Complex Images of VietnamKhe Sanh, Confucius, Quang Ganh, and Karaokeby Marguerite Jordan"We are always the same age inside." We were driving through the Quang Tri province, site of some of the heaviest U.S. casualties during the Vietnam War, and I couldn't get this Gertrude Stein line out of my head. Highway One turns into Route Nine. The red dirt road weaves through small Vietnamese villages toward Khe Sanh, past Camp Carroll and the hill known as the Rockpile. My nine companions, six of whom served in Vietnam during the 'Sixties and 'Seventies, were gazing out the bus window. For the veterans, it was a look at deeply pockmarked places they first knew when they were perhaps twenty or twenty-two, the age they discovered this Asian nation halfway around the world. For them, and for me in college back in the 'States, Vietnam became a defining event. While our lives didn't stop at that age, as it did for the more than 58,000 Americans stationed there who died, we haven't completely processed the images and events of our young adulthood. April 30th marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of the toppling of Saigon, the victory of the North Vietnamese—the communist forces originally led by Ho Chi Minh—and the beginning of the re-unification of North and South. The United States' actual involvement was 10 years, 8 months and 23 days, counting from the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, making it the longest war we've fought. Since 1975, theVietnamese fought additional battles, with war spilling over into Cambodia; "re-educated" (punished) those in the south, Saigon, especially; and organized their government along Eastern bloc Communistic lines. In 1986 the party Congress voted for "doi moi", roughly periostroika, or, as it happens, openness to making money. Observers today label the convoluted style of government "CapComm", capitalism plus communism. VETERANS CAPTURE THE IMAGE OF KHE SANHSince 1994, small groups of U.S. travelers have begun to visit this beautiful country, in order to see or re-see images of war, as well as Vietnam's ancient culture and daily life. It's possible also to witness the beginnings of a "new" Vietnam.
Our hosted tour was the brainchild of J. Morgan "Butch" Sincock, a former Framingham, MA resident and owner of MilSpec Travel, out of Flourtown, PA. A retired Army captain of the 25th Infantry Division, Butch passed along his special feel for Vietnam, its people, the events of the war and his "fallen comrades."
On their first 'tour' to Vietnam, my veteran companions were officers and some were recent graduates of VMI, one of our country's premier military schools. They flew missions up and down the 1800-mile coast over the S-shaped country that borders the South China Sea and the Bay of Thailand as well as China, Laos and Cambodia. They led men into and out of deadly situations in tiny hamlets, medium-sized Buddhist temples and large rice fields in a country the size of Italy. They lost friends to combat in a war that wasn't fully explained or understood. Being with soldiers and airmen who served here I was able to see things I might not have noticed. "Look, it's one of ours," remarked Phil Spivey, as an old Jeep or Dodge truck passed. Its engine, tires, suspension and brakes have probably been replaced a dozen times since the '60's. "The vehicles have all been cannibalized. It's a wonder they still run." Many of the remembrances were non-emotional, on the order of, "This was the first time I ever saw water buffalo, or men carrying telephone poles on the back of their bikes." Spivey recalled many of his men reading comic books, staring at the pictures, smoking. "They were so young." At many important battle sites, I heard some of the details of the action, along the lines of "That field was on fire the last time I saw it." Sometimes a discussion followed. Sometimes not. At the now almost deserted Khe Sanh airfield, in a region that reminded me of Tuscany, we walked carefully along red dirt paths through overgrown banana fields, watching out for mines, trying to picture what happened, looking for bullets, thinking. Little remains to show our history there, site of some of the bloodiest battles of the war. At Long Vhe Special Forces Airfield, there is a U.S.tank, mounted as a captured show piece near a rectangular one-room building. In the center of the room a flowery red and green table cloth covers a small table. On the table are a vase of flowers and a guest book, signed by many who lost friends, sons, brothers, husbands and fathers here. I watched as our youngest and oldest group members signed the book, John the cadet and Howard the senior veteran. I read the visitors' comments and thought about John's future. "I hate the term 'closure'", said 64-year-old Howard Savage, a retired Air Force captain, and a thirty-year-veteran. "Still, coming here to see this country is a way to try to figure out what happened." Like many who watched TV news and read the war dispatches in the 60's and 70's, I thought I already "knew" Vietnam. Shaping my views were the hundreds of movies ("Platoon", "Apocalypse Now", "Hamburger Hill", "Indochine"), speeches, demonstrations and first-hand accounts of journalists and contemporaries who fought against the North Vietnamese. As I stooped down to fit inside the now-restored series of tunnels, it was possible to imagine the Viet Cong, hiding from the relentless bombing of the B-52s. When U.S. involvement with the war started, the people of Vietnam were unknown to us. Seeing the events from the other side makes you wonder about the futility of war. GETTING AROUND, COVERING MILES OF GROUND
In order to fit in the countless places we wanted to visit, of necessity our trip featured lengthy days, short evenings and not a few "long marches". Often up at 4:30 AM, on the bus by 5:45, Butch had this disciplined group out onto the fields of battle by 8AM. Lacking any military training, I was often the last one on the bus, arriving breathless and afraid that Butch was going to assign me push-ups. We stayed at comfortable 3- and 4-star hotels, including the historical Rex Hotel in Saigon. French, Chinese and, above all, Vietnamese food was abundant and beautifully cooked. Eating my first breakfast—croissants and French coffee—at the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel, I recalled the journalists'—Peter Arnett, Mike Wallace, Morley Safer—stories and broadcasts made from there before the fall of Saigon. Much of the inner city architecture in all three cities was French; classic designs, but modified to fit the tax standards. Le, one of our guides, explained: residents are taxed most heavily for the frontage; therefore, most buildings are long narrow delicately designed shoeboxes. CONFUCIUS AND THE CULTURES OF THE COUNTRY
The Temple of Literature, the country's first university, in the Ho Tay district of Hanoi is a series of beautiful carved buildings and extensively planted courtyards dedicated to Confucius. We entered a richly decorated House of Ceremonies to hear traditional music played on ancient instruments. After the concert I wandered around the courtyards, filled with Blue Willow vases and Bonsai trees. Stopping to admire brilliant carved 'water puppets', used in traditional story-telling theater, I met two happy American couples. They were on a cultural outing, having just met their soon-to-be-adopted children. (On the flight home, there were sixteen babies on board our plane.)
