LOST CIA BASE AND BUDDHIST RUINS

Photo of secret CIA base of Long Tieng during the war (from cia.gov website)

I’m looking to go to a mysterious, formerly secret US built air base, but it’s going to be much more difficult than I thought. “You can only go there with special permission from the military,” a Laotian travel guide is telling me. “It’s a military base.” 

The 'Secret War' in Laos had a secret city, and this was the remote, hidden base known as Long Tieng, south of the Plain of Jars. During the long war in Laos, it was the busiest airport in the country. For years it was a key air base for the CIA’s Air America, and US spotter pilots. It was also headquarters for famed general Vang Pao and his 20,000 strong Hmong militia. To the communists Vang Pao was Public Enemy No. 1, and the general lived in his mountain hideout with thousands of Hmong families that had fled the fighting. Many ethnic Hmong villages were destroyed during the war. 

As with many things connected to the Secret War, Long Tieng did not officially exist, and wasn’t found on any public maps. This was odd since at its peak, this ‘secret city’ sheltered 40,000 people, making it the second most populated city in Laos back then. Its cover was blown in 1970 when two foreign journalists snuck in. 

As major fighting ended in 1973, Long Tieng was taken over by the communist government, and it’s been their base ever since. Vang Pao left for exile in the US, joined by thousands of Hmong refugees. He settled in California, though he never forgot his mountain homeland, and his long suffering people still fighting the communists. In 2007, he was arrested near Fresno, charged with plotting to overthrow the Laotian government. The charges were later dropped, and he died in California in 2011, still a hero to the Hmong community. 

I’d like to see his infamous base, but as I’m being denied, I hear a tone of concern. The Laotian explains that real danger is involved. “There are still guerrillas fighting up there,” he says quietly. Despite my inquiries, he won’t elaborate further. Just like I had heard in Vang Vieng, there are still groups of Hmong holding out up in the mountains. They’re not only hiding, they’re resisting, and with force. Since seeing Long Tieng is out of the question, I book a trip to another seldom visited place, the once destroyed town of Muang Khoun. The next day, I’m on my way there. 

* * * * *

Antique French tile, covered with greenery

I’m looking down at antique European tile. Decorated with intricate handmade designs; interlocked circles are interspersed with diamonds. The tile’s original colors have faded; it’s now mostly black and white. The bright green color now surrounding the tile beneath me, is what has been reclaimed by the environment. Grass and weeds have taken over the floor as the decades have gone by, re-covering the tiles with a natural carpet. 

These natural grasses are able to grow inside this building, because the roof is gone. The tile, the arched doorways and the windows give away the origin of the former occupants. This was the French commissariat, and now it’s just a bombed out shell. Where the old darkened plaster has fallen from the walls, another color has peered out, that of bright orange brick underneath.  

I’m in the former provincial capital of Muang Khoun. Back when it was the capital, this town bore the same name as the province; Xieng Khuang.

It’s not just old French buildings that were destroyed here, practically the whole town was leveled by US bombing as the North Vietnamese Army invaded. After the NVA occupied Xieng Khuang, Hmong troops later retook the town for a while, although they couldn’t hold it. With most of the country rural, there wasn’t fighting in Laotian cities very often, and here was an exception. 

Ruins of French built commissariat that was destroyed during the war

Destruction was so heavy here, that the town was abandoned by the war’s end. My guide explains: “Move capital to Phonsavan. One reason, already destroyed. Number two reason, very high UXO." (Un-Exploded Ordinance)

In decades that followed, the town has been re-inhabited, but old tensions from the war still remain. In 2000, fighting erupted again in this region between minority Hmong and ethnic Laotians over a land dispute. Some homes were burned to the ground, five ethnic Laotians were killed, and more were wounded. As has happened before, the military came in to put down the Hmong uprising. The number of Hmong casualties from these events are unknown.

Today I’m stuck with another Laotian guide, so unfortunately the Hmong who remain here won't tell me about the troubles, since an ethnic Laotian is present. Much of Muang Khoun has been rebuilt, and the town now has around 14,000 people living here. 

