EXPLOSION NEAR DEMILITARIZED ZONE

Unexploded bombs, aka unexploded ordinance (UXO) on display in Khe Sanh near Highway 9

There’s been an explosion.

I’m on Highway 9 close to the former DeMilitarized Zone, and due to the blast, traffic has completely stopped in both directions. Everyone’s looking off to the south side of the road, where there’s a big cloud of smoke and dust.

Oh no.

Has there been another casualty from an old unexploded artillery shell? Or did a truck roll over an old anti-tank mine? Sadly, more than a hundred of these incidents from old war explosives happen in Vietnam every year.

Fortunately, that’s not the case. There was an explosion all right,

Dangerous unexploded munitions are still found in these foreboding hills around Highway 9

but it was from a rock and gravel company situated right by the highway. They were blasting to loosen rock for construction. A large dust cloud hangs in the air at the base of a steep, bare cliff. Traffic was stopped in case the resulting landslide was larger than they expected, and threatened the highway traffic.

The rock slide dust gradually dissipates, and traffic starts up again. I remember back when I used to work in Afghanistan, where old unexploded war munitions were often used to fashion explosive charges for quarrying. I wonder if that was what happened here. In any case, it’s good to know that this was an explosion aimed at progress, not for destruction. Still, any explosion is unnerving,

Dakrong Bridge, seen from a distance

especially near the old DMZ.

Heading back to Dong Ha along Highway 9, we pass other construction businesses, such as gravel, lumber and brick making. There’s even heavy construction equipment and earthmovers. I see most are Japanese made, but there are Caterpillar earthmovers too. It’s good to see the American market is finding business here.

Heading east towards the coast, we come to the most visible sign of modern progress around, the Dakrong Bridge. This was once the site of a primitive supply bridge over the Quang Tri River. Starting in 1973 the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) used it to take military supplies and troops into the highlands. Once a mud track, this route south has been built into the Ho Chi Minh Highway; a fitting name since it was on the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The Dakrong Bridge that replaced it was built with aid from Cuba after the war. Showing the quality of communist workmanship, it later collapsed. But it was rebuilt and still stands today. The current version is a cable stay bridge, with radiating cable supports reaching down from tall concrete pillars. In this poor post-war province, it’s the most modern piece of infrastructure on all of Highway 9.

Since the way the Vietnamese economy is booming these days, I wonder if the Vietnamese government is now giving aid back to the Cubans!

BATTLE OF KHE SANH: THEN AND NOW

Old runway of Khe Sanh Base today, once held by US Marines

A long abandoned runway stretches across the rugged landscape before me. This airstrip isn’t black or grey, like any runway you would find at any normal airport.

This one is red.

The bare earth of this old rutted runway is the color of the reddish clay that makes up the surrounding hills. This runway once had a lighter colored surface when it was in use, but red is a more fitting color. The blood of thousands was spilled in the fight to control this runway, and the hills that surround it.

A nearby sign in Vietnamese calls this place: “Ta Con Airfield Relic”. Ta Con was the North Vietnamese Army's (NVA) name for this remote place. The American name for this base was taken from a village just south of here on Highway 9. It’s name: “Khe Sanh”.

Sitting in the farthest northwestern corner of the what was South Vietnam, this base was the scene of the bloodiest siege of the entire Vietnam War. Begun as a small Special Forces outpost, Khe Sanh expanded as the war heated up to become a major base. As the number of US Marines here grew, this dusty red runway was built to enable access by plane.

When fighting escalated in January 1968, massive numbers of NVA regulars infiltrated the surrounding hills. They cut access by road on Highway 9, the route I took to travel here. Totally surrounded, the Marines were left under siege, and this dusty runway became their only hope for resupply and reinforcements. At the peak of the battle, there were 6,000 US Marines in this small place, surrounded by 20,000 - 30,000 NVA troops.

