guys in Nha Trang confirmed another piece of my fictional writing. I thanked them but kept walking as quickly as this old body could move.

Okay, my final comment for today. I was told by my new friend, Mr. Van Giap, that my blog does not show enough of my feelings. Okay, Giap, you asked for it.

Here is a thought that has been on my mind from time to time, and one that I have written about in my book as well, probably one too many times for some of you readers. I have no need to conceal it at this late date. In fact, I think it reflects the imperfect people we sometimes are with our work. This thought has to do with my “poor work ethic” while here in Quang Ngai back during the war. The memory wears not-so-heavy on my second trip to the city.

A bit of history. In 1969, I had just returned from Germany, serving two years with American forces in Bamberg, Germany. I had seen the threat and the sheer violence of Communism up close, along the Iron Curtain, a border made secure, not to keep NATO forces from invading, but to keep its citizens from escaping. I came home and started listening to the nightly news from Vietnam. It was all the bad we were doing, and this guy thought we were trying to keep communism from spreading down into all of Vietnam. I was so naive, for I started to believe our news reporting, Walter Cronkite and his sidekick, Roger Mudd. We did have a free press, right? Our press was always allowed to report on all aspects of the war, the good and the bad with no interference from the government, right? Well, mostly bad reporting came from U.S. sources, and, only good communist news came from the USSR presses. Ironic, huh?  When leaving for my duty in Vietnam, I had evolved into a guy with a rotten attitude about why the heck we were even in Vietnam, and I let it roll over into my work.

I believed the wrong people. I did not do a good job for my fellow advisors or the Vietnamese I was there to help. Nobody here in Quang Ngai knows of that today in 2009. In fact, they were all greeting me with smiles, just happy to see that I had come back. “You come back home, Tu Binh,” one of the men said when we visited there two days ago.

I should have done more with my counterpart, Dai Uy Nguyen Ngoc Hai, and his Regional Force, and my American MAT team of advisors, and my boss at Tu Nghia district, Mr. Ken Gove. Ken, if you are out there someplace, you must admit, you threw a shock at me when we first met. When I was expecting a somewhat clean shaven guy in a military uniform, you came out greeting me in black pajamas, thongs, and a beard down to your waist. Yes, you had many projects going at district, and I failed in supporting you and your work. Well, a beard not down to your waist, but close, in this old photo taken at Tu Nghia district, of Ken Gove, and two advisors about to head home.

MAT team I-62 at Tu Binh outpost, from the left, Lt Hunt, Sgt Waite, SFC Maene, me, SFC Jenkins.

Good afternoon from another steamy hot and humid Vietnam.

I hear from home in Denver that folks were dumped on by Mother Nature with lots of snow. Oh, how I wish for just a smidgen of cool breeze today off the Song Tra river. Instead, I hear the steady hum of motor bike horns and engines, as the hotel sits just off the old QL#1 bridge. There are some nicer hotels in town, all on the south side of the river, and more expensive. The location of the My Tra to me is perfect. Last night I sat outdoors next to the meandering Song Tra under a line of thatch roofed gazeboes, while enjoying a succulent meal of fresh catch of shrimp off the South China Sea. Small shrimp with vegetables and a huge bowl of cooked rice, topped off with a few rounds of Saigon beer was all this old guy needed to get ready for today. Squid was also a mainstay on the menu, and I recall a few squid we sank our teeth into, back during the war. Apparently, this area continues as a great nesting spot for the squid population.

Mr. An was right on time at 0700 as he told me to hop aboard and hang on today, as we weaved our way through traffic, first crossing the old QL#1 bridge, then we headed east out of town towards the villages of Tu Binh and Co Luy. I was hoping to find my home of 39 years ago, and see once again the beautiful fishing village of Co Luy.

Stop #1: The road to Tu Binh is not any better today than it was 39 years ago, heavily rutted with some patches of blacktop. The traffic is ten times worse. As expected, but hoping not to find, the road was packed with small family size buildings, urban sprawl. Now and again, the road opened up to show beautiful fields of rice and tall coconut trees. I caught a glimpse of the Song Tra to our left, so I knew I was on the right road. We drove for a few more clicks and came where the river met the road, almost, and I knew we had gone a bit too far. So, I got off the bike, we pulled down off the road to a clearing next to the river, and smack across the river I spotted what we called “Buddha Mountain.” It was then, and still is today a flat-topped hill. A pagoda sits on top, per Mr. An. I knew I was very close now. In the below photo, I was holding the Denver Post newspaper travel section. I might get my photo in the section later on, and why not try and get a plug in for my book.  I was wearing my old crusty looking Vietnam baseball cap with imprint of “MACV Quang Ngai 70-71.” Wearing that crusty old cap was only appropriate.

I had the above old photo with me, showing a section of the interior to Tu Binh Regional Force outpost. Buddha Mountain appeared closer in my old photo, and I knew I was a little too far east on the road, so, I started walking along a trashy, unused tall grassy area, what looked like an area never touched for much. All of a sudden, it hit me, that I was real close to the old outpost. Of course, I recalled landmines and booby traps placed around the perimeter for our security. Damn, it would be something if I stepped on one of my own landmines. Wouldn’t that gather front-row headlines, “Returning Vietnam veteran steps on one of his own landmines.” I got that old itchy feeling, and I backed away from the tall grass. I quickly got back on the road, walking west. Mr. An had driven ahead, had stopped to ask folks on the road about me and if they recalled a Vietnamese outpost located here. There was a flurry of interest up and down the road from his questions.