Centuries old Buddhist temple in Muang Khoun. This Buddha statue survived the bombing.

The rain picks up, and we leave the ruin to wait out the weather in our SUV. I ask my translator to turn on the radio, but in this remote region there's little selection. He finally tunes into an AM station. As rain pelts on the roof, I listen to a Hmong singer, accompanied by Laotian music. My guide explains, “This radio (station) paid by UNDP. (United Nations Development Program) It’s the only station you can receive here.” In between music, they give the listeners health and hygiene messages. 

The rain lets up a little, and we walk down the road, finding the remains of a temple ruin. A group of geese waddle by me, as I climb the front stairs. This is called Wat Piawat, which means ‘biggest wat’. My guide says it is 600 years old, though experts say it's less. This once grand temple is from the old kingdom of the Lao Puan. Like so much of Laos, they would later be subjugated by the Thais, and the Vietnamese. 

Not much of the temple has survived. Up on a raised platform, some old pillars reach skyward. Much like the French colonial structure, the roof is gone, and sections of bare orange brick walls remain. Given the destruction of the rest of the temple, it’s amazing that a tall Buddha statue is mostly intact. Only an arm and the head have been damaged, The stone Buddha is seated, reaching higher above the rest of the ruins. 

Buddhist stupa looted by Chinese invaders

Despite the temple’s condition, the local Buddhist faithful still have occasional ceremonies here. I note that a bright orange sash is wrapped over the icons shoulder, with a few offerings left at the base. 

Hopping back into our vehicle, we make a final stop in town. After parking the SUV, my guide directs me up a hill. It’s a steep dirt road, and he’s afraid of getting the vehicle stuck in the rain. He warns me to stay out of the deeper grass to the side. 

As I head up, I wonder why he warned me about the grass. Rising high ahead of me, I find a large old Buddhist stupa coming into view atop the hill. Somehow this stupa survived all the heavy bombing, though it isn’t intact. There is a great hole that has been dug through the base, going all the way through to the other side. This is unlike any stupa I’ve ever seen before, it’s mostly covered with grass and brush, and it’s also leaning to one side. As I look at it from a distance, it resembles an old pointed wizard’s hat. 

Like all stupas, the interior of this tower once held relics or artifacts, but they were removed by looters long ago. The offending tunnel was dug straight through the stupa by Chinese Ho invaders in the 1800’s. I’m learning that it wasn’t just the 1964 - 1973 war that destroyed Laotian heritage. This had also happened to earlier generations, from invasions by the Chinese and Vietnamese. 

I walk through the tunnel underneath, and looking up, I can see lighter colored stone; part of an older stupa encased within the larger outer one. I ask my guide about the stupa’s history, and for once he doesn’t offer much. The relic is somewhat of a mystery to the local population. They don’t know how old it is, or what it’s original purpose was. 

Remains of another Buddhist stupa, destroyed during the war

From the stupa platform I look to a nearby hill, and see another ruined stupa, destroyed almost down to the base. Sadly, there are many of them around town. My guide says there used to be more than 30 wats and temples in Muang Khoun before the war, and all were destroyed. He laments that if the war hadn’t happened, this town would have become a UNESCO world heritage site, much like beautiful Luang Prabang is today. 

On the way back down the hill, my guide discovers a leech on his ankle. Now I understand why he told me to stay out of the deep grass! He quickly kicks it off into the brush, before it can dig into his skin. Since I also walked through grass, I’m surprised that the leeches didn’t latch onto me as well. 

Maybe they prefer Asian food to American food.

THE TANK, THAIS AND RUSSIANS IN LAOS

Remains of Russian built PT-76 tank sits on old battlefield site in northern Laos

I’m at the base of an old battleground in the Laotian village of Nako. This hill has been left to the elements, covered with brush and young trees. No farmers will plant crops atop this knoll, because it’s still too dangerous to walk up there even today. The brush still hides landmines and unexploded ordinance from the battle that took place here. 

