PORT TRAGEDY AND THE HELICOPTERS' FATE

Nha Trang sea port today. A tragedy occurred here in 1975.

I’m on the south end of the beach town of Nha Trang, above the main seaport. Looking out towards the ocean, several freighters are anchored out in deeper waters, among nearby islands. Overhead the skies are dark and dreary.

The port itself has an odd variety of watercraft. A freighter on the wharf has longshoremen unloading cargo, while ferry boats, and smaller tourist boats that travel to the islands are anchored nearby. With the weather declining, the tour boats sit empty and idle. The most curious here are the circular reed boats. These traditional Vietnamese fishing boats, aren't even two meters in diameter. As one fisherman paddles his small craft towards shore, this centuries old design looks out of place next to modern ships. 

The wind picks up, and the skies look more ominous. I look back out towards the sea, and the view has changed.  I can barely see the freighters I saw only moments before, they seem to be covered in mist. Uh oh, that’s not mist, it’s rain, and it’s coming this way. I’m about to get poured on.

This same Vietnamese port was once the scene of a tragedy, of panic and chaos of the worst kind. In April of 1975, as communists troops were advancing south, panic hit the streets of Nha Trang. The ARVN leadership had fled town, and Nha Trang would soon be overrun. Fearing the advancing North Vietnamese Army, the people of Nha Trang headed to the only escape route they had left, and that was here at the harbor.

Thousands of desperate Vietnamese were evacuated, but the small port and an insufficient number of ships could not accommodate everyone desperate to leave. The chaos to board the ships escalated into pandemonium, as fleeing ARVN troops and panicking civilians pushed towards the ships. Dozens of desperate Vietnamese died in the crush and stampede in this small port.

In the end, most of those who made it aboard the departing ships only delayed the inevitable, since they were evacuated further south. They couldn’t have known that the rest of South Vietnam would soon fall to advancing NVA troops in less than a month.

Cable cars over the port take tourists to the Vinpearl amusement park

As rain falls upon my face, I peer across the port, and a new feature stands out. An immense cable car now runs up and over the port, all the way across to distant Hon Tre Island. At 3320m long, this is advertised as the longest cable car over water in the world. I watch as the passing cable car cabins make their nine minute ride across the water to their destination: "Vinpearl".

One of the largest amusement parks in the country, Vinpearl opened a couple years ago to great fanfare. It’s several amusement parks rolled into one, including a waterpark, an aquarium, thrill rides and animal shows. Although two miles away, the place is easy to see from the port. Giant white letters spelling ‘Vinpearl’ are built into the island’s hillside, much like the ‘Hollywood’ sign in Los Angeles. The Vietnamese love the place, although Australians I spoke to on their way back were disappointed. I think the Aussies were more accustomed to high tech theme parks from back home.

As the deluge continues, I take shelter at a drink stand, and sip green tea until the rain subsides. Then I start my hike back to the downtown. Ascending a hill, I walk past the harbor police, who are still housed in old French colonial buildings overlooking the port. The friendly officers go out of their way to get my attention and greet me, smiling and waving as I stroll past the old fence. There may be occasional foreign sailors about, but apparently not many westerners walk by.

Coming down the hill near the old emperor’s palace, I’m back in the south end of town on Tran Phu Street. This beach front road passes right by the protective wall of the former US Nha Trang Air Base, which is now a Vietnamese Air Force base. This is where my buddy Rick had his tour of duty during the war.

As I pass by, there is little activity to be seen here. It’s a very quiet air base, and I don’t see any movement at all. Maybe the Vietnamese military doesn’t have much money for jet fuel these days. I see only one bored guard sitting in a lonely guard tower. His small tower was built right atop an old American bunker, to give him a better view.

Guard tower on former US Nha Trang air base

When Rick was here, he flew Huey Helicopters and light planes out of Nha Trang  as a US Army Lietenant. In a war so dependent on air superiority, he flew all over the country. “We went everywhere,” he said. “From the delta to the DMZ.”

A benefit of being a pilot, was that he didn’t stay in the field long. He would drop off infantrymen in the field, and fly back to his secure base before dark. It made for a more comfortable war. “I was home in my bunk every night,” he said.

With other Viet Cong relaxing in Nha Trang on 'vacation', the base didn’t have a major attack the year he was there. But there were occasional shots taken at the airfield. “Once in a while Charlie would launch a mortar or a rocket at the base,” Rick recalled. “They never hit anything though.”

As I glance across the runways and the tarmac, I don’t see any more US made Hueys here, like those I saw at Tan Son Nhat Airport. The helicopters Rick flew are long gone. I recall a pub night in Saigon, when I learned where all those remaining helicopters went. That particular evening at the bar, I met Hugh, an American aviation mechanic. He was drinking with a colleague, and the pair were working for a month in Vietnam.

Hugh described his work. “We’re packing up helicopter engines,” he told me. “They get put in shipping containers, and shipped back to the US.”

“How many Huey engines have you sent back so far?” I asked.

“About 200,” he replied.

I was astonished.

A captured US made Huey in a museum

When the war ended decades ago, the communists suddenly found themselves in posession of hundreds of American made Hueys that they had captured from the ARVN. This made the NVA the new owners of the largest helicopter force in Southeast Asia. Some are still in working condition, though rarely used. As for the rest, they were gathering dust, and it’s taken them more than 30 years to finally sell them. As old as those helicopters are, their spare parts are still worth plenty.