However, the most dramatic symbol on display here is a old, faded aqua-colored car, an Austin, that one of this pagoda's monks, Quang Duc, drove to Saigon in June of 1963, in order to stage a fiery personal protest of the then-President Diem's anti-religious policies. The striking photograph of this monk's self-immolation made the international news. For many Americans it may have been the first time they became aware of policies of Vietnam. The image is hard to forget. Perhaps the most unusual religious sights are the temples of the Cao Dai religion. The ornate cathedral-style buildings—more than a thousand of them—are a fantasy of colors and shapes, as if Walt Disney had collaborated on the design process with LSD guru Timothy Leary. The huge polychromed columns inside the temples are a candytwist of colors, bright pink, yellow, fuschia, cobalt blue. The only thing brighter is the garb of the monks. The sect, with about 2 million members and a 25,000-member army, draws its eclectic inspiration from traditionally worshipped deities as well as some unlikely types. There's Buddha, Confucius and Jesus; then there's John the Baptist, the Jade Emperor, Joan of Arc; then, inexplicably, China's Dr. Sun Yat-Sen, and, believe it or not, the novelist Victor Hugo. QUANG GANH AND THE GETTING OF FOOD
Seemingly impossible amounts of matter are carried by everyone in bursts of frenetic activity. Petite women hustle along the streets in a rhythmic shuffle, laden with rice, chicken, cabbage and corn, balanced in baskets on either end of the guang ganh. Others, walking, pedaling or scooting on a motor bike carry cords of wood, cow dung, bales of hay. Along the road, people cluster around a tin can of burning charcoal, as women cook and serve "fast-food"—bits of pork and cabbage, mung beans, and rice. Along the side of the road, mounds of rice, beans, coconut shells, and shredded vegetation are spread on plastic tarps, to be rotated and dried before storage or sale. Nothing seems to be wasted. A block away from the beautiful downtown Saigon French-built Post Office, I watched sidewalk workers flatten Coke cans, transforming them into toy helicopters. It is said that ordnance left behind by the U.S. forces accounts for x amount of revenues. Sadly, it accounts for shattering injuries and deaths a/c land mines. CITIES ARE CHANGING COSMICALLY AND TOURISTS ARE DEFINITELY WELCOMEIn Saigon, the country's most westernized city, everyone looks to be 17: the streets are filled with beautiful girls in their ao dais (long flowing side slit dress over pants, usually white or purple) on motor scooters, brash young men, smoking and speeding, on powerful Harley-Davidsons and Honda Dream II's. Cafes, music clubs, bars and restaurants have always attracted visitors here in what Neil Sheehan.calls Vietnam's Los Angeles. People generally are very friendly; everyone, desperately trying to make a living, wants to sell you postcards, photocopied Graham Greene books or illegally-made CDs.