There are no ancient relics here like I saw at the nearby 'Plain of Jars', but right on the hillside is other evidence. An abandoned PT-76 tank has been left behind by the North Vietnamese Army! My guide Phin says this part of the hill has been cleared of explosives, so we walk towards the old wreck, without fear of losing a leg to a landmine. 

As tanks go, it’s not very large at all. It’s a lighter Russian built tank, brought by the Vietnamese deep into Laos as they fought to take over the Plain of Jars during the 1964 - 1973 war. Back then there were no paved roads in northern Laos. It was so rugged, that only a light tank could have made that difficult journey. Even then, it appears that this tank traveled all that way, only to get stuck here. It now rests on an angle against a tree, as though it got stranded in a muddy ditch long ago. 

Opposite view of the abandoned tank. Even the treads have been stripped away for scrap.

But Phin tells a different story. “This tank hit the anti-tank mine,” he says. If that’s true, it’s hard to tell by looking at it now. Both of the tank’s treads are gone. Like other abandoned American built tanks that I saw earlier in Vietnam, it has been stripped of everything that could be cut away, and sold for scrap or other uses. Even the hatches are gone. The gunless steel turret is lying upright on the ground just steps away, right under a fence. Strangely, the locals are using the tank’s small turret as a step, in order to climb over the barbed wire. 

As a light tank the armor isn’t very thick. Looking closer, I find a small hole in the side, with shrapnel scars around it. Apparently some kind of armor piercing round struck the front corner. The deadly round was well placed, because it hit right next to where the tank’s driver was seated. I doubt he survived. 

“All the tank drivers were Vietnamese,” Phin informs me. I imagine that most of the North Vietnamese troops that fought here, never imagined that they’d be fighting in Laos. Instead of fighting Americans over in South Vietnam, they were sent across the border into Laos. The only Americans they faced here were pilots in the air. On the ground they fought the Hmong, the Royal Laotian Army, and a 'special' army from Thailand.

The tank's detached turret is now used by locals to step over a farm's fence!

As the war dragged on in Laos, the Hmong troops that fought here on the Plain of Jars suffered heavy losses against the well armed NVA. With few adult men left among the Hmong to replace their losses, Hmong boys joined the fight as child soldiers. This wasn’t enough, and to fill the gap to stop the advancing communists, the Thai military joined the fight. It’s often forgotten that thousands of Thai troops fought not only in Vietnam, but also here in Laos. Back then, (and continuing today,) Thailand and Vietnam were the main powers in Southeast Asia. 

Since the Thai and Lao languages are so similar, Thai soldiers fit in well with the Royal Laotian Army. These Thai troops were tasked with defending many bases and hilltop outposts like this one, leaving the Hmong to conduct combat operations in the field. The fact that Thai troops were fighting within Laos was a closely guarded secret at the time.

We return to our tiny van, and head back towards Phonsavan. Cruising across the rolling hills, we pass more farming villages, green with the growing season. As we drive, Phin recalls what life was like in these villages after the war. “1975 to 1990 was the hungry period,” he says. “Not enough food.” Agricultural collectivization brought shortages to the farmers, and it also brought the Russian advisors. 

Parked chopper above, for MIA search teams

“This was Russian farm,” Phin says as we pass a vacant facility. Pointing the other direction, he says. “over there, was Russian cattle farm.”

The arrival of Russian advisers also meant a revolution in foreign language study in Laos. “At that time, there was no more French in schools. No more English,” he tells me. “Everyone learned Russian.” Phin speaks English better than most Laotian translators I’ve met, but he still wishes he had begun studying it earlier. Remembering his student days, Phin made fun of one of his former language instructors. 

“My teacher tell me, 'Learn Russian. Later, go to university in Soviet Union. In 20 to 30 years, whole world will be communist'.” Then Phin laughs aloud at how wrong she was, given the outcome of the Cold War. “I think, where is she now?” He chuckles. 

As the van rounds a corner, I look up to the sky, and spot a red and white helicopter high ahead of us. It looks like the small chopper that I had taken a photo of earlier. I had seen it parked in Phonsavan, the town where I'm staying.

“That for the US government,” Phin says. “They looking for missing body.” 