While working on the former US bases, Hugh told me how he had stumbled into old workshops, and found them to be time capsules from 1975. All the tools were left in the exact same spots where mechanics left them at the war’s end. Eerily, old packs of cigarettes from the ARVN were still placed exactly where they had left them, more than three decades ago.

Hugh was heading home soon, but he was planning on returning again to pack up another 100 engines. His company would later be transporting the helicopter fuselages too.

What a strange, and expensive, turn of events for American aid. The US had originally given all those helicopters to South Vietnam as military aid. Today, an American company is buying those very same helicopters back from Vietnam that America gave them for free, and is sending them all the way back to the US!

VIETNAM BEACHES AND DEPARTED ARMIES

Scenic Nha Trang, Vietnam's favorite beach town

When looking at the layout of Vietnam, one can’t help but notice that this entire country is one long, skinny stretch of land, whose entire eastern border is one continuous coastline.  And what does everyone love about coasts?

Beaches.

With picturesque beaches, offshore islands and turquoise waters, the southeastern town of Nha Trang is Vietnam’s most popular beach destination. Once a sleepy coastal town, the haven was a getaway for Bao Dai, Vietnam’s last emperor.

When the Americans came to town, for a while Nha Trang became a rest and relaxation (RNR) center for US soldiers during the war. Surprisingly, the beach town was also popular with the Viet Cong for the same reason.

“We didn’t have any big attacks. Charlie (a nickname for the Viet Cong) liked to go there for RNR too,” said Jay, a retired soldier I know. As a US Army Lieutenant, he was based in Nha Trang in 1969. During the time Jay was there, the town was quiet. “You could be at the beach, and the guy swimming there next to you could be Charlie. It was like an understanding. If you don’t give me any problem, I won’t give you any problem either.”

As strange as that sounds during wartime, there were a couple vacation places in South Vietnam that saw less fighting, since soldiers from both sides used them for RNR. While Rick was there, Nha Trang was one of them. “Americans didn’t bother the Viet Cong, Viet Cong didn’t bother the Americans,” Jay said.

There were periods of heavy fighting around Nha Trang, but for a while, it was an RNR destination for US soldiers. That brought with it the usual vices that soldiers pursue in war zones, namely bars and brothels. “We would go downtown to get drunk, and to get laid,” Jay said of those days. “We had curfew at nine pm. Some guys would just stay out all night, sleep with their girlfriends, and come back the next morning. There was no bedcheck for officers.”

The Nha Trang skyline today, with the ocean at upper left

As I walk through downtown Nha Trang, I see it’s still popular with tourists, with fewer bars. There are plenty of restaurants, art galleries and travel agencies. Most of the hotels are smaller family owned places, but there are also new mega-hotels. It’s a major change in development from Jay’s days here. “There were no buildings over four stories then,” he said of that time. Jay would hardly recognize Nha Trang now.

Heading back to my hotel, I came upon something that Jay would recognize. My eyes widen at the sight of a 1960’s era American military jeep. Parked in front of a bar, it had the logo of the USMC, the United States Marine Corps. The workmanship looked all the same, the instruments, the military antennae, everything. This jeep was known as a '151' and though common during wartime, very few are left in Vietnam. 

I’ve been told that back in the 1990’s, an Australian had bought up hundreds of the old American jeeps still in possession of the Vietnamese Army. He then packed them all up, and shipped them off to Australia. I had seen only one genuine 1960’s era American jeep during my entire time in Vietnam, and it was used by the Ho Chi Minh City fire department. Although in good condition, it looked like no other jeep in the world. It was painted bright red, with whitewall tires.

But what about this one in mint condition? I couldn’t believe my eyes, this dark green jeep before me in downtown Nha Trang looked like new. How did this jeep survive so many decades, in such excellent condition? Examining the jeep closely, I walk around it for a better look. Then there on the back of the jeep, in small lettering, was the reason it looked so new: “Made in Vietnam”!

A counterfeit US jeep near the beach, made in Vietnam!

This was a counterfeit jeep. As it turns out, somebody had copied the design locally and began manufacturing them a few years back. This was not the only time I would see such a jeep in Vietnam, I would see more of these copies in other cities.  This is part of the Vietnam’s strange nostalgia for the war years, which includes the popularity of  American military items.

On my second day, it’s sunny out, so I take an afternoon to venture further around town on foot. I end up atop a hill near the edge of town, and I happen upon a small old military base. This post was first built first by the French, then inhabited by the Americans, then the Russians, and finally the Vietnamese. These days, it’s mostly empty. With the sun beating down on me, I stop at a small restaurant across the street for something to drink. Since there were few customers, the owner had plenty of time to chat with me. As it turned out, the restaurant had been open here for many years, under the ownership of the same family. The old owner had hosted many soldiers as customers over the decades, from many different foreign armies. 

I wondered who he preferred serving here over the years, so I asked him, “Who did you like as guests at your restaurant?”

“Like Americans, he answered. “Americans good customer.”

I thought of the flip side of that question, and inquired, “who did you not like in your restaurant?”

He was quick with his answer: “No like Russians. No money.”

Statue on a Nha Trang military base, once inhabited by French, American, Russian, and now Vietnamese troops

 
Obviously he was speaking of the Russian sailors who stayed here in the 1980’s, who had little money to spare from their meager military wages. The USSR Navy had taken over Cam Ranh Bay after the American departure. But even the Soviet sailors have gone. When the cold war was ending, the Russian economy took a dive. So the Soviets vacated their base here, even before their lease agreement had expired.

