MEET AN EX-KHMER ROUGE SOLDIER

My driver Non is an ex-Khmer Rouge soldier!

When I’m traveling overseas and need a taxi or motorbike taxi, I always look for the oldest driver I can find. Old men usually drive safer than younger men, and they are less likely to cheat you. 

My Cambodian driver today is Non. He's 65 years old and short, with salt and pepper hair. When he smiles I see a blackened socket where one of his teeth should be. Despite his need for dental work, I chose well today, he's been a good driver. But it’s a good thing that he only has a 120cc motorbike. Non is so short, that he’s not tall enough to handle anything bigger. 

He's bringing me and my translator back from the former rebel village of Svay Samsep. Since it's a hot day, we stop at a highway cafe for a cold drink on our way back to Neak Luong. While we enjoy our drinks and chat, that's when I learn the truth about Non. 

He's an ex-Khmer Rouge soldier! 

Non was originally from a village called Snoul, about 10 miles away. He was from a farming family, and after his father died, he moved to Neak Luong. At the age of 20, he became a Buddhist monk. 

When the Prime Minister, King Sihanouk,  was removed in a coup, he decided to fight. He wasn't drafted, or forced to pick up a gun. He chose to go to war on his own, a surprising choice for a Buddhist monk.

“I go by myself,” he says. “Sihanouk called me. To go to the forest, to the hills.” Sihanouk's radio broadcasts urged young men like him to join up with the communist Khmer Rouge. Like thousands of other rural folk, he blindly followed the king. 

Non tells me he was a Khmer Rouge soldier for 2 1/2 years, although he refers to that time as when he was 'fighting for King Sihanouk'. He once saw the old king, back in Mondulkiri during the war. Sihanouk had not yet been betrayed by the Khmer Rouge, and he was rallying the troops. “He said every soldier must try and try again, to take the country back,” Non recalled. “We must make peace for the people.” 

Making peace by going to war doesn’t make sense now, but it did to his loyal subjects back then. Sadly, neither Non nor Sihanouk knew that the group that they had joined would turn genocidal and kill over a million Cambodian civilians, including some of the king's own family. Just like Sihanouk, young Non was duped.

Sihanouk (center) regretted joining the communists

Non's Khmer Rouge unit fought in the same area where we had traveled through earlier in the day, around Phnom Cheu Kach. Fighting there was so intense, that those hills are still full of landmines and unexploded munitions today. I ask Non if he was scared when they used to get bombed by B-52 bombers. 

“Scared or not scared, no problem,” he says. “I love my country. If I die, that’s ok. I’m very happy to die for Cambodia.”

He admits to killing just one person during his time as a Khmer Rouge. The man he killed was a government soldier.“I killed one in battle, but I didn’t want to, because he was another Khmer,” he says. “I had to fight. I had to shoot, but I didn’t want to.” Given the massive number of civilians killed by the Khmer Rouge, I don't know if I believe him. 

Non left the Khmer Rouge when their first war ended in 1975, and like everyone else in the country, he became a farmer on a forced labor commune. As he was of marrying age, the Khmer Rouge leader of his commune later selected his wife for him. He was in his 30’s, his wife in her 20’s. For a blind marriage that was arranged by cult-like communist radicals, this one worked. Non and his wife are still together today, with six sons and two daughters. 

Non's wife also came from a poor family, which made her a good fit for the Khmer Rouge. “My wife is illiterate, she didn't go to school,” Non tells me. “Pol Pot Regime made her a nurse.” She’s still a nurse now, and even delivers babies. With so many illiterate nurses, it’s no wonder that the health care system in Cambodia is still a disaster. 

I ask Non when life was better in Cambodia, before the Khmer Rouge, or after their era. He angles his answer back to his beloved king again.  

“I love the family life during the Sihanouk Regime,” he says. “Now it’s bad for living. There's government corruption. The poor have problems; the rich and the foreign companies have so much.” 

These complaints sound exactly like those used by the Khmer Rouge to attract recruits back in the 1970’s. So I ask him, “If the king asked you to go to the hills now, to go fight again, would you go?”

His answer is chilling, and there's no hesitation on his part. “Yes. Sihanouk is a very good leader. He take care of the people.” It seems that Non didn't learn anything from the genocide of the Khmer Rouge years. Much like the Nazi's, he's content to just follow orders. 

So I've been sitting here, having a chat with an Ex-Khmer Rouge, one of the most murderous regimes in history, and he has no regrets. And I bought him a soy bean milk too. 

I head back to Neak Luong, and then on to Phnom Penh. On the way, I think about this ex-Khmer Rouge soldier, and his lack of remorse for joining them. I guess for some people, ignorance is bliss. 


*Added Note* The above discussion with the Ex-Khmer Rouge soldier, took place before King Sihanouk's death.

US RESCUE MISSION DISASTER

Otres Beach outside Sihanoukville, with islands beyond

I’m standing on an empty beach. One of the cool things about Cambodia, is that unlike Thailand, there are still many quiet, natural, romantic beaches that are relatively untouched. This one east of Sihanoukville, is known as Otres Beach.

Gentle waves lap at the sands. Palm trees sway in the wind. Cumulus clouds look like white mountains on the horizon. A few small, tropical islands rise from the waters offshore in the distance.

One of the islands far to the south of me is Koh Tang. This island isn't well known to Americans, but it should be. On that remote island off the coast, occurred the very last battle of the Vietnam War.

On May 12th, 1975, after Saigon and Phnom Penh had already fallen to the communists officially ending their wars, the Khmer Rouge took the conflict a step further. Using US made swift boats captured from the Cambodian Navy, they turned pirate. Heading far out to sea in international waters, they captured the SS Mayaguez, a passing American container ship headed for Thailand.

