NIGHT TRAIN TO HANOI

Overnight train to Hanoi pulls into Danang Train Station

Russia has the Trans-Siberian Railway. Europe has the Orient Express. And Vietnam? They have the Reunification Express, and it’s my ticket to the north.

There is just something about train travel. It’s romantic really. There’s the anticipation everyone feels as they wait in the station. The train pulls in, horns blaring. Departing passengers pull luggage across the platform. Relatives have emotional goodbyes. Everyone loads up, climbing stairs into passenger cars. Everyone searches for their berth, and settles into a comfortable room. The locomotive whistles, the train lurches, and you’re on your way. I see all these steps as I begin my journey on the overnight train.

“Hey you,” says a brusque Vietnamese passenger. “Where you go? Hue?”

Vietnamese passengers say their goodbyes, and board the train

“No,” I answer, "Hanoi."

I’ve begun my trip by boarding the train in the coastal city of Danang. We stop in Hue before continuing north, across the old DeMilitarised Zone. There are later stops in Dong Hoi and Vinh, but I’m hoping I’ll be asleep by then. After a 14 hour journey, I should arrive in Hanoi in the early morning.

As the train slowly rolls out of Danang, I peer out the window, and see the Vietnamese version of a railroad crossing. They don’t have automatic crossing gates, here they use sliding red and white fences, which are pulled across manually by railway staff. At first, I just think this is an easy way to keep some government workers employed, as crossing guards. But then I recall the recklessness of Vietnamese motorbike drivers. This is probably a much safer way to keep them off of the tracks.

Our train has 13 passenger cars, plus the locomotive. As I’m settling into my room, I kick away a small roach as it’s about to take shelter in my luggage. Well, I wasn’t expecting first class accomodation. My room is a soft sleeper, meaning it has four beds. This is the best they have on the train, and it cost me all of 25 dollars. Most Vietnamese passengers are packed into the cheaper, hard sleeper rooms, meaning they have six beds packed in together.

The room’s interior has light blue walls, with bright red bunk beds. Thankfully, there’s air conditioning. The best part of all: there's a large window with a great view of the passing countryside. As we rumble along north of Danang, the scenery becomes stunning.

Our train chugs up the coast, giving us fantastic views of the South China Sea

It’s a good day for a train trip, the weather is clear and the train is on time. Soon we're up in the mountains; beyond I can see all the way down to the South China Sea coast. The slopes below us are blanketed with green foliage. For this stretch of the journey, I see no signs of civilization. There are only mountains, deserted beach, and the vast ocean. Far below, ocean waves wash over a platform of solid rock. As each wave crashes across the bedrock, it leaves a long blanket of white water behind. As I watch the surf, I’m instantly enveloped in darkness; we’ve entered a tunnel. There are a few tunnels along this section, as we make our way towards the Hai Van pass, which means ‘Pass of the Clouds’.

This railway was first built by the French way back in the 19^th century during the colonial era. As we head through the mountains, we pass an old abandoned French Army outpost, built to protect the short railroad trestle we're on. Back during the war years, the railroad was attacked and vandalized often by the various nationalist and communist groups. Trains were derailed numerous times.

But those days are gone now, and the trains have run peacefully for years. Continuing along the coast, railway staff bring around a snack cart, with coffee, soft drinks and beer. They also hand out a dinner menu. I order chicken and white rice, which arrives later in a styrofoam container. Even with the soy sauce provided, it’s pretty bland. I don’t know it yet, but I’ll be surprised with a far better dinner later on.

Abandoned military post once protected the railway

As my room has four beds, there are two other Vietnamese men sharing it with me. One is fashionably dressed, and is assigned to the bunk above me. He climbs on up, and soon is snoring quietly. The other portly passenger sits on the bunk across from me. He speaks a fair amount of English, and I discover that he works for the Vietnamese Railway I'm now riding. I’m fortunate to have a roommate who can tell me more about the Reunification Express, at least as far as what a government employee is allowed to tell a foreigner.

After a couple hours, we pull into the old capital of Hue. This was the end of the line back during the war years, since communist sabotage kept the trains from going any further north. Back in those days, the locomotives didn’t run in front. The engineers would push a flat car out in front of the locomotive, in order to trip mines or booby traps that may have been laid on the tracks.

As the train departs Hue, we are joined in our little cabin by an Australian. He’s a former finance man who just finished working in London. The Aussie decided to tour Vietnam on his way home.