Smoke rises from artillery attack during 1968 Khe Sanh siege. (Photo: USMC, Public Domain)

I look around at hills surrounding this former base, and they look green and peaceful now. Some of these nearby hills, such as Hill 861 and Hill 881 S, saw the worst of the fighting. Today it’s overcast, and here in the highlands, fog is common. Low visibility from the fog gave cover to the NVA who watched from the hills. Their guns placed there often stopped the desperately needed cargo planes from landing here on the base’s airstrip.

Not far from the runway today, sit two intact American made helicopters, a Huey and a Chinook. Although most resupply flights here that saved the Marines were from cargo planes, there were also countless flights here by helicopter. My veteran buddy Jay once had had a close call here during the siege, while piloting a Huey.

Chinook helicopter on display in Khe Sanh today

"We were coming in, and my Warrant Officer yells, ‘Dammit!’. He’d been shot in the toe,” Jay told me. A bullet fired from a Kalashnikov had pierced the plexiglass of the helicopter’s nose, and went right through his co-pilot’s boot!

Normally, Jay sat on that side of the chopper, so it should have been him that got hit. But for some reason, he had switched sides that morning. He later found the bullet in the chopper. “It went through his boot, hit the ceiling, went between us and landed in the back,” he said. “I found it sitting back there.”

By chance, Jay ran into that same pilot months later, after he had returned from surgery in the US. Jay approached him and said, “I’ve got something for you.” He had had the bullet mounted on a keychain, and gave it to him. “That’s the bullet with your name on it,” Jay told him, “you’ll never get shot again.”

The Chinook and Huey helicopter displayed here were brought back only in recent years. Unlike other old US bases I’ve seen, Khe Sanh is one of the few former bases that they’ve turned into a

Helicopter and plane wreckage in Khe Sanh

proper looking memorial. Nearby is a pile of plane wreckage, along with a helicopter's tail section. The caption reads, “Some fragmentations of the wreckage of some planes were used by the US at Highway No. 9 – Khe Sanh area.” So this wreckage was brought here from elsewhere. Although several US aircraft were destroyed on Khe Sanh’s runway, that wreckage is long gone.

As I walk around the old base, I hear the buzz of insects. A monkey screeches nearby. It’s good to hear the sounds of nature here, in a place where so many unnatural things happened. Scattered about are old bomb craters left behind from NVA artillery. In some of them the grass still isn’t growing, revealing dark red soil underneath. There is a small quonset hut, a cylindrical shaped shelter that Marines used to sleep and shelter in. A rusty M – 41 tank sits vacant nearby, gutted and stripped for scrap.

I follow a trench, leading to the entrance of a bunker. I step down into the dark enclosure; it feels like a basement. The bunker is mostly made of sandbags, with a flat roof. Metal grates known as pierced steel planking line the walls. A few old artillery shell casings lie on the floor. The Marines spent most of their time hunkered down in deep bunkers like this, due to constant artillery attacks. Khe Sanh is only six miles from the Laotian border, which put them well within the range of heavy Soviet made artillery hidden beyond the frontier. On some occasions more than 1,000 artillery shells a day were fired onto this base. On those days the Marines hardly left their bunkers at all.

Bunker and trench in Khe Sanh today

Due to the siege, Marines had to sleep in these cramped bunkers for more than two months, and conditions were extreme. In addition to the near constant shelling, they endured filthy living conditions, rats, sleep deprivation, scant food, and the constant fear of attack. A plaque on a memorial describes Khe Sanh base during the siege as ‘hell on earth’, words that the survivors would agree on.

Surrounding the Marines from the hills, the NVA generals were hoping to attack and overwhelm Khe Sanh’s outnumbered defenders, much as they had done to the French 14 years earlier at Dien Bien Phu. But the massive ordnance dropped onto the NVA from Air Force B-52 bombers foiled that attack from ever materializing. As difficult as it was for the Marines here, it was even more dangerous for the NVA troops in the hills. Besides the harsh conditions, they were on the receiving end of devastating air attacks.