I sometimes wonder what people do here, for so many are at their homes all hours of the day. I might have answered that earlier, for many of the homes lining the roads have a business function in front, so many tend to a personal trade at or near their homes.

People crowded around us again as we showed them my old pictures. They were checking me out as well. What friendly people they are to meet a man who had been here causing such danger near their family heritage homes. They seemed interested in seeing what I looked like so long ago. When I mentioned the words, Dai Uy, and Covanmy, and beau coup, they understood and smiled and talked like crazy. No angry faces did I see. Now, isn’t that something, or is it just the way of the Vietnamese people not to carry bitterness, or is the grudge against another source now in control here? I’ll leave that thought burning.

I believe the narrow road in the below photo was the west edge of the outpost area. One man pointed to the large coconut tree, and said, “Dai Uy, that be same tree in your picture.” I thought that was a bit of a stretch.

The exact spot of the outpost we believed was where now sat another Party or village building, and yes, you guessed it, no pictures allowed. I was determined to get closer, and found the tiny trail off the main road, shown in above photo. I was determined to get closer. A narrow walkway, to the left, off this trail was directly behind the Party buildings. The Party buildings had an old stone fence around it. I noticed what could have been pieces of the old entrenched moat that went around the old outpost on one section of the stone fence today. That was the only piece of ground remotely looking familiar. Funny, on my research trip to Bamberg, Germany, last fall in 2008, Warner Barracks looked almost exactly the same. My old Battalion buildings still much in use. It was not the same as here.

We drove to the rivers edge and met another group of helpful folks. One older man rode up in a rusty old bicycle. He had an artificial leg, so, I figured he must have been involved in the war. He was checking me out, and likewise I was trying to visualize what he may have looked like when younger. Sadly, he denied that he knew my counterpart, Captain — Dai Uy Nguyen Ngoc Hai, or myself, when asked. But, something told me he was holding back. There were by now 6-7 folks looking at my pictures, trying to figure out exactly where the outpost was, all talking at the same time. He was not talking, just looking at me, and smiling. We had something in common.

There is more to this old man’s story, but I will not get anything further today. I need to come back. The old man was the only fellow we talked to old enough to have been here during the war. He was keeping his secret from the others, but to me, his smile told me something. And the rest of that story, folks, needs to be saved for another writing. You will hear of it in the non-fiction chapter, the closest yet coming to my novel storyline. Get ready for a landmine. Yes, over here, a cold war continues burning in the hearts and minds of many.

Um, typing this comment just now, I see a nice comfortable bus pull into the hotel parking with 10-12 American looking veteran folks. Well, that could have been me, getting a back-seat tour of how nice things are here. Lucky for me, I decided to go solo, where normal tours do not go. And, in so doing, I will probably have a totally different view of Vietnam than the folks in the nice bus. I think sometimes it’s all in ones perspective and what we ”want” to experience. I give them a clear view of me when they were leaving. I think I’m going dinky dau with some of my activities. Need to wrote more of this event, lol.

Back to the story. We left the Tu Binh area for Co Luy. I felt we had closed in on the area of the old outpost, but urban sprawl had covered much evidence of the past, but not all of it. The folks were very helpful. I might want to visit this area on my own. I need to get back and talk to the old man. There is more to the story here at Tu Binh.

Onward to Co Luy. I recalled the village of Co Luy had a big open market area with a lined group of homes setting off a sandy beach area. Beyond the sandy area was a big market, and it was always busy when we came through the village back during the war. Back then, the sandy beach went down to the water’s edge, where fishing boats were off-loading their nightly catch of shrimp, fish and squid. That scene has stayed in my mind as a serene picture until today.

Today, Co Luy is a busy fishing port, but with dirty narrow streets and a dirty little market area. It looks nothing as it did in 1970. My old memory will always be saved, but shattered for what the village has turned into today. It was a busy day today, and the folks moving fish off the boats wanted their pictures taken, so I took a few extra ones. We headed back on another road to Quang Ngai city. I was disappointed to say the least at Co Luy and the Hourglass beaches. The below photo shows the market area today at Co Luy. You need to look close between the buildings to the small open area.

You know, I have to interject a thought here. Back in 1970, I saw Tu Binh and Co Luy as I thought it would be when coming to this place in the world, small villages and hamlets banded together with family homes, with fields of rice between one village to the next. Then, it was bicycle with foot powered, much slower, but quiet, and the air was not polluted as it is today. I saw no plumbing or sewer systems out here either.

In the below photo, I was next to one of many fishing boats being off-loaded. Boats stay out for up to a week, come in early morning with their catch. The work on this day was almost finished by noon.

Another thing I noticed on the road today that had not changed, large ice chunks, the same size we used back in 1970 to keep our beer and soft drinks cold are still being used for cooling food items. The three ladies, Mr. An, and I first spoke with had a chunk of ice they had brought from QN, or nearby.

We headed back to QN city for a look-see at the MACV Advisory - Kramer Compound, Province and Advisory HQs and the Catholic Church. Nothing looked the same. The Church looked to be in operation, so I knew where to look for Province HQs. Kramer Compound is gone, and the Province and MACV HQs areas are where pictures are not allowed. Province looks somewhat the same, I could not get in back to see the advisory building. As we drove further, Mr. An took me by many newer buildings, and all of them seemed to be Party buildings, all with the old familiar blood red flag. Instead of the hammer and sickle, this one has only a big yellow star.