As often happens on trains, I am quickly chatting away with my new cabin mates. It’s one of those times when the talk flows freely, and after a while I realize that nobody has gotten around to introducing themselves. Nobody knows anyone else’s name, but that doesn’t really matter. We're enjoying each other’s company, knowing that after arrival, we probably won’t see each other again. We joke and chat, pausing to admire the scenery out the window. All the while the train rumbles along, and time happily passes by.

The train's rather spartan bathroom facilities

Later I step out in the passageway for a look around, and I find that our toilets are rather spartan. They are the basic squatty-potty style which is so common in Asia. When the toilet is flushed, it seems to empty right out onto the train tracks below.

On my way back, I spot the neighbors. To one side are two rooms inhabited by a group of 50 somethings from New Zealand. They have water on the floor of one room, so they've all crowded into their second room next to ours. They are already having drinks. Our other neighbors are a couple of Russians, and a woman from Switzerland. They are a good deal quieter, since the Kiwis are making enough noise for everybody.

Stepping back in my room, the Aussie and I start questioning our Vietnamese rail expert, the Train Man. He’s worked repairing the rails for many years. He says the train’s top speed is 90 km per hour, but operationally it only goes about 70.

Old bomb craters are next to the train tracks near the old DeMilitarized Zone

He boasts to us that Japan is going to help Vietnam build a new high speed railway, and laughingly says that it will take about 20 years. With the slow pace of government projects in Vietnam, it may take even longer than that.

As the miles go by, and conversation drifts off, I start listening to the sound of the train itself. The rhythm and movements change as we chug along. The sounds below shift from a clackety-clack, to a whooshing noise, and then rises and lowers in pitch. If I listen to it for a while, it’s rather hypnotic. The train goes from a bumpy ride, to swaying from side to side, but its comfortable enough.

Leaving the mountains, we gradually descend down to the coast. Our picture window is filled with palm trees, and fishing villages with wooden boats. The skies darken, and rain starts. It occurs to me that

A 'hard sleeper' berth

since I’m not in a car or bus, I don’t have to worry about slick roads on this trip. As we approach the old DMZ, I see perfectly round little ponds, that are close to the train tracks. These are old bomb craters from the American war years, that later filled with water.

As we continue, Train Man tells us more about his past. He’s from a small village in Vietnam. He was a young teenager when the US war ended, so he didn’t have to fight in that conflict. However, he did have to fight in the next war, in Cambodia. He served with the Vietnamese Army there from 1981 – 1985, fighting the Khmer Rouge. He didn’t like it there at all.

“I went over there with five friends,” he told me. “Two came back.”

Train man tells us more about the railway. After the American war finished in 1975, the  north – south line was quickly repaired, and reopened in 1976. Given the enormous amount of destruction to the rail lines, that was a major accomplishment. Back then, the trains were far slower than they are now. When the full line started running again, it took 56 hours to travel from Saigon to Hanoi. Today, it’s down to 30 hours for the same trip.

Our other Vietnamese cabin mate doesn’t speak English, so Train Man translates for him. “He in Vietnam People’s Army. He along the Lao border. He General.”

Dinner fit for a king: a whole chicken, and vodka (served from a plastic bottle!)

He doesn’t quite look like a general to me though. He’s wearing civilian clothes, and appears to be in his low 40’s, which seems rather young for a general. Perhaps Train Man didn’t translate correctly. Still, he’s very well dressed. He must be an officer.

We arrive in Dong Hoi station, and Train Man disappears for a few minutes. He returns with a whole cooked chicken, and a bottle of Vietnamese vodka. He announces he’s going to share it with all of his cabin mates. What a perfect time for Vietnamese hospitality.

A small pop-up table is lifted between the bunkbeds, and a newspaper becomes our tablecloth. We don’t need a dining car tonight. As the kilometers pass by, the chicken is devoured by all, and the bottle of vodka is gradually emptied. It soon becomes apparent that the General has a low tolerance for

A stroll through the carriages, before bed

alcohol. He’s gone from being quiet, to a laughing machine.

The conversation shifts from the basic, to the bizarre. The Aussie asks Train Man, “Have you ever eaten dog?”

“Yes,” Train Man answers.

“You like eating dog?” he continues.

“Yes,” Train Man answers again.

“I would like to try eating dog,” the Aussie announces. I don’t mind trying new foods, but the thought of eating dog meat will never appeal to me.

I take a final walk between cars to stretch my legs, and return to the room as the night winds down. Before long, I kick off my shoes, and get ready for bed. Train Man is already stretched out, and the tipsy General is in his bunk above me. Unfolding my blanket, I lay down to sleep. Outside our window in the night, dark silhouettes of trees are flowing by.