Caught unawares, the US military quickly planned a rescue. The Khmer Rouge had anchored the Mayaguez off of Koh Tang Island, so the main assault focused there. Four days after the ship's capture, the Americans launched a raid to rescue the captured sailors.

Mayaguez after capture, with Khmer Rouge gunboats alongside (photo:USAF)

What they didn't know, was that the 39 crew members weren't even on Koh Tang. In fact, they had been sent to Sihanoukville, and had already been released by boat just before the mission started. The team also lacked the right intelligence on Koh Tang. What they didn’t know, was that the Khmer Rouge based there were already well armed and ready for fighting. They weren't expecting a raid from the Americans though. They were paranoid about a seaborne attack from the Vietnamese, whom the Khmer Rouge also hated.

As the attack began, navy jets from the USS Coral Sea struck targets around Sihanoukville. These included the port's warehouses, a nearby airfield, train yard, refinery, and a small nearby naval base.

At Koh Tang Island, US Marines and the US Navy swooped in. When they boarded the Mayaguez, they found an empty ship! In the air the US helicopters faced unexpectedly fierce ground fire from the Khmer Rouge. It's unknown how many Khmer Rouge died in the battle, but 40 American soldiers lost their lives. In the chaotic aftermath, two live US Marines were left behind on Koh Tang. What happened to them is unknown. Their bodies were never found, and they are still listed as missing in action (MIA). As the captured sailors from the Mayaguez had already been released, the rescue operation had been a disaster. They had retrieved the captured ship, but at a great cost in human lives. 

Since this was America’s last battle of the Vietnam War era, I would like to go out to Koh Tang myself to see the island, but it’s not to be. Otres beach is as close as I’m going to get to Koh Tang.

“The weather this time of year isn’t good. Too windy out there, the waves are heavy,” said Sarah, a divemaster in Sihanoukville. Originally from England, she operates a dive company here with a friend. “The problem is, with the weather this time of year, if you go out there, you might not make it back. You could be stuck there for weeks, maybe months.”

Two downed helicopters on beach, with destroyed Khmer Rouge swift boat at right (photo:USMC)

Recently, an American search team did manage to identify some bones that were found on Koh Tang. After lengthy DNA testing, the remains were identified as Private James Jacques, one of the missing Marines who died aboard a helicopter that had crashed into the sea. He was buried in 2013, in Colorado. Another American casualty of the Vietnam War was finally laid to rest.

That isn't the end of the searches though, as there are still 53 US soldiers missing in action in Cambodia. 

Another Australian diver I met in Sihanoukville, actually worked with an American MIA search team. “I think they’re still looking for one helicopter,” she told me, referring to a chopper shot down over Koh Tang. The search team wanted to go to the island again, but they had faced the same weather problems that I do now.  

As I spoke with the Aussie, I learned that Koh Tang isn't the only place where the US is diving to look for the remains of missing soldiers in Cambodia. The Aussie says that she had been hired by a US team for an underwater search in a river towards the Vietnamese border, where another helicopter had crashed earlier in the war. 

She explained how the river had low visibility. Most of the fuselage was gone, but she did find metal plates, and other pieces that the search team said were helicopter parts. As we chatted more, I asked if she had found any bones, and she clammed up.

Apparently there are still some secrets to be kept here, even though America's war in Southeast Asia has been over for decades.

JACKIE KENNEDY ONASSIS DRANK HERE

Elephant walks in traffic in downtown Phnom Penh!

Walking out of a riverfront café, I’m confronted by an unusual sight: an elephant standing on the street corner before me. That’s right, a full grown Asian elephant, looking just as though he stepped out of the pages of the Jungle Book. I’ve seen these in more appropriate Southeast Asian locales, but what’s an elephant doing in downtown Phom Penh? 

The great animal had nobody riding him, and looking him over, I saw no saddle or adornments. The only extras that he wore, were circular wooden plates strapped to his soles. These kept his feet from burning on the hot pavement. 

Nobody except me seemed to even notice his presence. His only company was his Khmer handler, standing by his side. Dwarfed by the heavy beast, I watched as the handler prodded him with a pole. Following his command, the out of place pachyderm curled up his trunk, stepped off the sidewalk, and headed off into busy downtown traffic. He didn’t even gather a crowd. While motorbikes and cars passed the massive animal, their drivers didn’t even pause to look. The handler and elephant got as much attention, as a boy out walking his dog. This elephant was just another slow moving vehicle in downtown Phnom Penh.

Looking to escape the downtown myself, I scan the streets for a ride. Rather than a beast of burden, I choose a more common means of local transport, a tuk-tuk. This half-bred vehicle is a cross between a motorcycle in front, and golf cart in the back. Here these take the place of taxis; a rarity in poverty stricken Cambodia. 

Overweight monkey eats at Wat Phnom in the city

The driver hops in front, the undersized engine sputters, and we’re off into the downtown maze. Like everything else in Phnom Penh, city traffic has gone through several revolutions. On my first visit here a few years ago, noisy motorbikes ruled the streets. Back then downtown boulevards at rush hour were so thick with buzzing little motos, that crossing the street was a frightening experience. But automobiles have slowly come back, and are more common these days. Predictably, larger vehicles mean worse traffic. Toyotas are taking over the roads, along with the odd Mercedes driven by the elite. 

Taking me to the northern side of Phnom Penh, my tuk-tuk driver weaves through afternoon traffic, on a road curving around the city’s highest hill. It’s this hill that gave the city it’s name centuries ago. 'Phnom' translates as ‘hill’, and local legend says that a Madame 'Penh' once found four Buddhist statues over by the Mekong River, and placed them up on this overlook. There’s been a Buddhist temple (called a 'wat') up there ever since. 

Turning away from Wat Phnom onto Street 92, I’m on my way to another icon from the city’s past. Arriving out front, I approach the archways of a hotel. As I walk through the entrance, I feel like I’ve just stepped back in time. 