For most of us during the war, the very word "Hanoi" conjured up a frozen image of gloom and evil and the keeping place of our POW's. Here was the center of communistic power, unrelieved by any cultural niceties. Its most infamous building, Hao Lo prison, was known as the Hanoi Hilton. A tour of what remains is chilling; cages, restraints and reminders of beyond-cruel punishments are shown with posted signs revealing their first use when the French tried to subjugate the Vietnamese. Reference to one of the best known POWs can be found alongside one of the city's 44 lakes. A murky cement statue shows John McCain and his plane. I was irritated by this not-to-scale artifact. Today, some of the remnants of the darker side of Vietnam live on in Hanoi, most notably in the demeanor of the Communist cadre, who have a lot of the power jobs. At touristic sites, there is often a meanness to the welcome, although most of the people in the streets are very accommodating. There is no denying that the city itself is a beautiful place. KARAOKE, WAVE OF THE FUTURE
Never mind that I have never sung in public, nor for that matter even at home. My three 'best buds' joined me in renditions of "Hey Jude" and "American Pie," none of us really knowing or caring that we didn't know the words or the tune. This is the future, and I have seen it in Hanoi. Unless you are a most intrepid traveler, you benefit in this country from a guided tour; getting through the various procedures at airports, museums and even city markets is easier on a well-run small tour. Whether you are a returning veteran or a geopolitical traveler, driving to war sites in the company of veterans is the best way to try to make sense of places. Although I did not serve in Vietnam, it is impossible to think about the country without referencing it to the age I was, and the issue it was, at the time of the war. Before and after the trip, I read or re-read a number of accounts, but until I visited I couldn't separate the country from the war. I saw a Vietnam I might never have known. FAST FACTSMilSpec Travel offers small group tours priced according to season, size of group, gateway city. |
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I traveled in March on a one-week tour with six Vietnam veterans, plus the son of one of the veterans, a Virginia Military Institute (VMI) cadet and a VMI professor, Spencer Tucker, who is the author of the three-volume Encyclopedia of Vietnam. I began to understand American, Chinese, French, Japanese, and other influences on this small country. Its soul and responses to invasions are uniquely Vietnamese: powerful and fragile at the same time.
He led us to battle and rice fields, mountain lookouts, vine-covered valleys, and villages and temples where the war was fought; as well, we visited sites such as the Cu Chi tunnels, the Quan Tri Bridge, Hoa Lo prison (known ironically as "The Hanoi Hilton"), and several museums and cemeteries.
"While I show as much of the beauty and culture of the country as possible, the trips I run aren't just a sugar-coated look." Butch said as we drove through the countryside west of Saigon to the infamous Cu Chi tunnels, hiding place of the Viet Cong. 
Between the three main cities—Hanoi, Hué, and Ho Chi Minh City—we traveled by plane. Every day we toured by bus, in and out of the cities and the surrounding countryside. To add insight into the many cultures that make up this complex country, Captain Sincock engaged local drivers and guides.
Oddly, this Communist-Socialist country, with its thousands of temples, cathedrals and shrines, is a virtual Museum of Religion. Everywhere Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Catholicism and a host of regional religions are trying to preserve or restore their sacred buildings and grounds. Invading enemies through the centuries have taken their toll on these remarkable structures; now, the UNESCO World Heritage Sites program is giving guidance and financial support for their restoration. 
In Hué City, we boarded a dragon boat in front of our hotel and cruised down the Perfume River to visit the Celestial Lady (Thien Mu) Pagoda, an octagonal seven-tiered tower. Each of the tiers is dedicated to a Buddha; the "celestial lady" refers to an ancient goddess. The main pagoda here was built in 1621; numerous buildings and icons have been added since. One item, added in 1710, is a 6-foot high bronze bell; it can be heard nine miles away.
Wherever we were—in the cities, the villages, on the rivers and the rough terrained roads they call Highway One—the most striking feature seemed to be the busyness of the people. It was only when I saw a machine, a cement mixer on the Ho Chi Minh Trail on the next to the last day of our trip, that I realized how much the Vietnamese rely solely on people-power. What's more, it seems that most of the people are involved in the getting, growing, storing, cooking and selling of one single thing: food. 
If it is possible to reduce Vietnam to a metaphor, it would be simply "Yoke". In Vietnamese it's "guang ganh", the long bamboo pole that balances over the shoulders of farmers bringing their food in from the countryside to the huge markets of the cities of Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. Guang ganh is used also to describe the physical shape of the country, rounded at both ends, narrow in the middle.
Driving along Pasteur Street in our 18-passenger van, I could only gasp as I watched traffic swirl around us. Few intersections have signals; most streets have no overhead lights. On a nominal two-way street, there were at least six lines of traffic, alternating directions on both sides of the street. I sat behind our driver as we wove through broad and narrow stripes of surging cars, vans, buses, pedalos, motorbikes, bicycles, and pedestrians, and watched as our left-hand exterior mirror nearly decapitated oncoming drivers. After the first 100 near-fatalities, I stopped watching and put my faith in the experienced local driver.
The thought of a Karoake culture—based in Western songs and values—now taking over Hanoi was something I had to see. I entered a dark Karaoke bar, one of the more than 600 in town. The only light was from a large overhead television set that had still pictures that look like they were supplied by the tourist board: neon green rice fields, jagged mountains and rock-strewn harbors . Along the bottom of the TV screen were the words, in Vietnamese, to romantic, sad-sounding songs. Three men shared a microphone, their eyes glistening either with emotion or beer. The hostess came over and handed me a sheaf of a hundred pages of American songs.