Apparently there is nothing secret about the mission of the two US soldiers that I met in Phonsavan in Craters Restaurant recently. Even Phin knows that there are Americans here looking for remains of servicemen still 'Missing in Action' (MIA) from the war.   

Watching the helicopter head for the horizon, I reflect on the past. Years ago, the skies over Laos were criss-crossed by so many US aircraft. There were US Air Force jet fighters, bombers and rescue choppers. There were CIA spotter planes and cargo planes. Now the only aircraft flying over northern Laos under the control of the Americans, is a small helicopter, and it's not even American owned. It's rented from New Zealand!

DESTRUCTION ON THE ANCIENT 'PLAIN OF JARS'

Plain of Jars Site 1. The purpose of these ancient stone monuments is a mystery.

A light rain falls as I make my way along a soggy path towards a grassy hill. Muddy water from the trail is splashing all over, leaving my shoes cargo pants thoroughly muddied. But I could care less about the stains; I’m excited about what I see ahead of me. 

Reaching the top of the hill, I’m surrounded by signs of an ancient civilization! These remnants are enormous jars, made of solid stone. The jars are magnificent; immense in size. Each ways several tons, and has been carved out of a single giant block of sedimentary rock. A couple are so massive, that they stand taller than me. These giant jars are what gave the ‘Plain of Jars’ its name here in northern Laos. 

These mysterious stone relics are thousands of years old, and running my fingers across them, I can’t help but wonder. How on earth did such primitive people create these? Why were they brought to the top of this hill? What were they used for? The answers to all these questions have been lost to history. 

Large stone jar destroyed during 1964 - 1973 war

The jars are dark in color, spotted with whitish fungi. I peer inside the jars for a look. Whatever their ancient contents were, they are long gone. Now most of them have algae and small plants growing inside, with rain water pooling in the bottom. Some jars have immense stone covers lying next to them, though few of these remain. Curiously, they are shaped much like the covers of modern aluminum garbage cans. 

The people who lived here on the Plain of Jars during ancient times were not ethnic Lao, and they weren’t Hmong either. Nobody knows who they were, where they came from, or where they went. These weighty relics are some of the only remnants left from their lost and ancient culture. 

The location of this anthropological riddle, is known as Site 1, and like other jar sites scattered across the plateau nobody knows for sure what its use was. Most experts agree that the jars had some sort of burial function, since human remains and artifacts have been found beneath some sites. But not everyone agrees with that theory; one local told me that the giant jars were really used to make whiskey! 

Huge crater from bomb that destroyed or damaged many ancient stone jars

For years the jars’ origin was also a mystery, until a quarry with unfinished jars was found recently west of the region. But the quarry’s discovery created another mystery. If the wheel wasn’t in use yet during those ancient times, how is it that they were able to bring these heavy stone jars here from so many miles away?

The rain lightens, and I look out at the open country surrounding the hilltop. Like most of the Plain of Jars, the countryside is rolling hills covered with green grass, dotted with a few trees. More stone jars are situated across a ridge and nearby field. Site 1 has more than 300 of these mysterious jars. 

Walking through wet grass to another side of the hill, I find some jars that were here are gone. In their place, is an immense bomb crater, and the rain runoff has formed a rising puddle in the bottom. The crater is deep enough that if I stood in the bottom, I wouldn’t be able to see above the sides. 

Standing on the crater’s edge, I spot a lone stone jar further down the hill, further away from the rest. Lying on its side, it was probably thrown down there from the blast force that created this crater. Although these jars survived the weather and ravages of nature for millenia, they couldn’t withstand the ravages of war. 

As I walk about the hill I count 10 of the giant jars as undamaged, but most of the rest have been cracked or destroyed. Some have been chopped in two, or blown into many pieces from the heavy aerial attacks. One jar still standing upright, has a telltale hole blown into its side. 

Lower left warning marker, left by deminers. Down path on right are unexploded bombs!

This hill once had religious significance for the ancients, but during the 1964 - 1973 war this high ground drew foot soldiers, who found it a defensible position. Digging trenches into the hillside, fighters shared this hilltop with the 2,000 year old stone jars. When the battle came, it was fierce and powerful. 