Oddly enough, the Russians have invaded Nha Trang again, only this time it’s sun worshipers. With the improvement of the Russian economy in the last decade, the number of tourists in Nha Trang from Russia is on the rise. Their presence has become so profitable, that many local businesses have posted Russian language signs to attract them. As more Russians have money for vacations these days, Nha Trang has become one of their preferred holiday beach destinations. It sure beats Siberia.

BUDDHIST FUNERAL AND THE DRAFT DODGERS

A Buddhist shrine has a revered place in the home

My Vietnamese translator Nga has invited me to her parent’s house for a memorial service, so I’m off to see the real life in the Mekong Delta, in a remote village. As I leave Can Tho town, on the back of a motorbike, we pass a few army installations and a naval base. Some of these used to be inhabited by the US military during the war. One of my older cousins served in the US Army here then, and I wonder which of these bases was his. He hardly left Can Tho though, except by aircraft. I’ve been seeing more of the Mekong Delta in one week (from ground level at least,) then my cousin was probably able to see in a year.

After a long rainy trip with a few wrong turns, we turn off the paved road onto narrow dirt roads. I can see why this territory was so difficult  for the US military to patrol years ago. This road isn't even wide enough for jeeps. Nga's village is so remote, it didn't see any action during the war. Now I understand why I couldn’t come in a taxi, as no vehicles larger than motorbikes can reach here.

Finally, we arrive at Nga's village, a small delta community of only 300 people. I size up the delta home where I’ll be spending the night, a simple white house with exterior pillars. The décor within has a woman’s touch. Furnishings are simple, and like most delta houses, there are no glass windows, or screening, fresh air flows throughout. Unfortunately, so do mosquitos. Malaria is still a problem in the delta, as can be seen from the mosquito nets hanging over all of the beds. I’m hoping I won’t get bitten while I’m here.

Reaching up from the floor, stains over a foot high mark the bottom of every wall in the house. “Years ago, it flood,” Nga informs me. The whole Mekong Delta is prone to flooding, so all the electrical outlets in the house are three feet off the floor. Since this home is made of brick and concrete, it will survive repeated floods, as opposed to the other delta houses made of wood or thatch.

Many delta homes still cook with charcoal

I’m introduced to Nga’s mother and relatives, and they make me feel right at home. Soon I’m feeling more relaxed. Since I’m far away from the hustle and bustle of Saigon,  the calm and quiet country life of the delta is rubbing off on me. Tomorrow is a busy day, and the family has a big memorial service planned. Nga shows me my bed, and I turn in early. After I tuck in the mosquito netting, I lay and listen to the buzzing and humming of the delta’s insects. It makes an appropriate lullaby, as I drift off to sleep.

The next morning I awaken to a busy house, as the family prepares for the memorial service visitors. Entering the kitchen, I find the women of the house busily cooking for the coming guests. Even though electricity arrived in the village a few years ago, Nga’s family still does all their cooking on a wood burning stove. Plumbing isn’t common yet either, as I see from the old farm style water pump out back.

In the living room atop a dresser, the family has a Buddhist shrine common to  Vietnamese homes. There are offerings left for departed spirits, including fruit and cups of tea. A bowl and urn are for burning incense. The most recent addition to the altar, is a photo of the departed family patriarch. Today’s memorial service is for Nga’s father, who died a month ago after a long illness at the age of 73.

The service isn’t starting for a couple of hours. Since I’m feeling rather useless around the house, I depart for a walk around the village. Heading along a canal in front of the house, I pass piers and wooden boats on the banks below. Some of these small boats are used for fishing, which was the former occupation of Nga’s father.

Children at recess at lively Mekong Delta school

Walking along the dirt path, I reach a recently built primary school. For many years, there was no school in Nga’s village at all. “I only go to school for four year, because of war,” Nga once told me. “I wanted go more.” With so much  conflict in the delta back then, the education of children suffered. The new village school is nothing fancy, but well attended. It’s recess time, and the children are outside playing in the dirt yard. Most of them have on blue and white uniforms, and play barefoot. A few of them see me passing, and they run to the fence. “Hello! Hello!” they call to me. My return hello brings giggles from the smiling students.

Rice paddies in the dry season. White monuments at left mark family graves.

I continue on the path leading out of the village, and soon I’m surrounded by green rice paddies. Off in the distance local farmers work their fertile land, which is the real treasure here. The Mekong Delta is well known for its bountiful rice crop. As rice is the staple food for the whole country, the delta is Vietnam’s giant rice bowl. In most of the country, Vietnam’s farmers take in two rice crops a year. Here in the delta, farmers get three. Vietnam is a major rice exporter these days. Since Vietnam returned to a market economy, the standard of living in the delta has improved over the years. Delta farmers earned enough profits to build better homes for their families. While some of Nga’s neighbors still live in corrugated metal shacks, more live in modern brick and cement houses with tiled rooftops. Thatched roof homes are now only a memory.