I can hear the Kiwis still laughing next door. They’ll be partying for a while yet tonight. The Russians and the Swiss on the other side are silent. The sound of the train has changed now to a low, rolling rumble.

It’s been a great trip. I haven’t had many folks to chat with the past few days, so I’ve enjoyed the diverse company. The conditions aren’t world class, but I wasn’t expecting them to be. I would rather be here than in a five star hotel. I’ve shared the night with a group of new and interesting people, having a great time as the miles went by.

I’m feeling content. Sleep reaches me.

In the morning, I’m in Hanoi. 

SURVIVAL IN NORTH VIETNAM'S WAR TUNNELS

Old Vietnamese soldier sits outside tunnel entrance

Deep in the dark war tunnels, below the village

I’m down in a dark tunnel. I've already been down in the Cu Chi tunnels, where Viet Cong guerillas had fought tough American 'tunnel rats' back during the war. But this place is different. I'm now in what used to be North Vietnam.

It’s very damp down here, and the air is humid. As I descend deeper inside, darkness envelops me. I round a corner, where a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling helps illuminate the way. In the dim light, I can make out cave walls that are a mixture of brownish soil and whitish chalk.

Fortunately, I don’t have to crawl around on my hands and knees this time, this passageway is reasonably spacious. But I'm forced to walk along bent over like a hunchback. This tunnel wasn’t made for tall Americans like me, but for shorter Vietnamese.

I’m beneath the village of Vinh Moc, and until the country became divided by the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), this was just a quiet fishing and farming village in central Vietnam. When the country was split in two, that left Vinh Moc located just to the north of the DMZ in North Vietnam. For Vinh Moc’s villagers, the quiet coastal life that they had known was over. Overnight, they found themselves on the front line of Vietnam’s most devastating war.

Frieze depicts wartime Vinh Moc, both above and below ground

Much as the Gio Linh Firebase I had seen on the opposite side of the DMZ was a target of communist artillery, this village on the northern side was bombed even more intensely by US firepower. Since Vinh Moc was a coastal community held by the North Vietnamese Army, the NVA set up their heavy guns here, making the town a target of  US bombing from artillery, from the air, and even from the sea by heavy guns of the U.S. Navy. With this trio of destruction, the villagers of Vinh Moc soon found themselves living in one of the most heavily bombed villages in the war. Just about every building in the community was destroyed, including the village church.

As casualties mounted, many villagers fled to escape the shelling of the 1960’s, but some families stayed. With so many bombing attacks hitting the village so frequently, there was only one place where the villagers could find safety, and that was deep underground. Work quickly began on tunnels for shelter, and on trenches connecting houses to tunnel entrances.

Huge bomb crater from the war in Vinh Moc

As I walk stooped over through the dimly lit tunnels, my head bumps a crossbeam. Some stretches have wooden beams and supports lining the walls and ceiling, giving the appearance of an old gold mine. It’s an impressive network. These tunnels are solid, and far more spacious than those that I crawled through before in Cu Chi outside of Saigon. Those tunnels in the south were very narrow, built tight to discourage the taller and fatter Americans from entering. Since Vinh Moc lies within North Vietnam, they didn’t have to worry about American tunnel rats pursuing them down in these caves. These tunnels were built much taller and wider, to accommodate all of the village families.

Above ground many old bomb craters are still scattered around the tunnel entrances, but these tunnels were deep enough to protect them from incoming artillery. Multiple entrances allowed multiple means of escape. That way if a direct hit caused an entrance to cave in, the villagers were not left trapped inside.

 

The maternity room; 17 babies were born in the tunnels

There were three layers of tunnels, with the deepest going down to a very safe 23 meters. I’d like to see the lowest levels, but they have been closed off. Perhaps they are no longer maintained.

As I walk along, I encounter side rooms dug into tunnel walls. There are still beds inside, made of bamboo. These spaces were made to shelter individual families, who could sleep down here in safety. During long attacks, the villagers stayed down here for days at a time. For some villagers, there lives began down here.

“My father born in tunnel,” said Le, a local teenager who sells drinks outside. As the war dragged on, 17 of Vin Moc’s babies were born underground as the bombs fell above them on the surface. There was a makeshift hospital in one room, but conditions were far from sterile. Other infants born in these difficult and stressful circumstances didn’t survive.

There were rooms down here for cooking, for meetings, and storage for NVA supplies and ammunition. What they didn’t have room for, was an underground school.