Tour guides tell me approximately six percent of the population is Catholic. The majority, around eighty percent are Buddhist. One guide told me he thought many Vietnamese were lazy with their beliefs. They stay with their faith because they do not have to go out to Church on Sundays. Buddhist have altars inside their homes and can pray there. Below picture is the Catholic Church in Quang Ngai.

The photo below is how the Church looked during the war. It had been partially destroyed during the 1968 TET, and was left with needed repairs as late as 1971.

Tomorrow, we go to the My Lai (4) area, to see and re-read of Lt. Calley, what he and members of his platoon did back in 1968. I did not get into Son Tinh district or the My Lai area when I was here in 1970. In 2006, I looked for Mr. Calley on a research trip through Ft. Benning, even visiting the VVVick Jewelry Store he married into, down Columbus, Georgia way. Calley was not to be seen on that particular day of my visit.

I think it’s time for a beer 333.

Another good morning from Vietnam.

Mr. Nguyen An, Vice-director of the Quang Ngai Travel Agency, met me at 0600 hours with his steady hand on his Honda motor bike. Ms. Cam from the My Tra arranged our travel. Mr. An recommended we get an early start to the places I wanted to see today, before the heat kicked in. He had no argument with me. Today, We were going to see the old QN airport, Hill 4-11, where an Americal Division base was located west of the city, near Tu My village area, then to Nghia Hanh advisory location, over and down to LZ Snoopy, next to QL#1 in Mo Duc and the Song Ve river and city, and lastly to the old Tu Nghia district advisory location. Lots of driving, and I found out I’m not used to balancing myself while dodging other vehicles. I survived sitting on the back of a scooter tour. Mr. An even brought a formal contract for me to sign, for our three day, $30 per day tour.

The city of Quang Ngai is a small city compared to other province centers, but the mostly motor bike traffic was still humming. On our first break he told me a bit about himself, born in 1960 in Nghia Hanh, his family moved to Mo Duc in 1965 when NH became very dangerous. His father and mother are still living, they are in their mid 70s. His father was a farmer by profession, and apparently missed having to join up with the SVN military. He showed me where he lived on QL#1 in Mo Duc, which was very close to LZ Snoopy. He recalled how much noise there always was, and how dangerous it was during the war days. He said he still hears in his mind the artillery from the big Americal Division artillery support based on top of the nearby hill. He has two children, his daughter, age 22 is getting married to a Vietnamese man who lives in America. They met in Saigon, and his future Son-in-law has promised to give him a trip to America.

Once returning home, I emailed Mr. An with questions. He has responded once, and I am waiting for a second set of answers to more questions, questions that relate to what happened after communism walked in and took over.

Stop #1: At the old QN airport. It is not used today. A small rusted shell of a building still stands that once was the airport terminal and tower, according to Mr. An. I got a couple of pictures. The landing strip is still intact, and today was much in use as a rice drying area. Rice is dried out by spreading on the ground to dry in the hot day’s heat. Today, rice drying was on many of the roads, just as it was back during the war.

Stop #2: Hill 4-11was located a number of kilometers west from the old airport. We drove on some very narrow roads to trails, and talked to many people out west of the city. We finally “think” we found the hill where an Americal Division Infantry battalion was located. A cemetery was at the bottom of the hill, sort of a rocky climb up the hill. Large trees and bushes were growing on the hill. I looked north and could see Son Tin district across the Song Tra river. It did not feel like the place, but the locals said it was the only hill in this area where Americans were once located. I took a few pictures and we headed back down though the cemetery. Like LZ Snoopy, this hill was stripped of all vegetation during the war. You could never tell it today, lush 75 foot trees and bushes were growing everywhere.

Stop #3: At Nghia Hanh district, I was hoping to get some pictures for John Daub, a veteran who was stationed there in 1969, then volunteered for a second one year tour in Quang Ngai. Not many veterans I know who were that courageous. I was also hoping to locate local people who might have known a Vietnamese family John knew during the war. John, the road coming down from QN was packed with new buildings, mostly all small family type homes with a family business fronting the road. They all looked like they had been built hundreds of years ago and not within the past 35 years. Anyways, the road was open from time to time where you could see rice fields and a stray cow or chicken. The road was newly finished as we got into the city of Nghia Hanh, but only for a short stretch.

Now, the intersection on your Google map was the main center of town, and the large building is indeed a “Party” building, so guess what. I could not take a good picture of the street in front of your old compound. Now beyond the Party building, where you believed your compound was located has all been replaced with fairly large buildings. I did see an old rusting water tower in back of the Party building. But, looking at how buildings deteriorate here, the tower may have not been that old. Now, Mr. An, did let me take a picture a bit down the road in both directions, so, I was able to get the below picture, looking down the street in front of your compound. Your advisory compound would have been on the left side of the road, beyond the telephone post in the photo.

As to the family picture. We looked around and walked up and down the street, and we saw nobody old. Everyone looked young, and I’m sorry, but we had to leave that old family picture of friends at that. I did leave the photo with Mr. An. Maybe he will uncover something later on.

Stop #4: We drove from Nghia Hanh east through a number of hamlets over to QL#1. A short time later we crossed the Song Ve River. A few books on the war have this area and this river in their references of bitter fighting during the early part of the war. The U.S. Marines ventured down here, away from the confines of Danang, then turned it over to the Army, and the mighty Americal Division for the remainder of the war. LZ Snoopy is a short ride from the river, and sits on the south side of QL#1. Surprising that another cemetery sits at the bottom of the hill, and the hill today is filled with trees and shrubs. Only very noisy bugs, possibly locust were out in the trees making a very loud humming noise. I took a few more pictures that today to another person was only a small tree covered hill next to the highway. During the war, the hill was stripped with defoliants, of all vegetation for security purposes. Today, thanks to Mother Nature, she has brought it back to her standards.