Jackie Kennedy visited in 1967(photo:Wikipedia)

The doorman greets me, wearing the traditional costume of a Khmer royal servant. Wearing a smart white coat, his ensemble is topped by a golden hat with a pointed spire at the peak. A musical trio entertains in the lobby; the flute, clarinet and cello play soft music from a bygone era. A European gentleman with a bushy moustache and silver handled cane, reads documents at a nearby table. The décor and architecture are all French. Much like in Laos and Vietnam, the influence of the former colonial masters is evident. It was as though I've just walked into a movie from Cambodia’s French colonial period, while the trio plays the movie soundtrack. At $300 a night, you too can have the colonial experience.

The Hotel Le Royal first opened in 1929, and is Phnom Penh’s oldest surviving hotel. It was also it’s much prestigious. This is where the rich, famous and powerful stayed in the capital. Silent film star Charlie Chaplin stayed here, along with the famed writer W. Somerset Maugham. Seeking more history, I enter the Elephant Bar – perhaps named for the elephant figures woven into the carpeting. Taking a seat at the bar, I glance around. The Elephant Bar is not especially grand, but hotel bars never are. I’m searching for the aura of notalgia, but there’s not much colonial feel in here anymore, except for the wicker chairs. 

I order a draught beer, from the same bar that once made Jackie Kennedy a champagne cocktail. The famous former First Lady stayed here in 1967, when she was on her way to Angor Wat. Word is that they kept the champagne glass that she had drank from here for years; complete with her red lipstick marks. 

Where rich and famous stayed, Le Royal is city's oldest surviving hotel (photo:Wikipedia)

As the years passed and the war in Vietnam spilled across the border into Cambodia, this bar became the place to be for expats looking for inside information. Diplomats, journalists, spies and the usual suspects used to meet here during the early 70’s, reporting on the ebbs and flows of the conflict. Information exchanged here led to headlines around the world. Pulitzer Prize winner Sidney Shanberg spent time here, and his experiences with his local fixer Dith Pran later become a book and movie. “The Killing Fields” brought the world’s attention to the genocide wrought upon the Cambodian people. 

Shanberg’s buddy John Swain wrote his book, “River of Time”, about the last days of this hotel before the city fell to the Khmer Rouge. As time grew short and rebels encircled the city, rooms on the top floor were available for only $5 a night. The cheap rate was only available because the Khmer Rouge were rocketing and shelling the city, so nobody wanted to sleep under a rooftop. Anyone sleeping on the top floor was the most likely to get killed during those final turbulent days. 

Back when the rebels took the capital in 1975, Le Royale was shut down., and Khmer Rouge troops moved in. What had once been the most glorious lodging in the land, had become the barracks for Khmer Rouge Battalion 310. Eventual peace and the return of foreigners saw the hotel reopened years later. After several name changes, renovations in 1997 sought to restore Le Royale to its former colonial glory. It’s now owned by the same company that owns the famed 'Raffles Hotel' in Singapore. 

There aren’t many foreign reporters in Cambodia anymore, but with the US embassy just down the street, diplomats still stay here. While seated at the bar, I spot a pair of them sitting nearby: two American government officials meeting with Cambodians. I start eavesdropping on their conversation, and I catch the phrase, “The US government does not” – but I miss what the diplomat says next. I wonder how he finished that sentence. Listening further, I learn their conversation is nothing secret; they’re only talking about an education project. Still, given the history of this Phnom Penh hotel, I wonder how many times that very phrase has been said in this bar before... 

I finish my beer at the bar, and head back out into Phnom Penh traffic. There's still much to see in this intriguing city. 

PHNOM PENH RUINS & NIGHTMARE EVACUATION

Crumbling French colonial building with collapsed ceiling in Phnom Penh

Stepping out for a walk around today’s Phnom Penh, I find a vibrant city, humming with commerce. Strolling through the old downtown, I spot a group of French tourists also out for a stroll. I’m surprised I’ve seen so many French in Southeast Asia. These countries used to be their colonies, and they had lost them. There weren’t many Americans around, except me. 

The French certainly feel at home with the surroundings, as French architecture is still dominant. Familiar French shutters, ornate mouldings, and neoclassical designs leave a hint of romance for the colonial days. 

Yet the years of neglect and tropical weather have taken their toll. All over the city, these old colonial shells are crumbling. 

Unlike in Vietnam, only a small percentage of Cambodia’s French colonial buildings survive in excellent condition. The former French Embassy – gone. The Notre Dame Cathedral – also gone, destroyed by the atheist Khmer Rouge. With so many decades of poverty and war in Cambodia, survival had to take precedence over the maintenance of old buildings. 

Vacant ex-colonial government building

Continuing my walk on Samdech Sothearos Boulevard, I pause before a faded gem of a structure. A former French colonial government building, it’s glory days are but a memory. Romanesque pillars hold up sagging ceilings. Shutters have been looted, leaving gaping holes for windows. The yellow colonial paint has weathered away, leaving a dark bare underside. 

What should be an architectural treasure, is totally vacant. This is prime real estate downtown, and nobody is living there. It sits empty of life. There was a time, when all of Phom Penh was as empty as this old building. 

It wasn’t so long ago, when Phnom Penh was a ghost town. 

When the radical communists known as the Khmer Rouge captured the capital on April 17th, 1975, Cambodia’s long civil war had finally ended. The people of Phnom Penh were hoping for a peaceful transition. They hoped that the Khmer Rouge would be reasonable. They were wrong.

And none of them could have predicted what was about to happen next. The victorious Khmer Rouge immediately forced everyone out of the city that same day. 

Everyone. Without exception. 

Upon entering the capital the Khmer Rouge soldiers, some not even teenagers yet, ordered the entire population of the city to immediately evacuate Phnom Penh. Blaring orders over truck borne loudspeakers, they announced the ludicrous claim that “the Americans are coming to bomb the city”. 