The bunker and the trench I've walked through look impressive, but the fact is, they aren’t authentic. The reason I know this, is because the canvas on some of the sandbags has worn away, revealing their contents. They are filled not with sand or dirt, but concrete!

US made helmets and flak jackets in the museum

After the heaviest fighting in Khe Sanh subsided in 1968, the US military decided to abandon Khe Sanh, and moved the Marines out to more easily defended bases away from the border. It was the only time during the Vietnam War that the US military abandoned a major base due to enemy pressure. Before leaving, they dismantled, removed or destroyed everything that could be used by the enemy. They even dynamited the heavy bunkers. Khe Sanh was reopened briefly in 1971 to support an ARVN campaign in Laos, but then it was abandoned again.

The bunker and quonset hut here now weren’t the work of the Marines. These were rebuilt when the government recently turned Khe Sanh into a memorial. This is one of the few sections of the old base where all the landmines and unexploded ordinance have been removed, creating a safe refuge for visitors. In this enclosure by the runway the grass is neatly mowed, and sidewalks are bordered by manicured bushes. There's even a small museum.

Preparing myself for more propaganda, I enter. Inside is a selection of US made helmets, boots, and weapons. It’s impossible to tell if these were captured from ARVN troops, or from US Marines who were missing

Old artillery shell casings in Khe Sanh bunker today

in action in Khe Sanh. Like other museums, most photos are from western sources but some are blatantly mislabeled. One photo's caption reads, “The American troops are in their panic at Ta Con base.” In the photo, seven Marines are calmly digging with shovels, putting out a small fire. How did they interpret ‘panic’ from this?

Propaganda is another weapon of war, and there was a great deal of it on both sides regarding Khe Sanh's body count. The US military claimed only 230 Americans were killed or missing from the battle, but a more accurate count would be around 500. They also claimed as many as 15,000 NVA were killed around Khe Sanh. For the communists, after the war they admitted to having lost 5,550 NVA soldiers in the battle, but their numbers were also higher. Both sides lost more men here than they will admit.

Who really won at Khe Sanh is still disputed today. The US military based their victories in Vietnam by body counts. As more NVA were killed in Khe Sanh than Americans, they claimed victory. The NVA on the other hand, raised their flag over Khe Sanh the day after the Marines abandoned it. Since they had possession of the base they also claimed victory, even though they were unable to capture the Marines that had stubbornly opposed them.

After the war, Khe Sanh was left to the growing weeds. Some local farm houses dot the landscape, since most of the former base is now agricultural land used for coffee farming. Much of the land surrounding the base is too dangerous to farm, still littered with landmines and unexploded shells. Strangely, grass has still not grown back onto the old red runway.

In the end, the US military had come to a remote, faraway place and established a presence. They fought bravely, held their ground, and killed far more of the enemy than they lost. When it was decided that the cost of remaining there was too high, they left, and the North Vietnamese Army later took over.

In a way, the story of Khe Sanh is a metaphor for the entire Vietnam War. 

US Marines position at hill battle during Khe Sanh siege (Public Domain)

AMBUSH ALLEY OF VIETNAM

An old bridge on 'Ambush Alley' runs parallel to the new Highway 9

It’s a new day, and judging by the skies, I won’t have to worry about rain today. Since I’m traveling much further out of Dong Ha, my fixer Ngoc has arranged a small van for me. I’m going onto Highway 9, and this time I’m heading even further west, almost to the border of Laos.

During the war Highway 9 once bore the nickname, ‘Ambush Alley’. Weaving through the mountains just south of the old De-Militarized Zone (DMZ) it was one of the most dangerous roads in Vietnam. Unlike the fast, four lane highways in the US, this was a treacherous two lane road, and in many places it narrowed to only one lane. With ambushes a

View looking north of Highway 9, towards the old De-Militarized Zone

thing of the past, Highway 9 is much safer than it was during the war, but it’s still only two lanes.