Last stop: We drove back north, up QL#1, trying to locate my old district headquarters of Tu Nghia. Mr. An said the old buildings are now gone, but knew of the new party headquarters for Tu Nghia. He thought they were in the same location, and of course, I could not take a frontal picture, but was allowed to take one down the road. These Commies are so worried, and for some folks, it’s the Chinese who worry them the most. I was disappointed in not seeing more of what I recall as my district headquarters, but the “urban sprawl” in Vietnam has covered much of the roads with constant buildings, and the buildings look as if they have been here for centuries, not a few decades. I don’t know what it is about Vietnam construction techniques, but the looks and maintenance of buildings go downhill quickly. I saw lots of new building going up in Quang Ngai, with very-very shaky platforms for roofing and second floors, just like during the war. Recently finished buildings look very nice in and around here, so what happens to them? For the unknowing person, they’d think these buildings were hundreds of years old instead of only built since 1975.

The below photo is close to where the Tu Nghia district compound was located. Notice how narrow the road is in the photo, and this road, folks, is of QL#1, the main Vietnam highway tying south to the north.

Okay, that is all for today. Tomorrow I travel to Tu Binh village, where I spent eight long months, then to the South China Sea and what I recall as the beautiful fishing village of Co Luy. The village area of Co Luy was mentioned in the 1968 My Lai massacre reports. In 1970, it was the village we purchased our daily supply of fresh fish. Mr. An will stop in QN to see if I can take pictures of province buildings, and the Catholic Church that kept getting damaged during the war. Below photo is the My Tra Hotel, my research base in Quang Ngai. The photo does the hotel much justice.

Enough for today.

Good morning from steamy and humid Quang Ngai.

The locals are complaining about the heat today. I’m totally drenched writing this around 1100 hours on a Monday morning.

I missed a city tour of Nha Trang. It was so hot, I laid around and updated my blog once, then waited out the heat until 4 p.m. Yes, Nancy, I made it to Mass again. What is it about these Vietnamese people? Again, the music was beautiful at the Church, but not quite as good as Notre Dame in Saigon.

I was sitting in a short pew before Mass when an older gentleman came in and sat down next to me. He touched me to get my attention, and wanted just to shake hands. He spoke in French. I smiled and said, “I’m sorry, but I can only speak English.” He smiled and went off to his prayers. He did not have to do what he did, but well, it sort of told me something about him and this place. Whether this stranger was Friend or Foe during the war, his handshake told me that today, all was right between us.

The bus for Quang Ngai left around 8:00 p.m., from my hotel. I picked up a real cheap room, $8 night, but hey, the hotel was right next door to the bus pick-up point.

Folks, for you over six feet tall, I’d think twice before getting on one of these “Open-sleeper” buses. I could hardly squeeze into the coffin size sleeper seat. Yeah, the seats look like a coffin. What a miserable 10 hour ride, uncomfortable, bad-bad air, and another driver out to set a speed record. I truly believe I have faced more hazards on these past bus rides than my war year in Vietnam. Below photo was taken inside the sleeper bus. I don’t believe anyone got much sleep.

Lordy, another story in the making with one more bus driver. I cannot properly explain how these buses can weave in and out of chaotic traffic, how fellow drivers get their behemoth vehicles, buses and trucks meeting at 60 mph or faster on narrow bumpy and dusty roads within a nats hair-width, and miss each other. Just when I thought the drive would be halfway nice on QL#1, from Rhan Rang to Nha Trang, it was, but not further north. Last night the main highway turned into a fight to stay on the road and in my seat. You veterans out there, our “highway #1″ was a lot better 40 years ago. The stretch of QL#1from Nha Trang to Quang Ngai was miserable, and the air, my God, it was unbreathable. We got behind so many smoking trucks belching their way up another hill, I lost count. What these people put up with in Vietnam. They truly fit the description of “resilient.”

I met a number of folks on the bus, and all were quite young. So many young girls traveling alone. I’ve been pushing my book at every chance. I got into a nice chat with a couple from the UK. They had been traveling for nine months, if you can believe it. I never got to finding out where, but we jumped right into the political fray of today and yesterday. I was only listening last night, and the young fellow had some sound opinions, a strong conservative from the UK. You gotta love those Brit’s.

I arrived in Quang Ngai around 4:00 a.m. A nice Vietnamese fellow on the bus was getting off, he told me to follow him, that he was getting off at a place on the highway close to the My Tra Hotel. I had no reservations at the hotel due to my change of travel dates, but felt good that the hotel would not be booked solid. They were not. Actually, I see most hotels are not booked much, maybe it is the time of year. A young man was waiting at the stop in the road. He had a motor bike and again with the help of the fellow bus passenger, he told me that it would cost around $2 to get me to the hotel. What nice and caring people, and the bus passenger offered his help without me asking. The man on the motor bike grabbed two pieces of my luggage, I grabbed the other two and we were off in a blaze of smoke. Those bikes sure kick out the pollution.

Nancy, I bought some rather large souvenir items again, and currently have them well-packed in boxes. I think I’ll buy one big piece of luggage, and toss everything into one suitcase, instead of four smaller pieces. I’ll donate these old suitcases I have on the trip. Hope you don’t mind. The My Tra hotel was locked at the front gate. The biker guy woke the gate guard up on the side of the road, and we walked into the reception area of the hotel. The reception person on duty signed me in, and wow, what a view I have of Quang Ngai City from my hotel room.