Anyone who resisted the order was killed. More than 10,000 people were murdered that fateful day, including many high officials of the former US backed government that had peacefully surrendered. The people of Phnom Penh quickly learned that the end of the long civil war, had only meant the beginning of a whole new nightmare. 

#51950509 Phnom Penh citizens forced to leave the city in 1975. / gettyimages.com

At the point of a gun, Phnom Penh’s city folk were forced to walk for days out into the countryside. Families were separated, many never to see each other again. Everyone was forced to live in rural communist work camps and agrarian communes. City folk were instantly converted to farmers. They had became slave labor, working rice fields for the Khmer Rouge in their ‘communist paradise’. 

Individual freedoms, private business, and even money were outlawed. Any resistance brought beatings, or death. The brutal Khmer Rouge leadership officially declared this new beginning as, ‘Year Zero'. For nearly three years, ALL of the apartments, shops, hotels and offices that I see around me in Phnom Penh, were totally vacant. The city’s empty streets saw only the passing of a rare Khmer Rouge patrol. 

Phnom Penh became a ghost town after the Khmer Rouge takeover (museum photo)

Today as I look around at all the Khmers going about their daily business here, one undeniable truth exists for everyone I see that's over 30 years of age. Anyone in Phnom Penh old enough to remember that time, has a heartbreaking personal history. Absolutely EVERYONE was left traumatized from those horrific years. All can tell you shocking tales of relatives that were tortured, and killed. Others are still missing, having disappeared long ago. These Khmers survived years of repression, slave labor, and famine. And that’s just the beginning of the horrors that they went through, the list goes on. The only thing good that can be said of those awful years, is that they’re over. 

These Khmers are true survivors. 

ICE CREAM SOLDIER FOUGHT FOR 2 ARMIES

The most cheerful ice cream salesman anywhere

He’s standing alone on a Luang Prabang street corner, and you might hear him before you see him. 

“Hello!” he calls out loudly to those walking by. “You want ice cream?” He speaks energetically through a plastic cone held up to his mouth, much like a cheerleader. His outspoken salesmanship is unusual for normally reserved Laotians. But the passing potential customers still turn him down. 

Undaunted, he cheerfully sends them positive wishes as they walk away. “I wish you good luck! I wish you happiness!” Short and thin, he’s the excitable type, with an infectious energy that most street vendors lack in Laos. His mismatched clothing is too big for his small stature. He has a full head of grey hair; despite his age he still has a youthful gleam. 

His name is Tay, and he doesn't peddle his product from an ice cream truck, or an ice cream cart for that matter. He sells his treats from a simple bicycle, with a small cooler strapped onto the back. With such a positive attitude, I knew that this senior ice cream salesman must have an interesting story to tell. He did. 

Tay is 74 now, but he’s not originally from Luang Prabang. He grew up in a village further north. As a youth in French colonial Laos there was little opportunity available, so he decided to join the military. 

“1952, I go to French Army,” he tells me. At that time the colonial years were waning, and Laos soon became independent. But the French Army's departure didn’t end Tay’s military career. 

A Royal Laotian Air Force T-28, taxis during the war (Photo: Wikipedia)

“French go back to Paris,” Tay continued. “1957, Americans come to Luang Prabang.” 

Now he was in the Royal Laotian Army (RLA), on the side of the Americans. Tay gestures across the Khan River towards Luang Prabang airport.  Back when the Americans were here, it was a major air base for both Laotian and American aircraft. Tay was based there.

“T-28 fly here,” Tay says, recalling the days when US made T-28s flew combat missions from the base. The T-28 Trojan was an old World War II propeller plane, refitted for combat use by Laotian pilots. He remembers the much faster US Air Force jets as well. F-104s and F-105s flew in from bases in Thailand, and circled overhead. 

In those years Tay already knew how to speak Laotian and French, and soon he picked up English too. So the military put his language skills to use, assigning him to communications. His rank rose to Sergeant. He frequently operated a radio while airborne, assisting the Royal Lao Air Force. 

This former military air base is now Luang Prabang's current airport

“I see my friend (below),” Tay said, while pantomiming how he would wave out the window to his army buddies, as their plane swooped down low over RLA ground troops. In those days Vietnamese infantry were pushing into Laos, and American air power joined together with Laotian government soldiers on the ground to push them back. 

Tay summed up all three eras of power here, in three short sentences: “In Luang Prabang, French responsible. Then America responsible. Then Lao responsible." 

When control of Luang Prabang shifted for the last time, it meant the end of Tay’s 23 year military career. When the communists took control of Luang Prabang in 1975, the RLA ceased to exist, and Tay was stripped of his military rank.  He was sent into the 're-education' camps. Imprisoned far from his family, he won't talk about those years. But everyone knows conditions were bad in those prisons, and some prisoners died. Tay survived.

When he was finally released five years later, Tay made his way back to Luang Prabang. Barred from working any government job, he sold ice cream for a while. Then foreign tourists began returning to Luang Prabang, and his language skills served him again. 

“I go to travel with the tourists,” he says, describing his tour guide job. In those post-war years there weren’t any Americans visiting Laos, it was mostly French and other Europeans. To this day he still speaks French well, even better than his English.

The war veteran advertising his delicious ice cream

In 2004, he decided he was getting too old for the tour business, so he retired from it. But without any pension, he still needed an income. “I go sell ice cream again,” he explains, “because I’m poor.” 

As we’re chatting, a light rain starts to fall. Tay’s ice cream business is always slow during monsoon season. He’s looking forward to the dry season, when sales pick up during Luang Prabang’s annual festivals. 