As the jars were blown apart, defenders died here alongside them. In the ebb and flow of the 'Secret War', nobody knows how many men died up here.

The Plain of Jars was strategic for holding northern Laos, so the communists coveted it. As it was also a home for thousands of ethnic Hmong, they fought to keep it from the invading North Vietnamese Army (NVA). So control of the Plain of Jars shifted back and forth between the warring sides several times during the war, depending on the season. During the dry season, the NVA and Pathet Lao mounted large scale attacks, gaining ground across the plateau. During the wet season roads turned to mud, much like today. Moving heavy weapons, troops and supplies became difficult for the communists. That’s when the Hmong gained the upper hand, since they were resupplied by air from CIA planes and helicopters. During rainy season, they forced the communists back, and the territory was theirs again for another season. 

Besides bomb damage to the old jars, other evidence of heavy fighting remains. Along another corner of the hillside a trench line is still visible in the deep grass. Much like in the old craters, erosion is taking over, and the earthen fortifications are gradually disappearing. The evidence of war is fading from this archaic site, while the sturdy stone jars continue to stand guard. 

At base of hill, cave was used by communist side to hide weapons from air raids

I’m glad I was able to make it to this site now, because years back, it was too dangerous to even walk up here. As a former battlefield, the hill was literally littered with tons of unexploded bombs. Hoping to lure tourists to the Plain of Jars, the government brought in the non-profit organization known as MAG: the Mines Advisory Group. Specializing in finding and removing landmines and unexploded bombs, MAG worked Site 1 for three months. By the time they left, they had found and cleared 127 unexploded bombs, along with 21,814 pieces of shrapnel! 

Further down the hill from the jars, I spot the dark entrance to a cave. Walking down a path for a look, I notice red and white markers on both sides of the trail. These markers are from the bomb disposal teams. The white sides of the rocks mark safe areas, while the red sides point to the danger zones. Although a great deal of UXO was removed from Site 1, there are still many areas that haven’t been cleared yet. Unexploded bombs remain hidden underneath the thick wet grass. 

Reaching the cave entrance, a young Laotian boy is playing with rocks, while his father looks on. Next to the opening is a small Buddhist ceremonial spirit house, with stubs of incense left in remembrance. 

Buddhist spirit house with incense at cave entrance

Peering into the darkness, I find it’s not a very large cavern, thought it did have an important function during the war years. Used by the Pathet Lao, the cavern made a great air raid shelter, and was a convenient place to safely store ammunition. Apparently American pilots knew this, since a few bomb craters are outside the entrance,  left by pilots that tried to destroy the cave and its contents. 

Since this cave is so close to the stone jars, the ancients probably used it too. My guide tells me he believes they used to burn fires inside the cave to cremate their dead, burying the bones up by the jars afterwards.

Circling past a ridgeline, I pass more of the mysterious jars. Before departing, I look back at the first hill of jars that I climbed earlier. New visitors have arrived, holding umbrellas due to the rain. From a distance, the jars resemble headstones. I’ve seen this scene before. With people under umbrellas, atop a hill with stone monuments around them, it looks just like a cemetery funeral.

Maybe there is something to that old theory after all. 

WEAPONS, CRATERS AND MISSING IN ACTION

Unexploded bombs from the war guard the entrance to 'Craters Restaurant'

A pair of 750 pound bombs are standing upright, on either side of the restaurant stairs I’m approaching. They look like two short, fat, metallic pillars, not dangerous explosives. Beyond them, twin 500 pound bombs are guard the entrance. These bizarre decorations are a permanent part of this establishment; all four of these old weapons of destruction have been cemented into the floor. You couldn’t tip them over if you wanted to. 

This is 'Crater’s Restaurant' in Phonsavan in northern Laos, and I’ve stopped in for dinner. After ordering a dish of noodles, I look around at the unusual décor. Like so many other places in town, it is adorned with the martial refuse from the warring past. 