Now, John Daub, Ron Chaban and other QN vets that might be coming back, I highly recommend the My Tra Hotel. It is a bit run-down today, but for $20/night, it cannot be beat. The best thing about the My Tra in my mind is the view. I was checked in around 5 a.m., made it up to my room with help from the reception fellow. I gave him an extra dollar for waking him up.

The view was very emotional for me, about the only way I can describe what I looked upon. The hotel sits on the north side of the Song Tra Khuc River. My room faces a bit to the southwest. I was dog-tired by 5 a.m. I got no sleep on that bus, but you know, John Daub, the view I saw across the river, to the west, hills looking larger than what I recall, a few new city buildings lining the south riverbank, and looking to the east, I could see tree outlines where the village of Tu Binh sits, where I spent eight tough months. And all of that got me real pumped up. It is five hours later, and I’m still going strong with little sleep. Below picture is looking southwest out of my hotel veranda across the river to old QL#1 bridge and Quang Ngai city.

The emotions, well, I just let the feelings flow, as I popped open one, then a second beer-333 at 0500 hours as I watched the sun slowly rise to the east. Most rooms have small coolers stocked with water, beer and soft drinks. Why the “Party” had to change the name, one more “3″ of their most famous beer-33 name is beyond me. Listening to the hum of Monday vehicle traffic build on the old QL#1 bridge, the boats out on the river, and the smell, well, John Daub, you are probably the only one reading this that might understand my feelings.

I just stood on my balcony watching the early morning sun open another day along the Song Tra, much as I did for eight long months at Tu Binh outpost a few miles to the east, back when I knew I had survived another day, and could check off one more day on my short-timer calendar.

I’m finally back, back to a place where for decades was a mere memory, seldom talked of, with only fading pictures as a remembrance to something I wondered was even real anymore . For me, those old emotional times have not faded away, I just found a way I could carry them easily. Yes, this place is real, it existed, and still does today, a tad more vibrant now and much more peaceful. Below picture is looking to the southeast towards a new QL#1 bridge and the village of Tu Binh on the right, or south side of river.

Ok, enough of that. Ms. Cam, the tourist lady here at the hotel has me set-up tomorrow with an older man, Mr. Nguyen An, who has a tourist business and is gonna take me to many old places I want to see. He is doing it via motor-bike. Nghia Hanh is on my list. John Daub. I’ll be checking on the old NH advisory compound, checking on who might recall you, as well as the family picture you gave to me. I’ll also look for Hill 411, Tu Nghia district, and lastly, LZ Snoopy, the Americal Division artillery base we received our support from, which is located south, in Mo Duc district.

Enough for today.

Hello from the very warm beaches at Nha Trang.

I arrived safe and somewhat sound from another experience in riding the buses of Vietnam. Just when I think I have experienced the worst trip, another comes to replace the last. I’m typing this blog at an open air Internet Cafe on 2 Hung Vuong street in Nha Trang, just a block from the beautiful South China Sea beaches. A young American is doing some work next to me. Amazing how many young college age folks I’m seeing over here. It is noisy here with the motor bikes and locals all chatting at the same time, and drenching humidity to boot. And I just took a shower after arriving from Dalat. So much for staying fresh and clean.

Okay, this last bus ride was similar to what you will read in my fictional storyline, of an old vintage bus with barely working AC. Yes, that is what they crammed us in today around 8:30 a.m. We started winding down the 100s of hairpin curves passing slower vehicles with ease on blind curves from the highland area of Dalat. We were heading towards Phan Rang. I thought the road was bad coming up to Dalat, but I had not yet heard of this stretch of QL#27. The only good thing, traffic was much less. Actually, there were many scenic spots for pictures, but the bus was vibrating and shaking so badly, I was not able to get many pictures. The road narrowed to a width of less than one vehicle many times, but that did not slow our driver. He was not quite as fast, mainly because his bus was well past its prime. I was using my germ-free solution liberally today when stopping for breaks. Actually, the scenes on the road were breath-taking, especially with few if any guard rails on sheer drops of hundreds of feet as the driver zipped round another blind curve. Many times the driver was taking cell-phone calls, same as the other driver coming up from Saigon. Can you believe that? I would like to see the Denver drivers who are so concerned about getting “cut-off.” Just try that silly stuff on Vietnam roads. The road stayed bumpy all the way into Rhan Rang, when we caught the main highway, QL#1, heading north. The main highway was good riding all the way to Nha Trang. I can only hope the road stays that way. It should, it’s the main highway connecting the country from south to north.

The bus had one more minor issue, and that was mosquitoes, lots of ‘em. I forgot to grab my bug spray out of my bag packed under the bus seating, darn. I talked of my malaria pills I was taking, but the English speaking folks on the bus said they did not take them, made them sick. The American from yesterday, the young guy teaching English in Bangkok, said he was just taking a chance, then said, well, John McCain got malaria and he is doing okay. Um… Below is one of a few photos I was able to get coming down from Dalat.

It was like a day and night road change as QL#1 was a good road all the way up to Nha Trang, almost 100 kms. We passed through Cam Ranh Bay, and believe I was able to take some good pictures as we passed by an old landing strip. Just as my book describes, buildings once vibrant in their use were today just crumbling pieces of left over rusting junk. Merely a reminder of the war. The road from Cam Ranh was better yet, divided all the way to Nha Trang. The road traversed next to the South China Sea. I missed getting a look at the old airbase around Rhan Rang. Apparently, it was located south of the intersection with QL#27.