I purchase one of the ice creams Tay has on offer. I’m a little leery of the quality, but after tasting its sweet coconut flavor, I have to admit that it was delicious. I give him a generous tip, although it seemed such an insignificant gesture. Tay had joined the side of two powerful foreign armies, hoping to better himself, and provide for his family. Both of those armies departed. Both of them let him down. Rather than having the good army pension he deserved, he was imprisoned, and left in poverty. 

Still, like most Laotians, Tay’s life is not focused on money. He may not have much cash in his pocket, but he is rich in family. His four children are grown and married, and now he has grandchildren. 

As I shook his hand to depart, Tay said goodbye in his usual positive manner. “I wish you good luck, I wish you good health, and prosperity!”

I wish that I could give him all of those things. 

PALACE OF THE DOOMED KING

This was the palace for the King of Laos, in the years before communism

I'm outside an unusual looking building, and what I’m seeing is not what I expected at all. With its long white layout, topped by a red tiled roof, this appears to be some sort of important auditorium. Two architectural features hint at the importance of this landmark. High on the rooftop, a narrow golden stupa points to the sky. Just above the main entrance, there is a golden, three headed elephant. This emblem is a mark of royalty, and once adorned the Royal Lao flag. 

This happens to be the palace of the last King of Laos. 

Nearing the palace, I see where the visual peculiarities come from. Its exterior is a mixture of two vastly different styles of architecture, French and Laotian. Doors and the shutters are French, but the roof is Asian. Snake-like naga figures protect the palace corners, while the stupa shaped spire peaks up to the center of the rooftop.

This architectural blend is not surprising, since the royal residence was constructed for the king by the occupying French colonials in 1904. Laos was such a poor country when the French took over, that the royal family couldn’t even afford to build a decent palace. 

Ornate decor in a Buddhist shrine on the royal palace grounds

The Laotian line of royalty reached back six centuries, and the country wasn’t always so poor. There were several ancient kingdoms. The most powerful was called 'Lane Xang', based here in the town of Luang Prabang. At its zenith, Lane Xang’s territory included not just northern Laos, but also parts of Thailand, China and Vietnam. These same three neighboring countries would later dominate Lane Xang in succeeding centuries.

This may not be the most picturesque palace from the outside, but what lies within is more impressive, so I climb the front steps to enter. Waiting my turn to buy a ticket, two European backpackers ahead of me complain that the three dollar admission price is too high! I wonder why they bothered traveling thousands of miles to see this exotic land, if they are bickering about spending a few dollars to see one of the most cherished places in all of Laos. 

Once inside, I make my way into the throne room, where King Sisavang Vong held court. Here I get a sense of royal luxury; the décor is impressive. Gold trim lines the royal pillars. Red ceilings and red walls, make way for colorful mosaics depicting everyday life in old Luang Prabang. France is again represented, with their crystal chandeliers. When the French built this place Laos was already a French colony, so the display of opulence was not a true reflection of the king’s power. Still, the king remained an important part of the Laotian identity, culture and religion.  

Without any need to hold court in this royal room anymore, golden cases with Buddha statues and ceremonial swords are displayed around the room. But the main focus is the throne itself. From a distance, the royal chair appears to be made of gold all around, save for the royal purple seat cushions. Behind where the king’s head would have been, is the royal symbol of three gold elephants. Three levels of mythical nagas heads seem coiled and ready to strike, as if to protect the king. I'd love to take photos in here but if I do, they'll confiscate my camera. 

Statue of King Sisavang Vong of Laos

The monarch that held court here, King Sisavang Vong, died in 1959 as Laos entered another period of conflict. He was replaced by his son, King Savang Vatthana. This succession occurred in an era when the world's monarchies were quickly disappearing. At the funeral, the king’s heir was heard to say, “Alas, I am doomed to be the last king of Laos.”

Although he replaced his father as the monarch, King Savang Vatthana chose to delay the coronation ceremony until the war ended, so in the end he was never crowned on this throne. By the time Savang became king Laos was independent, and the reins of power were again connected to the royal family. Prince Souvanna Phouma, the king’s cousin, would become the on again, off again Prime Minister of Laos, as he struggled to keep the country together during the war years fighting the communists. 

Taking the other path was Souvanna Phouma’s half brother, Prince Souphanouvong. Here was a unique figure. As a prince, he became one of the few royals in world history who became a committed communist. He left the good life of Luang Prabang, and went to the highlands to join the Pathet Lao. He became known as, ‘The Red Prince’. Souphanouvong took a Vietnamese woman as his wife, endearing him to his communist patrons in Hanoi. If he was to remain true to the monarchy, he would have married a Laotian. 

Over in a nearby reception room, a red embroidered wall hanging bears dragons and a phoenix. This was a gift from Hanoi, presented to King Savang in 1963. What an insincere gift. More than any other country, it was North Vietnam that would bring about the downfall of the Royal Laotian Government, and this king with it. 

I meander to the back of the palace, where the royal residence is located. Some of the palace rooms appear much as they did as the day when the king was arrested. In the dining room, Wooden chairs with wicker seats surround an antique table, beneath another French chandelier. Here over dinner, the king discussed affairs of state with his princes. 

The King's tennis court, which hasn't been used in decades

The old wooden floors creak, as I reach the separate bedrooms of the king and queen. It’s 1970’s era furniture, mixed with Asian accessories. Black and white portraits of the royal couple still hang on the walls. The king’s bed has mosquito netting over it, a reminder that even royalty worried about malaria here. The royal rooms give the feel of undisturbed time capsules. 

Outside the king’s bedroom in the hall, I take a seat by an open window, listening to the light rain falling through the tropical trees outside. I wonder if the king ever sat here to collect his thoughts by this window, as the drama of Laos unfolded. As the end neared, the US government offered him asylum, but he declined. The king had declared long ago that he would never abandon Luang Prabang. As the heart of Laos, he vowed to stay here until the end.