As we cruise along in the tiny van, I look north towards the old DMZ, where the horizon is filled with rugged, smoky mountains. Most of these hills are covered with greenery, and with the hills so close to the highway, you would expect more of them to be growing crops. Here too, the land is suffering the lingering effects of Agent Orange, and much of the hillside farmland remains fallow. The presence of wartime unexploded munitions and mines, has also kept many of these hills from being cleared for agriculture.

The current highway has been

Remains of bridge destroyed during the war

solidly rebuilt, and in many places entirely new bridges have been constructed. As the scenery flies by, the highway splits away from the old route. To one side, I can see the old narrow bridges not in use anymore. Most of these bridges are only one lane wide, which made vehicles that crossed them easy targets for an ambush. Some of these bridges were blown up, leaving remnants of concrete supports still lying in the river below today. I notice that on the old bridge next to us, many of the safety posts along both sides have been broken away. I wonder how many vehicles may have fallen off that bridge into the river below. Looking out on the Cua Viet River, I see fast moving whitewater. Maybe someday this will be a popular place for river rafting, although landmines and unexploded munitions on riverbanks are still a hazard.

The 'Rockpile'; a US Marine Corps outpost was once atop this karst formation

There is little military presence here these days. I saw only two small Vietnamese Army bases along the road, and they were rather small. The only thing strategic about this highway today, is that it’s a trading route leading from the coast into Laos.

My driver slows, and we pull to a stop on the rural roadside. Looking north across farming fields, climbing steeply above the landscape, is an imposing, jagged topped mountain. Bare rock shows through the overgrowth along steep cliff sides, Along the top is a mountain ridge reaching 750 feet high. The US Marines had a nickname for this place: ‘The Rockpile’.

As a former Marine Corps lookout post, the slopes of the Rockpile were so dizzying, that the soldiers based up there never had to worry much about attackers climbing up from the ground.

“It was so steep, the VC couldn’t climb it,” said my buddy Rick, the former helicopter pilot. During his second tour of duty in Vietnam, he had been based in this province, and he had flown Huey choppers up to the Rockpile. “It was small up there. They could only be reached by helicopter,” he recalls. “We’d fly in to resupply them.”

Longboats from local villages on the Cua Viet River

With such a small space to defend, it was one of the most cramped military posts in Vietnam. When they weren’t directing artillery fire at the NVA, there was little to occupy the Marines during their down time. “They didn’t have anything to do,” Rick said. “They’d lay around getting a suntan.”

As I watch, a group of white egrets take flight near the base of the mountain. Before there had been a wooden platform built on top as a helipad, but there’s nothing man made visible up there anymore. Nature has overtaken the Rockpile.

We climb back into the van, and continue west. Crossing another bridge, I see many longboats out on the river, like those so common down in the Mekong Delta. Away from the highway, there are few paved roads in this area, so moving materials and crops by boat is still used in some places.

Stilt homes and local children of an ethnic Bru village

Soon after, we stop at a village along the highway. The inhabitants here are the Bru people, an ethnic minority community. Bru fighters had joined the American side, and like other Montagnards, they had been oppressed by the majority Vietnamese for years. They are still marginalized today.

Walking through the village, the residents I encounter appear much like the other highland people I’ve met further south. It’s not too difficult to tell the Bru apart from the Vietnamese. They have darker skin and more distinct facial features. Some adults are wearing traditional woven skirts.

Pigs roam loose in the village

As I head down a village path, the children walk along with me, curious about the white western visitor. “Hello! Hello!” some of them call out. Like other highlanders, many of their houses are built on stilts. Some of the homes are well made, but others are little more than shacks.

One child climbs up a tree, and cuts down the ripe fruit, dropping it to his friends below. I pass a toddler with a colorful woven vest, who gazes at me from his seat in a wheelbarrow. Around here, that takes the place of a stroller.

A sow grunts as I pass by her and her two piglets. Nearby in the village, is a Bru health promotion sign that translates: “Wash your hands clean to prevent infection by worms.” You know that this is a poor place to live, if they are having problems with intestinal

Curious Bru boy watches me from a wheelbarrow

worms. Most of the Bru here live below the poverty level.