Canals run through the village

Having walked for a while, I decide I’d better turn back before I get lost. I arrive back at the house, and preparations are almost ready for the mourners to arrive. I look for Nga, and find her talking away on her cell phone. Even in this remote delta village, they still have cell phone coverage way out here. Cell phones are common in this remote delta community. This is amazing, considering that electricity arrived in this village only five years ago. Up to then they were still using oil lamps. Today there are plenty of poor rural Vietnamese families who don’t own a car, don’t own an electric stove, and don’t have hot water. But they own a mobile phone.

Stepping outside in the yard, workmen put the final touches on her fathers crypt. In rural Vietnam, it’s fairly common to bury relatives on family land, as they feel closer to their departed loved ones. Nga’s family isn’t rich by western standards, but this crypt is far more elaborate than those common to western cemeteries. The crypt’s shape follows the outline of a coffin, but the exterior design is more artistic than I’ve seen anywhere. Covered in painted tiles of various sizes, which are painted in pastel colors. Dragons are painted along the sides, with lotus flowers on top. As I watch the workmen install the finishing plaque which has not only the dates of his birth and death, but also has a photo of Nga’s father. 

I wonder why Americans never had this tradition. A photo of the dearly departed would add a more personal touch to any headstone. 

The mourners begin arriving, and Nga’s sister stays busy making iced coffee for everyone in the tree covered yard. The visitors include family, friends and neighbors. Since Nga’s father died on a Tuesday, they will host a gathering like this here at the house every Tuesday, for two months after his death.

As they walk in, they leave their conical hats near the gate, with their belongings placed inside. Most don brown Buddhist prayer robes, and many family members wear white headbands. Then everyone gathers at a table made into a temporary altar in the front yard. 

Prayers for the departed

Tablecloths and plastic sheeting are spread across the ground. They all remove their sandals, and step onto the groundcloths. Each takes incense between their praying hands, and the prayers begin. Incense fills the air. Since there isn’t a monk present, one attendee recites a prayer for all to hear. Then in unison, everyone does a series of standing bows, then kneeling bows, going all the way to the ground. 

With the prayers for the departed completed, they eat a light lunch. The mourners depart, and a new group arrives, and the whole process is repeated. I’m surprised to see that there are three waves of visitors, and the praying and eating continues well into the afternoon. With the last mourner’s arrival, more than 100 people have come to pay their respects today. With so many mourners coming, I tell Nga her father must have been a very popular man. Nga says that he was loved by many, but there's also another reason for the high turnout. 

Most of the community wear brown robes for this somber occasion

“It’s boring in the Mekong Delta,” she says. Apparently there are few social activities in these remote farming villages, so this service is the social highlight of the week. With the service over, the older men take seats at a table to eat. As they chat and socialize, I can see many of them are missing teeth. A few have ridden bicycles for four hours to come pay their respects, so they’re not in a hurry to leave. As I walk by the table, one of them takes me by the arm, and stands up next to me. Using his hand, he compares our height difference. I’m a full head taller than he is. I crouch down to match his height, and say to him, "Cam Sao" (no problem!) The whole table erupts in laughter.

Nga translates for me, and I’m told that I’m the first foreigner they’ve seen in this village in 20 years. I also learn that some of these men were Viet Cong in the war. I try to get some of them to talk about those years, but understandably, they turn quiet. One of them changes the subject, and says something that makes all the men laugh again. Once again everyone is at ease. I ask Nga what he said, and she replies, “he say you very handsome.”

Nga’s tiny CD player is playing Buddhist chant in the background, and some older villagers pick it up to examine it. They look at it very carefully, peering at all sides of it. I realize that they’ve never seen a music player like this before. If they’ve never seen a portable CD player, they would be truly amazed by an Ipod.

As the day becomes late, the crowd thins, and the mourners depart for home. One older mourner leaving manages to say a few words to me in English: “Thank you. Bye bye.”

The mourners depart for home, many by bicycle.

As he shakes my hand, I can’t help but notice that he’s missing half his right index finger. I’m guessing that he lost it in a farming accident, but I’m mistaken. Nga explains to me that the loss of his finger was intentional. “He cut it off,” she said, “so he don’t have to go in army.” Then Nga made the motion of a trigger finger, the finger that he no longer has. I'm shocked, and Nga tells me her uncle wasn’t the only visitor here today, that had gone to extremes to avoid the military.

“You see the man with the eye?” she asks. I nod yes, remembering another older guest who had a very milky looking eye. Back then, he had himself purposely blinded in that eye, also to avoid the draft. “If you go (went) in the army, you die,” she explained of the war years.

There were no easy paths for young Vietnamese men back in those days. I recall that back in America, there were also many young men who refused to fight in the Vietnam War. Their path was far different; American draft dodgers went to Canada. In this village, they cut off their trigger finger, or lost half their sight to avoid the draft. In Vietnam, draft dodging was done through self-mutilation.

Finally the last visitor departs. He mounts his bike, waves to me, then turns to peddle away down the dirt path. He has a long trip ahead of him. He’s wearing traditional clothes, and as I watch him ride away deeper into the Mekong Delta, I think he looks rather timeless, like a scene from decades long gone. As he rides off into the distance, I can’t remember if he was one of the former Viet Cong, or not. Then again, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

FLOATING MARKET ON THE MEKONG

I’m aboard another boat in Vietnam's Mekong River Delta, only this time the wooden craft is larger, and motorized. We’re cruising upstream on a wide expanse of the Can Tho River, and I’m amazed at what I'm seeing. We're surrounded by hundreds of boats, in all shapes and sizes.