Since the rain isn’t very heavy, I exit the royal residence to peruse the palace grounds. Walking on the grass near the back, I find an old weather beaten tennis court. The king himself enjoyed playing tennis here, a sport he learned while attending school in France as a youth. With the net gone, this court hasn’t been used in years. 

Red Prince (in black) with Ho Chi Minh and other communists

Behind the palace is the Mekong River, and to the other side is the king’s garage. I head in to see what kind of wheels the king favored. Inside, I’m amused at his choices of automobiles. Besides an old Landcruiser and a Citroen without headlights, there are three American cars. Two are full size Lincoln Continentals from the 50’s and 60’s. Except for the red logos of the three headed elephant painted on the doors, they are all white. His poor chauffeur must have spent a lot of time wiping mud off of the pristine white finish, since Luang Prabang had few paved roads back then. 

The last of the royal rides is, egads! It’s a four door 1950’s Ford Edsel. I’m surprised that the king held onto such a low quality vehicle. Then again if you think about it, the Edsel makes a fitting metaphor for America’s commitment to Laos. In the beginning, it was big, and it was powerful. But it wasn’t popular, it wasn’t dependable in the long term, and in the end it was a failure. 

Laotians sell food and drinks outside the royal palace, now an official national museum

I open my umbrella, and head back out into the rain. Leaving the palace, I head down the long driveway, passing between tall palm trees and smartly trimmed hedges. This is the same route that the king took when he departed the palace for the last time. After the Pathet Lao forced him to abdicate in 1975, he was arrested and forced to leave his home for good. As the communist era in Laos began, the monarchy that had survived for 600 years, was gone in a flash. 

The only royal that retained any power with the communists was the Red Prince, who became their ‘front man’. As a member of the royal family, he gave the Pathet Lao legitimacy in the eyes of the populace. He was named the 'President of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos', a position which held more symbolism than power. He had brought the neutralists hope that royalists and communists could rule in peace together. But they were fooled, since the real power behind the Pathet Lao wasn’t the Red Prince, it was the communist chief Kaysone Phomvihane.

As for the other former prince, Souvanna Phouma resigned as Prime Minister in 1975. He retired to Vientiane, where he died in 1984. His fate was far better than the rest of the royal family. After his forced abdication the king, queen and two other princes were imprisoned and sent into internal exile. They would never return to Luang Prabang. The last king of Laos, Savang Vatthana, died in a remote jungle prison camp, and the Laotian monarchy died with him. 

The communist government of Laos has never given an account as to what happened to all of these members of the royal family. How they met their tragic deaths in prison, remains a mystery to this day. 

HMONG: OUR FORGOTTEN WARTIME ALLY

Beautiful scenery outside the Hmong village of Phantao

With a new day, I’m on my way outside town. I’m looking to explore the province away from the Vang Vieng tourist trap, and I’m glad that I did. The landscape before me is the most picturesque scenery I’ve seen yet in Laos. The path I’m hiking on is sandwiched between lush green rice paddies, terraced one after the other. Steep karst mountains rise beyond, until their peaks are covered with fluffy clouds. High on the steep green hills, patches of bare rock peek out through blankets of tree cover. 

I’m on my way to a village called Phanthao, home to one of the country’s many minority ethnic groups. This particular village is inhabited by a hill tribe group that suffered greatly in Laos over the past 50 years. They call themselves, 'Hmong'. 

Back in 1961 when the war in Laos was heating up, the Pathet Lao and their North Vietnamese allies were growing in strength. To counter this threat, the Royal Laotian Government and their US supporters needed more soldiers in the north. The Laotian Army wasn’t a dependable fighting force, and bringing in American GI’s wasn’t an option. So the CIA found an excellent ally in the highland Hmong. Sometimes referred to as 'Meo', the Hmong were originally from China. Fleeing conflict there, they migrated to the highlands of Southeast Asia in the 19th century. Traditionally animists, there are Hmong minority communities in Laos, Thailand, Myanmar and Northern Vietnam. 

Bomb craters in the north of Laos (Museum photo)

Known as brave fighters, the Hmong fought French colonials for a few years in the early 20th century. Some later joined the French to take on the Viet Minh. After the French departed and the communists continued encroaching on their land, they were willingly recruited by the CIA. In what became known as the ‘Secret War’, the Hmong became America’s best fighting force during the long war in Laos. Usually fighting against the heavily armed North Vietnamese Army, the Hmong’s tactics were familiar. They used the same guerrilla warfare tactics against the Vietnamese, that the Vietnamese used against the US in Vietnam. Suffering heavy losses, the Hmong were gradually forced out of their homelands. In the decade from 1960 – 1970, an estimated 20% of all Hmong in Laos died due to the war and its effects.

The 1973 Paris peace accords to end the Vietnam War, were supposed to include Laos but it wasn’t to be. The NVA were supposed to withdraw from Laos, but they never left, so the war went on. When the CIA left, the Hmong lost their main supporters, and the communists set out to destroy the Hmong resistance. Fighting escalated in 1975 as Hmong villages were attacked, and thousands of civilians were killed. Homes, crops and livestock were destroyed. Thousands of survivors fled to Thailand. Those that remained hid in remote jungle highlands, where fighting continued. America’s war in Southeast Asia was over, but it was only worsening for the Hmong. 

Hiding in the mountains, the Hmong resistance fought Pathet Lao and Vietnamese troops off and on for years. Tactics were often brutal. Hmong refugees arriving in Thailand somberly told of massacres, including attacks on unarmed women and children. Hmong villages were being hit not only with artillery, but also napalm. Some witnesses even reported that the communists were using chemical weapons, known as ‘Yellow Rain’. Reports of atrocities were difficult to verify, since all the fighting took place behind the bamboo curtain in remote mountains. Some Hmong advocates called it genocide. 