Nha Trang is in a very scenic area, many hills to the west and a beautiful beach. I plan to take a beach walk tonight, once the sun settles down. I met interesting folks on this bus ride today. An older couple from northern Australia and he was a die-hard Denver Bronco fan even. I met a young couple from Canada who mentioned the air pollution was much worse in Cambodia. And I thought Saigon was bad. They were not impressed with Saigon but liked Dalat. The Canadian man had a sister living in Saigon.

I’m spending the night here in Nha Trang and plan to leave for Quang Ngai tomorrow night. I have a “sleeper” coach, and I hear a tad newer bus. I have a half-day tour tomorrow followed by Catholic Mass at 4;00 p.m. They tell me the Church is only 5 minutes from the hotel. I wanted to go from Nha Trang to Quang Ngai during the day and see the country, but they cancelled that bus run. I’m off my schedule, but wait, I’m not on a schedule, May 2nd is my only schedule, heading back to truly the land of the big PX, and “the world.” Not much has changed in that personal feeling. The beach at Nha Trang was beautiful, photo below. It was busy.

I spoke with an Internet Cafe lady here in Nha Trang of weather and politics, and she had a similar reaction as my tour guide back in Dalat and folks back in Saigon. She said exactly the same thing on the war, it was history, but wanted to talk of Vietnam today. She told me not to take the bus from Danang to Hanoi, said the “people in the North will cheat and steal, and not just from foreigners.” “They treat Vietnamese from the south the same, very bad,” she said. People from the South and North do not like each other in the minds of some here. She also mentioned that one can get a visa extension for up to a year, for $20 USD, plus an early Air Vietnam booking, Danang to Hanoi for $45, around $75 for regular fare.

One bit of advice when coming to Vietnam. Bring crisp “unused” USD. I have found the US dollar is more valuable than the VN Dong, and I’m getting a good exchange rate, almost everywhere, around 17,650 Dong per 1 USD. We shall see how the USD is up north. This idea of north and south not liking each other is new stuff for me, and I did not even think of using this relationship in my fictional part of my book. You can bet that thought will get into the non-fiction chapter of my travels. One more item, bring surgical breathing mask covers for your face. The air here in many places is nasty.

More later.

Good evening from Dalat.

I’m beginning to believe I could write a book from my experiences on this trip alone. Isn’t life loaded with interesting subjects. Today was no exception, as I scheduled one more day in Dalat. I scheduled an all day city tour, $14 USD, and was met at the hotel with a van loaded with tourist from all over the world. On the van was a young professional lady from Switzerland with a French accent to her English, another professional young lady from Canada who had recently finished her graduate studies, a young American man who had spent little time back home in the past six years. He’s now teaching English in Bangkok, and was not worried in returning because of the current political unrest. I met a nice young Vietnamese couple, they wanted to know all about me and my writing, even wanting my email address. The last on the van was a couple from Cambodia and the woman spoke English.

Everyone was trying out their English, as well as other languages. We discussed everything from the weather to the local party committee. I was surprised to see as many young women traveling alone, but the two on our tour told me they had not been afraid in any countries so far. The Canadian was finishing up a six week trip thru Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. They were all an adventurous group and interested in my book research.

Our guide only needed to speak English as we toured the scenic Cable Car area, a walk down to the Datanla Waterfall. Lucky for me that I took a small tracked car back up the steep hill. I was tired just walking down to the waterfall. We stopped at the old Dalat Railway Station, then over to Emperor Bao Dai’s summer place, then stopped for lunch. I tried my favorite, fried rice with a soft drink.

The Cable Car station sits above the city with many points for scenic pictures, with cars passing over to the Truc Lam Monastery. The tour started off a bit testy when the guide seemed to have combined two tours into one. The Swiss gal was a bit perturbed, and showed her European heritage when things did not go as scheduled. You know those Swiss, right? Everything in order, much like the Germans. We next drove to Truc Lam Monastery, see photo below. A well maintained location with many tours visiting today.

Waiting near the van at the waterfall, the tour guide was in a talkative mood and we talked of the war and politics. He expressed a similar feeling of wanting to put the past behind, but he did not finish there. He talked of the dislike between the old North and South Vietnam yet today. He said many from the south “hate” the north. I asked him how he felt about America walking away from its responsibilities and allowing Communism into the south. He said, “Oh, we still love the Americans down here in the south.” He mentioned later that “the Party,” (meaning the Commie members), have all the nice villas here in Dalat. He also mentioned that it was the Chinese who were the true enemies to Vietnam, not the French or the Americans. Isn’t it interesting the opinions we get when we have an opportunity to ask.

The tour visited a “minority” section of the city, as the guide described, and we walked into a shell of a wooden building, sitting around a circle on wood benches, we listened to an older man talk of life. He talked of having degrees in the medical field and worked in Nha Trang with Americans during the war. In 1975, the Party did not accept his degrees and he has not been allowed to practice since then.

His story reminded me of my hair-stylist back in Denver. As a young woman, she and her younger brother were part of the Boat People exodus. She talked of how families who worked with the Americans or who were part of the SVN military were black-balled from working. It became a desperate situation we Americans left our friends when leaving them unprotected in 1975. The man in the below photo could speak French, English, and the Khmer language of Cambodia. Very impressive man.

I made it back to the hotel with only a few more gifts. Anjie and Steve, you will enjoy the minority buffalo horns I have for Connor and Luke. Whew, they are noisy. Historically, the horns were used between villages as a method of signaling warnings, and other issues. I’m sure Luke and Connor will enjoy them as well. I found something for Tori, but not as loud, lol.