When intense fighting hit this region in the 1960’s, the Bru were forced to flee their homeland in the mountains.  Like the Jarai and other Montagnard groups, they were simple highland people, overwhelmed by a conflict beyond their control. 

Some of the Bru fled for Laos, where they still remain today. Since then some Bru have lost their land, but other Bru refugee families have returned, such as these families here. They built these homes, cleared hillside land, and planted corn on the river banks. Life remains hard for the Bru, but at least it’s peaceful these days.

We leave the quiet village, and I climb back into the van to continue my journey west.

DONG HA AND CAMP CARROLL'S BETRAYAL

Ngoc, my fixer, travel agent & waitress

Dong Ha today, in central Vietnam. This was a strategic crossroads town during the war.

After you’ve been in Asia for a while, you get to learn that through western eyes, most of the people that you meet here are actually older than they appear. Ngoc, my local fixer in Dong Ha, is a good example. This young lady looks fresh out of high school, appearing to be all of 18 years old.

“I am 25,” she tells me. Maybe it’s her petite size that throws me off; she’s barely five feet tall. I’m glad to hear she’s older than she looks, since I need to consult someone with experience. Ngoc is my travel agent for the old De-Militarized Zone (DMZ), the infamous Highway9, and everything else I’m doing in this part of Vietnam.

“I work here two year,” she tells me, in between taking and making phone calls in Dong Ha. Ngoc is a busy woman. In addition to arranging my route and driver, she also takes my lunch order. In this junction town, she works in a combination restaurant and travel office, making her both waitress and travel agent. Speaking passable English, Ngoc has found me good deals, arranging reliable guides during my stay. She’s one of those rare people you find while traveling. A little ball of energy, she has the ability to multi-task. Bright, friendly and energetic, she has enough smarts to get ahead in any corporation, but she’s stuck here in Dong Ha. Still, for this town, she has a well paying job.

I come into the restaurant/office at early and late hours, and she’s almost always there. “I work 12 hour every day,” she tells me. As if that isn’t enough, she only gets one or two days off a month. I’m reminded that despite communism’s promise of helping the workers, in today’s Vietnam there is little done to give laborers sufficient days off, or overtime pay.

“My grandfather VC. He die from Americans,” Ngoc told me. She never knew her grandfather; he was killed before she was born. She says she doesn't have any problem with Americans today; Ngoc has arranged many trips around the DMZ for returning American war veterans. Soon after, Ngoc hands me a plate of chicken fried rice at my table. I wolf it down, just as my driver arrives.

“You go with him,” she tells me, pointing out the door. I look at my vehicle for the day, and groan. There are few taxis in Dong Ha, so I’m stuck hanging onto the back seat of a motorbike, and today it looks like rain. My new guide is Nguyen. His English isn't fluent, but he’s able to get his point across. Nguyen is a former ARVN soldier; he was drafted near the war's end.
 
“I work(ed) in office," he tells me, "I work maps." Rather than a frontline soldier, his job was at a base in Quang Tri. Nguyen was luckier than most. Working inside a base, he was relatively safe from the fighting. “(When) I have 18 year, war finish,” he says. His unit surrendered to the NVA when Quang Tri fell. Like the soldier Duc I knew in Saigon, Nguyen was sent to a ‘reeducation’ camp. But since he had only been a soldier and low ranking private for six months, he was released in less than a year.

Bizarre sight: Vietnamese home built right next to old US built hangar on former Dong Ha Air Base

Nguyen hands me a helmet, and off we drive into Dong Ha’s streets. Located near the coast, Dong Ha is just 12 miles south of the old De-Militarized Zone that formerly divided North and South Vietnam. Trucks barrel through town on Highway 1, the main roadway along the coast. This throughway intersects with the westward reaching Highway 9, and from here the Laotian border is only 33 miles away as the crow flies. During the war, that proximity to the borders of North Vietnam and Laos made Dong Ha a very strategic place.