Some entrances nearly reach the South China Sea coast

“No school (back then,)” Le told me. After the schoolhouse was destroyed, Le’s father grew up without an education. “Many men no have job now,” Le explained. The lack of schooling in their youth, made it difficult for Vinh Moc’s men to find a job in Vietnam’s economy of today. Le told me her father has to get by now with occasional work as a fisherman. 

I see daylight ahead, and follow it to a tunnel exit. As I walk out the opening, I have to duck under overhanging weeds. This entrance is surrounded by ferns and other overgrowth. After walking a few steps down the path, the brush opens up, and reveals a beach. I had no idea that the tunnels were located so close to the coast; the surf of the South China Sea is only steps in front of me. Then I turn around, and look back at the tunnel entrance. I can’t even see it! This entrance was well placed. Even with no war going on today, the entrance is still perfectly camouflaged by nature itself.

As I finish exploring, I leave the tunnel network, and find myself back in the village center.  I rub my back, pleased to be able to stand fully erect again.

Steps away from the tunnel entrance, it's nearly invisible

 Before I depart, I encounter a sight common in Vinh Moc during the war years. I happen upon a group of people wearing the military uniforms of the North Vietnamese Army. They are all older Vietnamese women, and most are wearing medals on their plain khaki clothing. I quickly realize that these ladies are all war veterans.

A sign on their bus translates as, “Association of Pioneer Youth Visiting The Old Battlefields.” These veteran women had a hazardous job. In their younger days as teenagers, these ‘volunteers’ had the difficult job of manually building and maintaining the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

As I look on, some foreign tourists approach to pose with the women for photos. The lady vets are all smiles. Many of them are grandmothers now, and they’re surprised at this kind of attention from foreigners. The contrast in size is obvious. Posing next to the taller Europeans, many of the Vietnamese ladies are not even five feet tall. It’s hard to imagine that this group of short, smiling older women are war vets. But they were there. They dug trenches, repaired the roads, and ran for cover from air raids. When jets destroyed the Ho Chi Minh Trail, they went right back out to work, to fix the roads all over again.

Lady war veterans from North Vietnam; they worked to build the Ho Chi Minh Trail

I remember the Godmother that I meet back in Saigon, who in her younger years wasn’t even 18 when as a young Viet Cong, she took on the US Army. She barely survived. I wonder how many of these ‘Pioneer Youth’ were killed or wounded as they carried out their dangerous duty.

Back in the 1960’s, American women were marching in the streets to protest for women’s rights. At the same time, many Vietnamese women here were marching off to war. Communists aren’t known for personal freedoms or liberty, but they did give their women a right that American women were mostly denied: the right to die in a war. The communists had female soldiers out in the line of fire, decades before the US military did.

Back in World War II, America had 'Rosie the Riveter', who donned coveralls, and went off to work to build planes, ships and tanks.

In Vietnam they had 'Diu the Digger', who put her hair up in a bun, marched off into the jungle, and helped build the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

BRIDGE OF TEARS FOR DIVIDED FAMILIES

Hien Luong Bridge divided North and South Vietnam in the former DeMilitarized Zone (DMZ)

I’m walking across a quiet, one lane bridge, and a light rain is falling. This bridge is different than others I’ve crossed in Vietnam, it’s more rustic. Of an older design, the surface I’m walking on is made of wood. This is unique, since most of Vietnam’s old colonial bridges were blown up or replaced long ago.

I’m the sole person crossing, and during the war years, very few people crossed this bridge at all. This span straddles the Ben Hai River, at the very center of the former Demilitarized Zone. During the war, this was the dividing line that marked the border between North and South Vietnam. Called the Hien Luong, this bridge in the DMZ was also known by another ironic name: ‘The Peace Bridge’.

This bridge on Highway 1 was never meant to be a border at all, and this is what all the fuss was about that led to war. As the French colonials departed Vietnam back in 1954, the United Nations brokered an agreement in Geneva to smoothen the transition. Vietnam would be temporarily divided into two zones of

Memorial to Vietnamese families separated by the war

control until national elections could be held in 1956, then the country would be unified again. In the north, Ho Chi Minh and his communists were in charge. In the south, the strongman Diem had the power. As the date approached, Diem the dictator knew that he would never beat the popular Ho in a fair election, so he canceled it.