It’s not just American bombs on display either, decorating the walls inside are a pair of ancient, long barreled rifles, along with an old crossbow. A traditional weapon of the Hmong, crossbows are still used for hunting in this region. The single shot rifles look ancient. These old weapons were the only arms used on the Plain of Jars, until the French, North Vietnamese and Americans showed up. As simple folk from primitive highland cultures, the Hmong were forced to fight in a very modern war. 

Old traditional Hmong weapons mounted on the wall

Against the back wall are a pair of small Buddhist statues, with offerings and incense placed in front of them. They are dwarfed by another old disarmed artillery shell sitting right alongside. It escapes me as to why they would leave a symbol of destruction, right next to a peaceful Buddhist shrine. 

With business slow tonight, the owner’s family is watching a Vietnamese television show, since this dining room also makes up their living space. On the old TV, a Vietnamese chanteuse belts out an American love song. Yes, times here are changing. 

US Recovery team heads for MIA excavation site in Laos. (Photo: JPAC - Press Center)

I hear a familiar accent; turning to a nearby table I notice two casually dressed westerners. Few Americans come to this remote corner of Laos, I wonder, what are these two men doing here? They both have short haircuts, and a serious look about them. Striking up a conversation, I’m surprised to learn that both of them are not only American, but they are also currently serving in the US military!  American soldiers are the last people I expected to find here in Phonsavan, or anywhere in Laos. 

They aren’t in uniform, but they are here to work. Their purpose on the Plain of Jars, is to search for the remains of American military men who are still ‘Missing In Action’ from the war. These two soldiers are on a mission to locate the bones of MIA’s. 

During the fighting here, most Americans involved in the war effort took part in aerial missions, so those still missing on the Plain of Jars were usually involved in aircraft crashes. Hundreds of US Air Force jets, CIA planes and helicopters crashed all over Laos during the long years of conflict from the 1960’s to 1970’s. 

“We have 170 digging sites identified,” one of the anonymous soldiers tells me. Most of the searching is done on old crash sites, and it’s only in recent years that these American investigators were allowed access to these sites to look for remains.

Why put an explosive next to a Buddhist shrine?

Locating the old crash sites has been a difficult task. Many aircraft crashed in remote mountains, where wreckage and pilot remains were gradually covered over by jungle growth. As for aircraft that crashed in more accessible areas, the broken wreckage that marked the sites was often carted away by locals and sold for scrap years ago. When crash sites are found today, search teams have to look for bones of pilots and crewmen by digging and excavating. 

These two investigators are currently excavating a crash site outside Phonsavan. In this case, it was the site of a small spotter plane known as a ‘Raven’, that had had an airborne collision with an F-4 fighter jet. They were searching the site for the pilot’s remains. 

“It’s a combination of archaeology, anthropology, and forensics,” the younger soldier tells me. As opposed to the over-simplified forensics work portrayed on popular American TV shows, actual forensics work done on these crash sites is meticulous, time consuming work. 

Working in the distant countryside, the search team had to get permission to excavate crash sites not only from the Laotian government, but also from hill tribe leaders in remote villages. 

“When we work in the villages, they are way out,” the soldier tells me. “They’re Animists. We have to sacrifice an animal so as to not upset the spirits (before digging begins.) It’s usually a cow. They pick it, and it’s always something expensive." 

As part of the process, local men are taught excavation skills, and employed to work alongside investigators. Grids are carefully layed out, and digging begins. If aircraft parts are found, the part types and serial numbers are matched to missing aircraft. Great care is taken not to miss any small bone fragments, often the only human remains left after a high speed crash. If few bones are present, dog tags found at the site can help verify that the missing pilot died at the scene. 

Hundreds of Americans remain missing in the mountains of Laos

The process of searching for America’s missing soldiers is slow, but progress is being made. The younger soldier was excited about their recent discovery of a finger bone at one digging site. The bone is being sent back to a Hawaii military lab where the remains missing in action soldiers are processed. There they will test the bone to see if it’s human. If it is, they will proceed to DNA testing, and compare results with DNA samples taken from families of soldiers still classified as MIA. Hopefully a match will be found, and the family of the missing pilot will finally receive closure. 