There is a flurry of activity, since these watercraft double as mobile floating shops. Vendors are drawn here from all over the province to sell their wares, mainly food. The surrounding boats are burdened with cargoes of pineapple, watermelon, vegetables and rice. Some craft are so heavily loaded, they almost appear to be sinking.

This is the floating market of Can Tho, and these floating markets have been the centers of commerce in the delta for generations. Buyers navigate their way through the larger vessels to find their chosen cargo. They pull up their empty boats alongside the selling boats, then bargain out the prices, load up their goods, and move on. Most smaller boats are piloted by women, who row their boats expertly, as well as any sailor. For these boat driving ladies, this is just another day of selling or shopping for their family.

The size of these riverboats ranges widely, from 60 foot long diesel powered freighters, all the way down to eight foot long rowboats. They have a rustic look to them, since none of them are made of fiberglass. All of them are made of wood, and few are painted. Their bare brown color nearly matches the brown water of the dark river that they are floating on. I see four large boats lashed together in a row, where buyers can more easily walk across them, from one over to the next. This way they can more easily load a few different items all at once. Many boats anchored and lashed together here, create the Mekong Delta’s version of a strip mall.

 This floating market is one reason that Can Tho city is the delta’s economic center. Besides being used for floating shops, some of these boats also have entire families living aboard. A few of the floating residences have laundry hanging from clotheslines strung along their tight living quarters.

I spot some youngsters working on boats right alongside their parents. This must be a difficult life for children; I wonder how many of these young river dwellers are able to attend school. 

Like much of the delta, there is still no bridge to get here by car. Although Can Tho is the largest city in the delta, I still had to cross here by ferry. But there are bridges under construction, so I wonder how long this unique market will continue. Since much of the delta lacks roadway access, this floating piece of Vietnamese culture will live on into the future.

MASSACRE AND THE BONE PAGODA

The Bone Temple in Ba Chuc, close to the border with Cambodia

I’m arriving at the most somber site I've seen in Vietnam. It seems to be a temple, but it's really more of a pagoda. Vietnam has many picturesque pagodas, but this one I’m approaching is unique. From a distance, it looks more like a modern, open air art pavilion. It’s blue Asian rooftop slopes inversely, dipping lower towards the center. A flamelike sculpture protrudes above. There are no walls, simple white beams support it.

Climbing the steps, I come to a small altar fronted by a large stone urn. Within are the numerous sticks of burning incense, left here by the Buddhist faithful in remembrance of departed souls.

The center area of the Bone Temple

I hear the familiar sound of flute music, but unlike the pagodas in the city, this isn’t a recording from a loudspeaker. A barefoot young man sits nearby, playing a soft and somber tune.

In the middle of the pagoda, gem shaped sculptures encircle the center. They are tall and identical, with each golden gem bearing the image of a spiritual flame. I look between the gaps of the gold sculptures, and see the contents of the enclosure in the center.

Within the glass windows, are human skulls. Their dark, blank eyes look outward at those peering in. Skull after skull is stacked next to each other, and on top of each other. Row after row, shelf after shelf.

Skulls of those killed by the Khmer Rouge in Ba Chuc

A small sign at the bottom lists the contents of this group of remains. “ADULT FEMALES OF BA CHUC FROM 21 TO 40 YEARS OLD”. Marks on some skulls give evidence of how they died. Some have bullet holes. Other skulls are cracked or shattered, from having been clubbed to death. One has a deep cut across the brow from what may have been a machete. Circling the grim enclosure, there are more skulls, of men, women and children. One group of 29 skulls is listed as “BABY OF BA CHUC UNDER 2 YEARS OLD”.

Behind these stacks of skulls, is an enormous pile of human bones. The skulls may have been separated and carefully displayed, but it appears that the rest of the bones from these unfortunate souls were all just piled up all together.

This grim site is known as the ‘Bone Pagoda’, in the village of Ba Chuc. There are many victims entombed in this memorial, but they weren't killed during the war with the Americans. Those that died here, were some of the first casualties of the war that came afterwards. When the communist rebels won in Vietnam in April of 1975, the communist rebels in Cambodia, known as the Khmer Rouge, were victorious only two weeks later. This area of the Mekong Delta, is less than five miles from the Cambodian border. Soon the Khmer Rouge began crossing the frontier to attack their Vietnamese ‘comrades’. Then then they came here, to Ba Chuc.

On April 18th, 1978, Khmer Rouge fighters crossed the nearby border, and killed every person that they could find. By the time they left on April 30th, they had massacred 3,157 people in 14 communities around Ba Chuc. Their attacks were so murderously insane, that the Khmer Rouge killed not only ethnic Vietnamese civilians, but also many ethnic Khmers who already lived here.

The reasons for these murderous attacks had nothing to do with communist ideology; for them it was a nationalistic fight to take back lost land. For centuries the entire Mekong Delta region, including what is now Ho Chi Minh City, used to be part of Cambodia. That changed in 1757, when the delta was annexed by an expanding Vietnam. Ever since then, the Cambodians have considered the Mekong Delta an occupied province. It is still known to them today as ‘Khmer Krom’, which means ‘Lower Cambodia’.

Thousands of Khmers still call the delta home. On our way to Ba Chuc, we passed Khmer villages that were noticeably poorer than Vietnamese villages. The poverty and discrimination helped fuel the Khmer Rouge's hatred of the Vietnamese. When the Khmer Rouge came to power in Cambodia, their leadership decided it was high time for the delta to be returned to their control. The massacres in Vietnamese villages here and elsewhere, were all part of Pol Pot’s insane plan to take back the Mekong Delta, by force.