Approaching village of Phantao

Even without hard evidence of these atrocities, nobody doubted the Hmong were paying a heavy price for their past alliance with the US. Their fight for survival continued outside the world’s spotlight, as journalists weren’t allowed anywhere near the conflict in Laos. By 1978 major fighting was over, but sporadic attacks against remote Hmong hideouts continued for decades. 

As I head for the Hmong village along narrow dirt paths between flooded rice paddies, I follow my guide, an ethnic Lao. I would have preferred a Hmong guide, but couldn’t find one in Vang Vieng. That may be by design. The Laotian government would rather have me visit a Hmong village with a government approved guide, so they can keep away foreign human rights activists. This also means that the Hmong I meet won’t trust my Lao guide; their conversation will be guarded. 

Entering Phanthao, I find Hmong children playing on the dirt road. I gets curious looks, since few Americans come here. The village is made of single story homes, but most are just shacks. Before moving here, these families were refugees in Nong Khai, Thailand, near where the 'Friendship Bridge' is now. Phanthao has only existed since 1995, when it was built from scratch.

“Government give (them) land for free”, my guide says. The creation of this new Hmong village was partly due to improved relations between Laos and Thailand in the 1990’s. Burdened with so many refugees, Thailand wanted the Laotian government to take them back. In the first wave, 150 Hmong families relocated here to Phanthao; more came in later repatriations. Now the village has about 500 families total. 

Hmong woman doing traditional embroidery

As I walk through the village, I encounter a group of Hmong women, stitching embroidery in the shade of trees. I’m disappointed that they’re not wearing their traditional dark costumes and head dresses. Most wear western clothing. The colorful embroidery they’re creating is traditional; made for belts and sashes worn on special occasions. Approaching, I marvel at their handiwork. The bright colored threads they weave form fantastic diamond-like shapes. There are various sub-groups among the Hmong, each with their own distinct weaving patterns. 

I start chatting with the weaving women. One says that before the war, her family lived in Xieng Khuang Province in the north, the region also known as the Plain of Jars. I ask why she didn’t remain living there. 

“If we stay there, somebody will kill us,” she said, “so we move away.” Like most of the Hmong in the north, her family fled fighting and escaped to Thailand. Later, her family was repatriated to Phanthao, while other relatives gained asylum overseas. I ask where. 

“In Minnesota, and Texas,” she says. I’m not surprised, since the largest diaspora of Hmong are in America. Taking in Hmong refugees was the least that the US could do, since they had abandoned the Hmong to the communists. More than 150,000 resettled in America.

Turning to the woman’s friend, I learn she is also from Xieng Khuang. But she gives a different reason for moving here. She says her family came here for the better farmland. “There they have some bombs (in the farmland)” she says. “It’s easy to make rice fields here.”

Walking through the village I see Hmong going about their daily tasks, but I notice that one age group is missing. There are very few senior citizens. With so many years of war, and with poor living conditions that continue today, the life expectancy of the Hmong is much lower than that of ethnic Lao. I wasn’t seeing many senior citizens, because most rural Hmong never reached old age. 

Hmong children in Phantao

Although large scale fighting ended decades ago, there were still Hmong fighters resisting in remote areas of the mountains, even in recent years. Scattered attacks and clashes between government troops and hold outs continued. Living in primitive hide-outs, and chronically malnourished, it’s amazing that these hardy groups of Hmong were able to survive at all. Some Hmong had lived their entire lives on the run. 

Finally, a recent government amnesty program brought many of them out of the hills. In 2004 more than 700 Hmong, including fighters and their families, surrendered in four different provinces. In 2005 another 170 women, children and old men turned themselves in. After surrendering their old weapons, they were resettled in more populated areas. In 2006 another 400 surrendered, but the fighting still hadn’t ended. In that same year 26 Hmong were reportedly killed in a single attack; most were women and children. I was beginning to wonder, if Hmong resistance had continued for so long, is it possible that there are some Hmong fighting in the mountains yet today?

Continuing my village stroll I come to an irrigation canal, where a group of Hmong children are splashing and swimming. Their differences in clothing are a total contrast. Some of the youngest boys swim naked, while older boys wear only underwear. On the other hand the swimming teenage girls are fully dressed in street clothes, wearing trousers, and long sleeved shirts. Hmong women are very conservative. 

Yes, this is actually a 'restaurant' in Phantao!

Taking a break from our long walk, I grab a seat at a small restaurant by the canal. Calling it a restaurant is a bit of a stretch though. There's no floor, and the ground partly muddy. A stray dog lies under a table, too lazy to chase a chicken strutting past. A large pot of unknown stew bubbles over an open fire. Despite the Spartan conditions, there are still customers. I start chatting with the owner of this humble establishment, who is also from the northern mountains. He left to escape the conflict and the poverty. 

“(My) family sell (our) land, sell everything,” he said. “We have $6,000. Give to man, he say (he would) take us to Europe, or America.” But the human trafficker only took them as far as Thailand, where he disappeared with all their money. With nowhere to go, they spent years in refugee camps, before they were allowed to come back to this resettlement village. 

Despite their past tragedies, the restaurateur and his family are among the lucky ones, since they received land for a home in Phantao when they were repatriated. Life in this rural community is relatively good for the Hmong families here. They own their land, they have electricity, a school, and access to the nearby highway. Phantao is an exception though, since most other Hmong who return to Laos these days don’t want to come back. Sadly, they are being forced. 

Hmong children swim in an irrigation canal

There are still thousands of Hmong refugees in Thailand, and although human rights groups have been objecting, the Thai government has been deporting many of them. The Thais have been claiming that rather than fleeing fighting, they all fled for financial reasons. Human rights advocates say that these refugees are at risk of persecution when they return to Laos. 

“Some Lao people hate Hmong people,” a young Hmong told me later. Suffering from discrimination, the Hmong remain the most persecuted minority in Laos. 