Nguyen winds the scooter through Dong Ha streets, before stopping in a residential neighborhood. I hop off, and I’m puzzled by what I see. I’m right next to one of those old half-cylinder shaped, US built concrete military hangars. These are the exact same kind still in use at Ton Son Nhat airport, but this one is different. It isn’t intact. A large hole has been blown into the side of it, almost big enough to walk through. The concrete on these protective hangars is very thick and strong, this hole must have been created by a massive explosion. 

Vietnamese memorial by ex-Dong Ha Air Base hangar

This was the site of Dong Ha Airfield, once a forward US Marine base. Since Dong Ha was so close to the DMZ, it was well within range of North Vietnamese artillery and it was attacked many times. During one heavy shelling in 1968, the base’s ammunition dump was hit, and the flames and explosions here continued for hours. Most of the aircraft parked here, and much of the base, were destroyed.

I walk around to have a look inside the old hangar. Not surprisingly, there are no traces of aircraft left. Inside I see a couple of workmen doing carpentry in the hangar’s dim light. They don’t even look up, they’re so engrossed in their work. Piles of building materials and other junk are stacked up inside.  Since the damage to the hangar wall wasn’t repaired, that hole in the wall probably occured during the 1972 spring offensive, after the US Marines had already turned the base over to the ARVN. During fighting that year, much of Dong Ha town was destroyed by the advancing North Vietnamese Army (NVA). 

Dong Ha Air Base  was not surrendered back to nature like other bases. Strangely, it was turned into a residential neighborhood. It’s a bizarre sight to see this old military airport hangar closely surrounded by small family homes. One house was built so closely, that it nearly touches the hangar itself. Dong Ha Airfield exists no more, but the town has been rebuilt into a transportation hub. All this areas imports and exports going to and from Laos pass through here, as well as all of Vietnam’s north – south road traffic. There’s a memorial next to the damaged hangar, and at its base, I find a small ceramic bowl, filled with the remains of incense sticks from Buddhists praying here. This used to be an American base. I wonder, who were they praying for?

Decaying memorial on former Camp Carroll

There’s much more to see outside Dong Ha, so we climb onto Nguyen’s scooter, and head out of town. I lean forward as Nguyen tells me about the rural roadways back then. “In the wartime, it was bare. No trees, no houses,” he tells me. The NVA laid mines along the roads, hoping to disable American tanks or trucks. These were sometimes detonated by civilian vehicles. “We had buses, but we afraid of the mine,” Nguyen continues. “Sometimes bus hit the mine, and people die.”

We buzz along Highway 9, and I look at the skies, which have been gloomy all day. They finally open up. Nguyen pulls over, and pops open the seat compartment. I’m relieved to see that he has raingear for both of us. We don ponchos before we get too drenched; soon we’re back on the road. 

He turns south off highway, and his scooter struggles to carry us both up a long hill. Then he pulls to a stop next to some kind of strange, artsy concrete sculpture that appears to be  under construction. I think this is a strange place for a sculpture, out in the middle of nowhere. Then I look at it closer. What this really is, is a war memorial that is falling apart. In recent years, local people came and carted away parts of this memorial to sell for scrap. Most of the surrounding fence is gone, and they’ve cut away all the metal pieces that they that could get. I had already seen this done to old buildings and bunkers on old bases, but this is the first time I’d seen a memorial made by the post-war communists defaced for scrap.

One of the informational plaques has been torn away, but the other is still there, and Nguyen translates it for me as follows, “This Hill 241, had very strong American artillery army base along Highway 9.”

Aerial view of Camp Carroll during the war. (Photo: USACMH)

Hill 241 was the NVA’s name for this post; American troops remember it as Camp Carroll, a heavy artillery base inhabited by US Marine and Army troops. Like many American bases in Vietnam, it was named after an American soldier killed near the base. In this case, it’s named after Marine Corps Captain James Joseph Carroll. During NVA attack, he was mistakenly killed when fired on by an American tank. This type of combat casualty was known as ‘friendly fire’, a really self-contradictory military euphemism. 