The songs from a lone flute player serenade the dead

These brutal attacks were a shock to many, since the Vietnamese communists and the Khmer Rouge had been supporting each other for years during their ‘revolutions’. The North Vietnamese Army had often fought alongside their Khmer Rouge comrades. They supported them with training, supplies, and weapons, until their relationship soured. Those very weapons were turned back against them here in Ba Chuc, and used against Vietnamese civilians. The Khmer Rouge had savagely bitten the hand that fed them.

Most of the attacks occurred at night, and besides killing civilians, the Khmer Rouge destroyed every building that they could. Besides border villages, the Khmer Rouge even attacked and briefly held Vietnamese islands in the South China Sea.

I leave the depressing pagoda, and find my translator Nga, who has taken interest in an old Vietnamese vendor selling roots and herbs. Nga selects some to purchase, and as we chat, I learn his story.

His name is Tu Huong, and his family lived here even before the massacre. “I was a farmer then,” Tu tells us of the time. “I heard from a soldier friend that fighting was coming.”

Fearing for his life, he left the region. Tu wanted to come back for his family and cattle, but he was too fearful. Communication with his family was also a problem, since in those days, there were few phones in his nearby village of Phi Lai. A month later, the massacre happened. Tu lost his wife, his mother and an uncle.

Tu's wife and 2 other family members died in the massacre

After Nga buys her roots, we ask Tu to accompany us. With his easy manner and kind eyes, I can tell Tu enjoys helping people, and he agrees to show us inside the community temple. This temple also has a horrific story from those terrible days. As the villagers fled the killing, some took refuge inside, hoping the Khmer Rouge would respect the sanctity of the temple. But it didn’t make any difference. Since the Khmer Rouge were violent atheists, they killed everyone inside the temple that they could.

For years, dark blood stains were left on the temple floor, and there was a smell of death in the air. As we walk though the temple, I see that most of the blood has been cleaned up. Tu points out some remnants of the stains, that seem to resemble human faces. 

"People hide in there,” Tu says, showing us a crawl space under a temple altar. Many frightened Vietnamese crowded into this small space to try and hide from the killing. “They throw in grenades,” Tu continues. “40 people die.”

Years later, the walls of this temple room were repainted in a morbid way. Along the base of the wall are waves of red painted up from the floor. They are painted unevenly, like eerie red ocean waves. They symbolize all the blood that flowed here.

We leave the temple, and head back by the vendors. Tu tells us that he later married again, and with his present wife he sells herbs and traditional medicines. As we are walking, he touches two parts of my back with his hand, saying that he can help me with back pain.

I am momentarily stunned. I never told him I had back pain, and he touched my back in the exact locations where I’ve had back pain recently. How did he know?

Before we leave, I stop in the local one room museum. The images within are disturbing. Grisly photos lining the walls show corpses lying where they fell in Ba Chuc. Eyewitness accounts from local survivors describe how they escaped the carnage.

Among the displays are two US Army gas cans, the kind seen on the back of jeeps. The Khmer Rouge captured these and other US made equipment from the Cambodian Army. Later the Khmer Rouge brought them to Ba Chuc, and used their contents to torch buildings before discarding them.

Gas cans, used to torch the buildings

Strangely, both the Khmer Rouge and Vietnamese used captured US made materials and weapons against their former communist ‘brothers’. But when it came to firepower, the Vietnamese had even more captured US made weapons than the Khmer Rouge did. I recall a Huey helicopter I recently saw outside a Saigon museum. Captured from the ARVN, it had been repainted with the logo of communist Vietnam. When Vietnam invaded Cambodia later in 1978, that chopper went back into action. There were US made weapons being used by both sides of this new war. 

This use of foreign weapons makes me wonder. If there had never been any foreign arms brought into Southeast Asia at all, (from the US, USSR, China, France) what weapons would they have used here? Knives and bamboo spears?

12th century Khmer empire that included Mekong Delta

When Vietnam decided to invade Cambodia and remove the Khmer Rouge, disbelieving westerners never saw the war coming. This was almost inconceivable. Two communist armies, previously allies, turned on each other. These former friends were intent on annihilating the other. 

The rag-tag army of Khmer Rouge fighters had raised the ire of the largest, most experienced army in all of Southeast Asia. Their leader Pol Pon, as Pol Pot is known here, would be outnumbered, outgunned, and he would lose.

As horrible as the Ba Chuc massacre was, history can say that these people did not die in vain. Their deaths influenced the Vietnamese government to invade Cambodia, and force the murderous Khmer Rouge out of power. When this attack happened here, it was the beginning of the end for the Khmer Rouge. The days of the Cambodia genocide were numbered. 

The border to Cambodia is open and peaceful now, but there are still some Vietnamese Army bases in use out along the delta highway. After what happened here, it seems that the Vietnamese never want to leave this area of the delta undefended again.

BUDDHIST HOSPITALITY IN A VIET CONG TEMPLE

A humble Buddhist temple in the Mekong Delta

It’s a peaceful evening, and I'm in one of those places I never expected to find myself. I’m up on a high hill, relaxing in a hammock, in a Buddhist temple complex.