Although most Hmong communities live peacefully today, on both sides there is still a great deal of resentment that remains just below the surface. 

MEKONG RIVER AND THE FAILED PEACE

Late afternoon overlooking the Mekong River

It’s late afternoon, and I’ve taken a seat on a wooden platform, high on the riverbank. The river’s waters are calm, and the slow but steady current flows by silently. The sun drops behind a cloud upriver, as it continues its descent toward distant trees.

A few Laotian couples are also present along the riverside, taking in the romantic view, sitting in pairs atop their parked motorbikes. There are no deep kisses in public here; Laotians are too conservative for that. The young lovers cuddle together, talking quietly in the late afternoon.

Soon the sun peeks out from beneath a grey cloud, and heads for the horizon. Before it does, it casts its warm yellow glow across the serene scene. Sunset on the Mekong.

I have a view of the river that's almost horizon to horizon. As always, the Mekong River is impressive. Yet here river traffic is light, with few boats to be seen. I remember the busy floating market I'd seen down in the Mekong Delta

A longboat heads upstream on the Mekong River

in Vietnam, but here there are only three small boats, each with a lone fisherman aboard. The only others out are four fishermen wading the shallows.

As one of the world’s great rivers, the mighty Mekong seems vastly underused, at least here in Vientiane. When the French colonists took over Laos, their explorers marveled at the size of the Mekong, raving at its potential for commerce. Their surveyors believed they had found a new trading route north into China, where the great river originates. That potential was never realized.

Leaving my river side perch, I walk along Quai Fa Ngum, the city’s river front road. A couple blocks on, I come across an imposing, new red roof building constructed with familiar Asian architecture. In a landscaped planter out front, red flowers are carefully arranged to spell, “MRC". These are the offices of the Mekong River Commission.

Formed by Laos, Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam, the commission was founded in 1995. According to the MRC, they are

Headquarters of Mekong River Commission in Vientiane

working, “for sustainable development”, with a vision for, “an economically prosperous, socially just and environmentally sound Mekong River Basin”. This vision has little resemblance to the current reality in Southeast Asia, especially related to the environment.

With growing populations, these countries that line the Mekong’s river banks need more and more of the great river’s water for agriculture and hydropower. There are 11 proposed dams in the area, an ongoing threat to the environment and wildlife. Given the levels of corruption in Southeast Asia, the future of the Mekong is anybody’s guess. 

World Wildlife Fund reports Irrawaddy Dolphins are at risk of being eliminated from the Mekong River. Less than 80 of these rare animals are left here. The dolphins' immune systems seem to be suffering from river contaminants. I once asked an Australian environmentalist about their chances of survival on the river. “It doesn’t look good,” he said. “The river is just too polluted.”

Decaying ex-offices of International Commission for Supervision and Control (ICSC)

A block past the MRC, the pavement turns to dirt and I find the remnants of another Laotian commission in an abandoned three story building. Back in the day, this was one of the more modern office buildings in town. Now it’s just a crumbling shell, overgrown with weeds. Despite its decrepit present condition, this was once a place of great political importance in Laos.

These were the offices of the International Commission for Supervision and Control. (ICSC) Born out of the 1954 Geneva Agreement that ended the French war in Vietnam, the ICSC was supposed to monitor and verify terms to end the conflict in Laos as well, and keep the country neutral. It was hoped this independent commission would aid with the integration of Pathet Lao rebels into the Royal Laotian Government. 

Since the conflict dragged on for two decades, what was supposed to be a short mission for the ICSC dragged on as well. Like most of the peace attempts in Southeast Asia at the time, there were good intentions, but the ICSC was over politicized, with little means of enforcement. Made up of teams from Canada, India and Poland, their monitors were rarely allowed into rebel areas to verify if the Pathet Lao were following the treaty’s terms. Often, they weren’t. As for dealing with their opposites in Vientiane, the ICSC had to deal with multiple changes in government, due to frequent coups. 

In the end, Laos was unfortunately just a pawn, and it was outside forces that determined the end of the war in Laos. When the Paris Peace Accords ended America’s war in Vietnam in 1973, a cease fire in Laos was signed less than a month later under pressure. After more agreements, communists became part of a coalition government. Soon, Vientiane’s residents woke to the bizarre sight of Pathet Lao troops patrolling the streets jointly with police of the Royal Laotian Government. (RLG)

Pathet Lao Politburo meeting to seize power in 1975 (museum photo)

What should've been a power sharing agreement between the two opposing groups was soon subverted by the Pathet Lao. No longer stuck in the jungle, the communists gradually took over the central government by orchestrating riots and demonstrations. Subverting the government from within, they gradually forced RLG ministers out of their jobs Most fled to exile.

On November 28th of 1975, Prime Minister Souvanna Phouma finally resigned. By then the Pathet Lao had already declared to the populace that Vientiane had been ‘liberated’. The reality was that individual liberties were ending. With their takeover complete and the war over, Laos became the final domino to fall in Southeast Asia.

With the conflict finished the teams of foreign monitors left for home, and the ICSC closed its doors. I look at this hollow derelict, and familiar yellow colonial paint is faded and peeling. Left to the elements and the homeless, even the doors and windows have been looted. Green grass grows on the top balcony. 

Seeing movement near the back, I notice this building isn’t totally empty. Just outside, four construction workers are taking bucket showers in their underwear. Peering up through the windows, I see more signs of life. Laborers are hauling building materials inside. It seems that this old derelict is being reborn, as they prepare to renovate.

Heading back the way I came, I pass the Mekong River Commission on my way home. These ‘Commissions’ didn’t seem to have a very successful record in Laos. The ICSC’s mission failed, and so did the chances for democracy Laos.

I sincerely hope that the Mekong River Commission is far more successful.

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!