Walking around the former base, I see sections of sandbags lying in the dirt, like those I found in the highlands. We encounter one concrete foundation, which is the former foundation for the base mess hall. This strategic base once had 16 heavy cannons, including the feared 175mm artillery guns. These massive cannons could fire 174 pound projectiles as far as 20 miles away. As American troop numbers were reduced towards the war’s end, Camp Carroll was turned over to South Vietnam’s military (ARVN) in 1970. Later, the ARVN colonel in command surrendered the entire base to the NVA, without firing a shot. That same colonel now owns a hotel in Hue today... At the top of the memorial here, the stone lists the year of his surrender, 1972.

Camp Carroll today. It's been reduced to farmland.

On one of the dismantled concrete friezes lying flat on the ground, I can make out the frightened face of an ARVN soldier, with his hands in the air as he surrenders. More than 400 ARVN soldiers were taken prisoner here. After Camp Carroll was taken, Dong Ha, the town I was in earlier, fell soon afterwards.

Nguyen tells me that in the post-war years, the only visitors that bother to come all the way up here were American war veterans that served in Camp Carroll. That explains the dilapidated state of the memorial. The government had no interest in preserving the old base, it is more useful now as a farm. Rubber trees, pepper plants, and cassava grow on a hill that used to be covered with bunkers, tents and artillery. On this gloomy day there aren’t even any farmers present, only a water buffalo chewing on grass.

I ponder the difference that I saw between Dong Ha, and here. Dong Ha is at a major crossroads, so it has been rebuilt. But since Vietnam is now reunited, Camp Carroll’s location is no longer strategic. With the heavy guns long ago captured and carted away, this former military base is now nothing more than a quiet, unimportant hilltop in central Vietnam.

SHOCKING BUDDHIST PROTEST

The auto which drove monk Thich Quang Duc to Saigon

I’ve headed upriver from downtown Hue, and gone to a quieter corner of this former royal capital. Today I’m exploring a calmer, more relaxed place. I’m wandering through a Buddhist complex known as the Thien Mu Pagoda, and I’m enjoying the serenity. No matter what your religion is, everyone will agree that a pagoda is a place of peace.

Hue has always been a prestigious center of learning, and this tradition of education carried over into the pagodas, where novice monks still learn the ways of Buddhism. Thien Mu means ‘heavenly lady’, and the complex was established way back in 1601. The pagoda overlooking the slowly flowing Perfume River is impressive in itself. At seven stories in height, it’s one of Vietnam’s tallest.

I meander past the monastery, where the monks in their robes are going about their simple daily tasks of maintaining the complex. They clean, cook, study and meditate.

As I walk past a side building in the rear, I’m puzzled to see an old parked car through open doors. This is an odd place for a garage. Inside is an old blue Austin sedan that hasn’t been driven in ages. Strangely, a white and brown rabbit is seated underneath the old auto. This car is connected to this pagoda, and its place in history. A sign in front of it reads:

“A relic. In this car The Most Venerable Thich Quang Duc went from An Quang Pagoda to the intersection of Phan dinh Phung street and Le van Duyet street on June 11, 1963 in Saigon. As soon as he got out of the car, The Most Venerable sat down in the lotus position and burnt himself to death to protest against the Ngo dinh Diem regime’s policies of discriminating against Buddhists and violating religious freedom.”

Unlike most Vietnamese, the dictator Diem wasn’t Buddhist, he was Catholic. But Catholics and Buddhists alike feared him, since he ruled South Vietnam with an iron fist. With Diem oppressing Buddhists, Thich Quang Duc and several other Vietnamese monks committed suicide in this way as an act of protest. In recent years, several Buddhist monks in Tibet have died in this shocking manner, as they protest against the Chinese government.

A rabbit sits underneath the old car

On the wall behind the car, is a copy of the famous photo of the monk’s death,  seen in newspapers around the world. Seated on a Saigon street, the dying monk is surrounded by gasoline fed flames. In the background behind him, is the car parked here in front of me. Witnesses said that as Thich Quang Duc was consumed by the flames, he never cried out at all. To prepare himself for this final ordeal, he had been meditating for weeks.