Tomorrow, I’ll be on the road to Quang Ngai, but still do not have a bus ticket.

Good Morning from Vietnam

I asked for a 6:00 a.m wake-up call. Breakfast opened at 6:30, and I was in a hurry not to be late for my 8:10 tee-time at the Dalat Palace Golf Course. The course is the oldest in Vietnam, established in 1922 by the last Vietnamese Emperor Bao Dai. The French kept the course running, and America’s top-brass did the same during the war years. The course was abandoned after 1975, but brought back up to playing standards years after the end of the war. It is today a beautifully maintained course.

I asked for a taxi from the hotel after packing water and golf items. Cost for taxi was 2800 dongs or $1.50. Course was about 2 km’s from hotel. Weather stayed nice, even on the cool side. Whew, what a change from Saigon. Dalat is on rolling hills and the golf course sits on top of hills with 18 fairways and play off many water hazards. Very impressive greens and the “bent” grass, Holty, is on all the greens. Bent grass is softer than other grass per my caddie. Felt soft to me.

This golf morning was not cheap, $85 for 18 holes, $20 clubs, $25 cart, and a $25 tip to a great caddie, who also took pride as a self-taught golf instructor. We started early, nobody in front, and only one Aussie came up behind us. I let the young Aussie pass after a few holes.

The hotel security man just brought me a cup of hot tea to my work station. What a nice fellow.

There were many spots for good pictures. On two holes I let the caddie show me his stuff. He plays almost 5 times a week, and he’s good with a ten handicap. I brought 6 balls and finished with one, dropping at least two in the water, one across a side street with lots of traffic, and one that never came down from a tree. I was pooped. We finished around noon. My caddie, Mr. Tran Thanh Phuong, gave me his email address. He was impressed when I told him his name was going in my non-fiction Vietnam trip chapter.

My fictional writing was right on key with the course, as hole #16 is a tough one. It was the same for me today, as well as the fictional characters, TJ and Jesse. My manuscript will need only minor adjustment here.

I decided to stay one more night in Dalat, and have a city sight-seeing tour scheduled all day tomorrow. I’m contemplating on how best to get from here to Quang Ngai city. Flying will take some doing, Dalat back to Saigon, then Danang, then a bus back down to Quang Ngai. I think I found a 16 seat van going from Dalat in the afternoon and arriving early morning to Quang Ngai. Hopefully, it will not be like my bus ride up here.

I could not resist buying a beautiful stitched framed artwork from the renowned “Xo Su Quan.” The company has stores in all the major Vietnam cities. I’m getting many souvenir boxes to carry and might need to buy a bigger suitcase.

Enough for today.

Hello from beautiful Dalat.

Dalat is a city in the Central Highlands, north of Saigon by over 250 KM. The hills are beautiful and compare to the Great Smokies, in my opinion. I checked out of the Liberty #1 around 9:30 a.m. and said goodbye to many very nice people working at the hotel. When talking of the war over the past three days, when I told them I was in the war, almost all said that they did not care to dwell on the past, but whether the issues of today and the future. They became more interested in me, however. I sensed no animosity, but they were very interested in old pictures I had brought along and my old stories. Surprising that many in Saigon hardly knew of Quang Ngai City. When telling my tour guide of Quang Ngai, she told me that, oh, it is very poor in that part of the country. Heck, what I saw in and around Saigon was terrible, then to add the polluted air and terrible roads. I wondered how much worse it could get. I will find out in a few days.

OK, onto the bus ride from hell, or heaven, however you might see this story, because I did survive. One of the security men at the hotel, all hotels have many security men, no guns, just a uniform, had purchased a 110,000 VND Dalat bus ticket for me, around $8 USD. He also mailed postcards home for me. Very helpful. He gave me his email address. So far, everyone I ask is on yahoo.com, lol

This bus ride I took is beyond my descriptive ability. How do you describe escaping 100s of near fatal collisions with other vehicles, to motor bikes loaded with kids and older people, to pedestrians, to animals as large as water buffalo, etc. I know many of you are saying, oh come on Darrell, it could not be that bad. It was, and pardon the description, but the ride I was on was a “piss and crap in your pants” one.

The trip began at the Saigon Phong Trang street stop located at 272 De Thom P. Phom Ngu Lao, Q.1. My bus was clean and had adequate air conditioning. I was the only foreign looking person on the bus, however I saw a number of older and younger Caucasian people mingling around this area of Saigon. One older man on the bus could speak a bit of English and he made a point to make sure I understood the stops, especially the toilet or latrine breaks.

At the bus stop a few foreign appearing folks from college age, possibly missionary workers, to older folks like myself were walking on the street. I saw a few bearded mangy-wonders, and wanted to ask them if they might be part of the folks who reportedly stayed behind after the war. I did not get a chance, but boy, I saw mystery waiting to be written in that one spot of Saigon, as I waited for my bus. I sat on a small chair next to the street, and paid the lady running a drink stand two USDs. That got a smile and an okay to stay sitting on her chair.

Our bus pulled out right on time, 10:15 a.m. This driver’s face is permanently entrenched in my memory. He had to be the best and one of the luckiest drivers on the face of the earth. He could take on the Nascar circuit with ease. Leaving Saigon, he could not wreak much havoc, because he was limited to how fast he could drive. His horn was constantly blaring, and yes, I noticed a bit of rage, not from him, but of the drivers he left in his wake, bikes, cars, trucks, to other buses. Actually, he was very cool and calm, I know, I sat in the first seat and had a view to all we survived. The entire trip was heavy with congested traffic, first QL#1, then a turn-off on QL#20. Somehow this driver maneuvered this 45 seat size bus like a sub-compact. A rip on his horn would sometimes get bikes or bigger vehicles to move over, if they could, other times, he found room in the opposing side of traffic and pushed in front of countless vehicles at speeds at least near 60 mphs.