As for the Laotians, many of them are puzzled as to why the Americans would go to so much trouble, and spend so much money, to find a few bones from soldiers who died more than three decades ago. Much like Vietnam, the Laotian government has neither the money to search for their missing war dead, nor the technical ability to conduct DNA testing. Hundreds of thousands of Asians who remain missing from the wars in Southeast Asia, will never be found or identified. Their families know their loved ones died during the war, but they will never have a grave to mourn over, and closure eludes them.  

There are still 308 American servicemen classified as missing in action from the war in Laos. With so many crash sites yet to excavate, the MIA search teams will be working in the remote mountains of Laos for years to come. 

CIA AND THE SECRET AIRSTRIPS

CIA built airstrip used during 'Secret War' in Laos from 1960's to 1970's 

Vang Vieng is the number one tourist destination for foreigners visiting Laos, so you would think that it would have an airport. It doesn’t. 

Not that an airport is needed; the capital Vientiane is less than four hours away by road. But those that enter Vang Vieng  on Route 13, are still puzzled to encounter a long, wide runway right next to the highway in the middle of town. 

An airstrip with no terminal and no planes, mean that this runway is a remnant from the war years when American agents were here. Known by the former code name 'Lima Site 27', this empty landing strip was built by the CIA, for the secret war in Laos during the Vietnam War era. 

Since the roads in wartime Laos were abysmal, the CIA needed to find a way to resupply the Royal Laotian Army and the Hmong soldiers, who were both fighting the communists. 

For this reason, numerous runways like this one were built all over the remote highlands of Laos. The logistical problem was solved, and the Americans were able to resupply their allied fighters quickly by air. 

Since the US military was not supposed to be conducting operations in Laos, the task of flying these often dangerous missions went to Air America, a civilian airline. The worst kept secret in Southeast Asia, was that Air America was really just a front company for the CIA. 

Air America plane on covert mountaintop landing site in Laos, 1970 (Photo:Wikipedia)

Wearing civilian clothes, daring American pilots flew helicopters and small cargo planes throughout the countryside. These skilled pilots often landed their unmarked planes onto remote, tiny jungle runways far smaller than this one in Vang Vieng. During the height of the war, Air America had more than 200 planes and 30 helicopters at its disposal, keeping the forces fighting against the communists in Laos resupplied. 

There's no doubt that the real Air America pilots were brave; their planes were sometimes shot down during their dangerous covert missions over Laos. Of those that were captured, very few were ever seen alive again. 

Hollywood even made a movie about those daredevil pilots. The 1990 film 'Air America', starred none other than Mel Gibson, and Robert Downey Jr. in his pre-Ironman days. 

Since 'Lima Site 27' has been left to the elements, the condition of this runway has deteriorated over the years. As I walk across the quiet old airstrip, I find the blacktop that remains is broken and cracked, slowly turning into gravel. 

Long runway in middle of Vang Vieng, is occasionally used by Laotian military

Looking past the north end of the runway, I see that it’s oriented towards the mountains beyond that have the lowest altitude. This made for safer approaches and take-offs for Air America’s aircraft. 

Turning to the other end, I squint trying to see the end of the runway, and I’m unable to do so. Nearly a mile long, the blacktop gradually turns into dirt as the airstrip extends into the next neighborhood. A herd of goats comes walking down the runway,  shepherded along by a local teenager on a motorbike. 

Most evidence of the formerly secret operations that took place here have been carted away. Besides the highway to the east of the strip, the rest of the former airfield is now surrounded by residential houses, tall grass, and a couple of cheap local restaurants. Out of sight only 100 yards away, is the main drag where Vang Vieng's popular bars and discos are located,  catering to the young backpacker crowd. 

The old airstrip isn’t used much nowadays. Locals tell me that on rare occasions, a government plane or helicopter still lands here, perhaps on missions to watch the Hmong communities in the nearby mountains. It may not get much use anymore, but it’s worth noting that the entire runway is now prime real estate in this tourist town. The fact that the government has not sold it or developed it for other uses, means that they probably want to keep it just the way it is. 

Perhaps the runway remains, out of concern that they may need it again. 

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.