I’m in the Mekong Delta border town of Chau Doc, and my friend Nga has brought me to this Buddhist temple, the smallest I’ve ever visited. It almost looks like more of a shrine. Although it has several altars, the whole temple is only as big as a two room house.

The temple is located high on a hill, in the border town of Chau Doc

Built in 1932, this minimalist temple is owned by a local Vietnamese family. Portrait photos of the owners in their senior years adorn the wall behind a shrine. Coming from a family of property, the father wears a bright blue, traditional silk outfit. He also has a big smile, which reveals he’s missing a few teeth. The mother on the other hand, looks stoic in her photo. She also has a shaved head. Perhaps she became a Buddhist nun later in life.

Years before, this married couple were both in the Viet Cong during the war, and this temple was a VC shelter. The family used to hide VC soldiers here. This was revealed to me by one of their sons, who was also a VC back then.

Behind a shrine are portraits of the owners, who are former Viet Cong

Looking at the temple, and at their families Buddhist beliefs, I’m reminded that not all Viet Cong were communists and atheists. Unlike the communist revolutionaries in China and Russia, many Viet Cong continued to practice their religion both during the war, and afterward. I’m also surprised that they would use a place of religious worship for a military purpose. Well, the VC family owned it, and still do.

“He my good friend,” Nga tells me of one of the Buddhist monks living up here now. She has known him for years, and wanted to come up for a  visit, so I tagged along. As I relax in the hammock, she chats away with her old friend, as he cooks us dinner in a cook shack adjacent to the temple.

Soon we’re enjoying a tasty dinner of fried rice. I’m aware that everything the monks need to live up here, including this rice, had to be carried up the mountain. Up here the temple sits alone, the rest of the high hillside is bare. There is no road reaching up to this temple, adding to the monks’ isolation. To be sure, the monastic life is not an easy one.

Our Buddhist monk hosts cook us a tasty fried rice dinner

As trying as life is up here, it used to be even more difficult for the monks. Nga relates one of the health hardships the monks faced in this temple. “For many years, everyone who tried to live up here,” she said, “they always get very sick.”

A series of monks lived at the temple, and for some reason they always became ill. One after another, they each had to leave the temple, descending into Chau Doc for treatment. The source of their illness was never understood.

Then one day a new monk moved in. “He saw big white snake,” Nga tells me. The monk saw the mysterious snake around the temple on a number of occasions, and took it for a sign.
Finally one day, the monk decided to speak to the snake. “He ask the snake if he could stay here,” Nga relays to me. The snake departed, and was never seen again. Since then, that monk has lived in this temple in good health, and still lives here to this day.

With our dinner over, and darkness surrounding the mountain, we say goodbye to our hospitable monk, and start our descent back into town. We make our way carefully down the steep path. With neither moonlight nor hand railings, it would be easy to fall in the dark. Fortunately I have a flashlight to show us the way. As we descend, I look down over Chau Doc. Few of the streets are lighted, and most of the town is enveloped in darkness. As I look beyond the town, there are even fewer lights. This darkened horizon to the west, is the land of Cambodia.

Night view of Chau Doc from the temple

For many that travel to Chau Doc, this town is their last stop on their way to the neighboring country. In fact, this border town is home to many ethnic Cambodians (Khmers). The next day as we drive out of town, I see many Khmers, easy to pick out with their red and white headscarves.

There was a time years ago, when Chau Doc and the entire Mekong Delta were part of the kingdom of Cambodia. There continues to be conflict and territorial disputes between Cambodia and Vietnam, as I’m about to see for myself. (Check this website soon for my next post...)

THE 'TORA BORA' OF SOUTH VIETNAM

Tuc Dup, the 'Tora Bora' of Vietnam's Mekong Delta 

 I’m approaching some kind of freak of geology. The Mekong Delta is generally flat, but I’m staring at one enormous, gargantuan mountain of rocks. As our 4X4 drives closer, I see that this isn’t a pile of just rocks, it’s a pile of massive boulders. Somehow, nature piled all of these massive boulders here onto one place, forming a towering hill that rises high above the flat expanse of the surrounding landscape.

This is Tuc Dup, one of the few high vantage points in the Mekong Delta. It’s not tall enough to be classified as a mountain. But its higher altitude gives it not only a great view of the delta beneath, it also made it easily defended. The solid rock boulders that form the hill made  superior natural defenses. This made Tuc Dup an ideal location for a rebel stronghold; the Viet Cong's 'Tora Bora' in the delta. 

The flag of the former Republic of Vietnam, crossed out

From the bottom, I look up at this jagged, intimidating hill. I know that climbing this will be a good workout. As I start up, I can see a large flag of old painted on a boulder, the former yellow and red striped flag of the Republic of Vietnam. This is a rare sight in today’s Vietnam. The former South Vietnamese flag is rarely seen anywhere in public. But the flag now has a black 'X' painted across it, to remind visitors that the south didn’t win the war.

A long curving walkway of wooden steps eventually runs out, and soon I enter one of the many cave entrances of this strange hill. With the boulders piled every which way, the large gaps between each boulder are large enough to form natural passageways and caves. The former soldiers here managed to chip away the rock to widen some openings, and make some of the walkways more accessible. 

The passageways form an elaborate network. I make my way through, rock hopping from boulder to boulder. Some of the areas are difficult to fit through. Like the Cu Chi tunnels, some openings are tight for an American, but easier for the shorter and thinner Vietnamese. 