I believe we passed the Bien Hoa Airbase area on the way out of Saigon. It looked better maintained than my fictional description.

Shortly after getting on QL#20, we began climbing in elevation, and the road narrowed even more. The driver was stopping to drop people off from time to time. We had two toilet breaks and one lunch break. School kids still wear special uniforms, and each city/village seemed to have their own designs. In one village the girls were dressed in beautiful white Vietnamese ethnic dresses, very pretty. Road construction was going on almost everywhere, where one narrow lane went down to no lane. That did not slow our driver, for he made his own lane.

I saw three accidents on the road to Dalat, and one was a fatal one. A man on a motor bike carrying very large wood products had been hit and was still on the road. A very large pool of blood was yet on the road, and many locals were waiting with him for medical help as our driver drove past.  On this trip and while in Saigon, I saw few police cars and only a few ambulances, but no sirens.

There were a number of spots where the road made hairpin turns, again not slowing up our driver, passing with no clearance around blind curves where we had all of 100 feet before meeting another vehicle. Nearing Dalat we rode on possibly five miles of beautiful new 4-lane separated highway, somewhat like a Kipling Blvd back in Denver. Side roads next to the new highway were being used by motor bikes leaving the four lane only to cars and trucks. We climbed a bit more in elevation, finally getting into the city of Dalat.

Finally making it to Dalat around 5:00 pm. I was relieved for I somehow survived the Dalat Phuong Trang bus ride. A tour office van took me to my reserved hotel, the Dalat Golf 3 Hotel where I crashed. The bus ride was too much, plus I had an 8:10 a.m. tee-time tomorrow morning at the Palace Golf Course. Golf 3 hotel is very nice, with a room bigger than I had in Saigon. Very nice people here.

That’s enough for today.

GOOD AFTERNOON from hot and humid Vietnam.

I will never get used to this weather, but the bad Saigon air is much worse than the stifling heat. This morning my tour guide picked me up on her motor-bike around 10:00 a.m. I had many near-death experiences sitting on back of her bike as she swerved in and out of traffic. Close calls here are very close. But, not one accident so far have I seen. There is an order to the mass of vehicles, mostly motor-bikes. I can only grin at American drivers trying to drive in Saigon. Folks, it’s another world over here.

Ms. Mai motored first to a type of Wal-Mart store. She had a few items to buy, and so, she showed me around the store. From clothes to toys to food, the store was full and being restocked as we walked around. I saw many American made products. Yes, the store was as busy as the roads, but everyone was courteous. Next, we motored down to the center of town to take a few pictures in near exact locations of old pictures I had from 1971. We walked to the Rex Hotel, next to the Town Hall, past the old City Theatre, and over to the Continental Hotel. A few new buildings have been added to the center of town, and yes, I was impressed. New construction is going on, but just a beginning from what I can see. Ms. Mai was surprised to see my 1971 picture in front of the City Theatre with “only” cars. I think she was surprised to see the difference back then, to traffic today, where motor bikes are the majority, thanks possibly to Uncle Ho.

We finished with lunch at a favorite spot of hers, one not frequented by tourists. It is called the QUAN HONG HANH, at 17A Nguyen Thi Minh Khai. The restaurant has three serving levels. The food was quite unique and quite different from the Vietnamese restaurants back home. And yes, veterans, we were served nuoc-maum sauce, and lots of it. The different foods and the nuoc-maum tasted quite good, but I did not ask if the sauce was made the same way as I recall. As we were chatting on the second floor, kids outside were watering down the street. It was only when I looked close did I see they were just playing with a big old rat, still alive, and yep, he was big and healthy. I had a bit left on my plate, and the commotion didn’t seem to slow me up. Funny how one can revert so easily. I hope my stomach survives.

Photo of Rex Hotel in downtown area. I was impressed with the 2-3 streets where the Continental and Rex hotels were located, but that pretty much ended my excitement for Saigon.

Ms. Mai brought me back to the hotel. She gave me her email address and business card and I highly recommend her for you folks planning a trip to Saigon. She currently works as a free-lance tour guide.

Well, tomorrow I head out by bus to Dalat. I’m hoping the weather will be cooler. The bus ride is all of $10, around 140,000 VND. I cannot get over how cheap certain items are, beer and water are one USD, petro at the gas stations is around one USD per liter, much cheaper than Europe. Meals are mostly well under ten USDs.

I have seen a few Americans since arriving. A Baptist missionary couple was checking out of the hotel and we chatted for awhile. They are from Kansas City and they come over to Vietnam 3-4 times a year. They have been working with the Hmong groups in the Highlands. Apparently, much friction still exists between the Hmong and the Commie Party committee, and from the sounds of their discussion, the couple were creating their own friction with the local party committee.

I asked them if they saw much change in Vietnam from when they first began their missionary work, and they said, oh yes, lots of change. I asked where? The lady said, oh look at all the new buildings in Saigon. I told them of my first impression, when taxing past rusting USA Air Force airplane shelters to the street after street of horrendous poverty and air pollution. I offered my opinion openly, telling them I also saw the new construction and buildings that had changed from my 1970 pictures and memories. Much of the change was for the worse, in my opinion. That sort of ended our conversation.

Ok, time to get ready for tomorrow.