Fast forward to 1993, and a Vietnamese man killed himself in the same way near  this very pagoda. After he set himself on fire, he chanted the word, “Buddha”. Although the earlier monks who had died from self-immolation were protesting the government, it isn’t publicly known what the later immitator was protesting.

After this tragic incident, the communist government later responded in the same way that Diem’s dictatorship had before it. They arrested monks, even though this time the man who had killed himself wasn’t a monk. So much for freedom of religion granted in the current constitution.

Leaving the quiet pagoda, I walk down the steps of the nearby riverbank, and board a dragon boat that takes me back into Hue’s city center.
 
Shadows lengthen, and I take a late afternoon stroll. Walking past a bookstore, I remember Hue is a college town. I’m wondering how much censorship I will find when it comes to the written word, so I head inside.

Dinner drink. Hue Beer, in a Coke glass, in an 'Italian' restaurant?

It’s a modern looking bookstore, and I’m surprised to find that there are plenty of western books. The largest selection is for Vietnamese translations of software books for popular PC programs.

Given the country’s economic liberalization, there are also plenty of books lining the shelves related to business and capitalism. On the shelves are biographies of Andrew Carnegie, Henry Ford, and Bill Gates. There are no less than six books  written by, or about, Donald Trump. There's the self-help book, “7 Habits of Highly Effective People.” There’s no reactionary literature here, the only book related to politics is by Barack Obama.

After I grab some dinner, I head back down to the riverfront. Some street vendors are selling their wares, and have laid out war relic merchandise by the sidewalk. There are dog tags, pins, mess kits, and canteens. Just like I saw while shopping in Saigon-HCMC, most of what I see here are fakes.

One thing that isn’t fake, is an old concrete bunker that I approach. This pillbox shaped fortification was used during the war to guard this end of the

US military insignia and dog tags for sale; most are fakes

bridge. It’s present use is the oddest I’ve seen yet for an old military fortification. As I watch, a street vendor unlocks the bunker door, and carries several cages inside filled with live birds. This may not be a proper aviary, but for this street seller, it will do for pet bird storage.

The skies grow darker as I continue during my evening walk, and I get a better view of Trang Tien Bridge. It’s an older engineering style, with steel girders arching over each span like six great camel humps. Now that its night time, the bridge is lighted beautifully, and each section has separate lights that change colors. They go from purple, to blue, to green, to yellow, to white, and back to purple again. It creates a visual symphony of color.

Passing a university, I take a side path into a riverside park. It’s more of an art park really, with many sculptures of various styles. Thankfully, none of the sculptures are political for a change. Like the colored bridge, this is art for art’s sake.

Old military 'pillbox' bunker from the war years, used today for bird storage!

An occasional boat floats down the channel before me. It’s dark now, and this locale has a dreamy view of the riverside at night. As usual, young couples have gathered in the park, taking advantage of the romantic view. 

In the park the lighting is dim, but the opposite river bank is well lit with an arrangement of neon signs, some of them several stories tall. They are all for Vietnamese companies: Agribank, Co-op Mart, Kuda Beer and Viettel Mobile. I remember seeing communist party billboards in town, but they simply can’t compete with all of this bright capitalist neon.

I’m leaving this former capital soon, since I’ll be heading north to the former De-militarized Zone, but I’m wishing that I could stay here and enjoy the slow pace of Hue just a little while longer.

Hue has had a turbulent past, and endured destruction by the French, by the communists, and by the Americans. It has been rebuilt, and reborn as a city of art,  education, and culture. It has

Colorful incense for sale in Hue, used for Buddhist ceremonies

regained its position as one of Vietnam’s most beautiful cities. It’s a classical city at peace.



**NOTE** 

Links to more of my Hue stories and photos: 

RUINS OF BATTLE FOR HUE

FORBIDDEN CITY FOR KINGS