Entering one section,  I find wood was brought in to make platforms, to make the caves more livable. Daylight reaches in, and I look above to see parted boulders form a natural skylight. Dead vines hang downward along the heavy rocks. I’ll bet they used to put containers out here to catch water during the rainy season. With no plumbing, it was a real chore for the VC to carry water all the way up here every day.

A natural skylight in the caves

Weaving through the cave network, there are openings here and there that lead back out to the hill’s exterior. Reaching one, I climb out onto a boulder and look at the surrounding landscape. Green farming fields below stretch all the way to the horizon. Behind me, one of the larger boulders has a lot of holes and chips in it. A sign near it translates as, “Bomb Trace Marks”.

Even a US made 500 lb bomb dropped from above, didn’t do much damage to this 30 ton solid rock boulder. So despite numerous bombardments, the Viet Cong held onto Tuc Dup for years. During the course of the war there was so much heavy bombing here, that the locals gave Tuc Dup the nickname of ‘$2million dollar hill'.  

This ended with a final battle, and according to the government version here, the siege and fighting for Tuc Dup raged from November 16^th, 1968 until March 24^th, 1969. The VC in these caves faced both American and ARVN forces. Helicopters  and jets attacked from the air, with ground troops and tanks attacking by land. This hill of boulders became a sort of 'Alamo' for the Viet Cong.

View of the surrounding countryside from upper cave opening

As I continue through, up, down and through this strange network of caves, I pass through other inner rooms. Other stone signs posted on the boulders list their former function. “Dried Rice Cave” and “Cave of Support Unit 61” One is named, “Cave of the No Name Soldier". I recall hearing that after the war,  the bones of anonymous fighters who died on Tuc Dup were left lying up in these caves for years. Those bones and other remains of the war have since been removed. The stone passageways of Tuc Dup are now filled only with rubble, disturbed by the occasional visitor.

Reaching another overlook, I peer down at the land in front of the strange hill. The unexploded bombs have been removed from the earth, and now it’s a family park. Vietnamese families come here to relax on weekends these days.

Captured US made weapons on display

There are some small restaurants and cafes, most of which have hammocks hanging in them for their patrons to relax. There is a pond with pedal boats, and an enclosure with live alligators.

To remind visitors that this is more than a park, at the base of the hill sits a small museum, with a large bomb crater out front. Filled with the usual captured small arms, the place is empty. Rather than look at war relics, the visiting families would rather eat in the cafés, and spend the afternoon relaxing in a  hammock. 

This is precisely where I find my guide Nga. Since she didn’t want to make the long climb up the hill with me, she’s been reclining in a café hammock, chatting away with a local waitress. 

Old bomb crater outside museum at base of the hill

Nga is one of my more interesting translators I’ve had in Vietnam. Besides guiding me around the delta, she also occasionally works as an actress. On the way here as we passed a village, she told me, “I was in movie here, days ago.” The film was a love story, and she had a supporting role in the film.

She described for me another movie she acted in, when she played the role of a captured Viet Cong cadre. In that difficult role, she had to act in an interrogation and torture scene. That wasn’t an easy role, that’s for sure. 

Hammocks where Tuc Dup's visitors relax

As we are on our way out and heading for the 4X4, we spy a shooting range, and stop in for a look. This is much like the firing range I saw in Cu Chi, except that the prices are lower. Whether firing an AK-47 or a semi-automatic AR-15, the price per bullet is only 10,000 Dong (about 55 cents.) I’m not surprised its cheaper here, since Tuc Dup is remote and gets far fewer visitors than Cu Chi. I look toward the targets, and I’m amused to see that between the firing line and the backstop, there are neat rows of green plants. They are growing some kind of crop out in the middle of the firing range.

Since I’ve already shot a few rounds when I went to Cu Chi, I decline the offer to shoot here. But I’m surprised when my petite guide Nga speaks up, saying, “I want to try.”

The Tuc Dup firing range, where crops grow??

She buys some bullets, and takes her place at the firing line. The muzzle of the AK is bolted to a post, in order to keep wayward shooters from firing high and out of the range. With the assault rifle loaded, Nga takes aim at a target of a tiger.

POW! Her first shot rings out, and she giggles nervously. Then she takes her second shot. POW! She stops, lets go of the weapon, then walks to a bench and sits down. “I’m scared,” she says.

Nga now lives in a Vietnam without war, and guns these days are a rarity, not available to the general public. Unlike in the past, when the VC fighting force included women like her,  Vietnamese women today rarely touch firearms. “First time in my life I shoot,” she tells me. “I a little scared.”

As a child growing up in the Mekong Delta, she had survived the war. She was so young that at the time, she didn’t really know what was going on. Meanwhile, others in her family were involved in the conflict.

“My grandfather was VC,” Nga told me. He had been a commander in the delta until he died in 1966. The story handed down through her family, is that he was killed by Americans. They say that his death had been witnessed by her uncle. She tells me her uncle was so frightened by what he saw, that he had wet himself.

With such a terrible story to tell, I would think that Nga would hold a grudge against Americans like me, and she doesn’t. She had never known her grandfather, and as a devout Buddhist, she takes the route of forgiveness. It also probably helps that her grandfather’s side eventually won the war. For Nga, like so many other Vietnamese I’ve already spoken to, the war was so long ago, and is better left in the past.