This only set the stage for more conflict. Diem and the US government wished for this border to remain permanent. This would leave Vietnam divided, much as North and South Korea remain divided today. The North Vietnamese government wanted this border erased, and the country reunified. The war was back on.
On the south side of the river, stands a rather poignant memorial. In front of a group of feather shaped stone towers, is a tall statue of a Vietnamese woman standing with her child. They both look longingly across the bridge to the north, where the man of the house has gone.

As Vietnam was dividing into communist and anti-communist zones of control,

Plaster border police figures recall the days of division

many Viet Minh soldiers and political cadres left the south, leaving behind their wives and children. They crossed to refuge in the communist north on this bridge. At the time, they all hoped that the separation of the country, and of their families, would be relatively brief. But it was not to be. With the elections nixed, these men returned to fighting. Their separation from their families, and the war itself, would drag on for two more decades. 

It’s fitting that it’s raining today, because many tears were shed here at this very place where families were separated. For once, I’m looking at a memorial not dedicated to soldiers or politicians, but to Vietnam’s families. These statues stand in memory of those families torn apart by the country’s division. Many of those men who left their families behind on the south side of this bridge, would never see their families again.

After negotiations broke down, the only people who crossed this bridge were UN monitors, along with the border police of both sides. Located at about the 17th Parallel, the Ben Hai River became the de facto border. Land reaching about three miles on each side of the river was declared a ‘Demilitarized Zone’, meaning it would remain free of troops and their weapons. As the conflict heated up, this agreement was ignored by both sides, and the DMZ became filled with landmines, booby traps, barbed wire, and unexploded ordinance (UXO). Some US Marines ghoulishly remarked that the DMZ stood for, ‘Dead Marine Zone’. It’s still a very dangerous place today, loaded with literally tons of UXO and landmines.

Old propaganda flagpole on north side of river

A massive amount of heavy artillery was fired back and forth, high overhead of this dividing river. As the war raged across the rest of the DMZ, the war on this small bridge took on a different form. It became a silly war of propaganda. 

Not far from the bridge on the river’s north bank, stands a very tall flagpole flying the current flag of Vietnam. Back then this pole and its massive flag, were an attempt to assert their presence, and intimidate anyone viewing it from the southern side. Not to be outdone, the South Vietnamese government put up an even taller flagpole, with an even larger flag. But that one is gone now, only the north side flagpole remains.

As I walk by an old French bunker, I find a weapon I wasn’t expecting to see here: loudspeakers. Another part of the war of propaganda, was the war of words. In those days these large outdoor loudspeakers were mounted on both sides of the riverbank, and a continual war of rhetoric was broadcast through them. Some days it wasn’t only propaganda that was aimed at the opposing sides. When I examine one of the old loudspeakers sitting on the north side, I see that it has several bullet holes. Snipers firing from the south had tried to silence them.

With so much turmoil around the DMZ, this small bridge has had multiple incarnations. The original French colonial bridge was destroyed by a typhoon in 1963, then it was wrecked again by American bombing in 1967. As the Americans departed in the 1970’s, the North Vietnamese Army built a one lane floating bridge as they pushed southwards. Later a modern two lane bridge was built just upriver, improving the heavy flow of traffic on Highway 1. Finally, to preserve history, a bridge resembling the original colonial structure was rebuilt in 2001, in the original location.

An old yellow arch stands over the north side of the bridge, and written across the top it says, “Long Live President Ho”, though he’s long gone. On a nearby monument, Ho is quoted as saying, “This border is only temporary. Vietnam is one country.” Ho’s words about the border here were prophetic, however, he wouldn’t live to see the day when his country was once again reunified.

1961 view of bridge looking south, when Vietnam was divided (Photo: Museum)

Bullet riddled loudspeaker, with old police post beyond

UNEXPLODED BOMBS ON FIREBASE GIO LINH

'War and Peace' on a Vietnamese dashboard

I’m on Vietnam's Highway 1, and this time I’m headed directly north, towards the former DeMilitarized Zone (DMZ). This route was so dangerous during the war, that you would have only wanted to ride this route from the inside of a tank. As Vietnam is now at peace, we settle for a tiny van.

On the dashboard of our van, I notice a small statuette of Buddha. Mounted right next to it, is a plastic helicopter, glued to the top of an air vent. The air flow is spinning the tiny Huey’s rotor blades as we drive. 'War and Peace', together on the dashboard. What a contrast...

It’s overcast today, and I’m hoping the weather will hold. We pass by a group of walking schoolchildren in blue and white uniforms, and soon we pull over by an embankment.

We’ve stopped by an overgrown field, and I notice a big and brown hulk of steel over above the brush. It’s a stripped M-41 tank. In this one, the empty engine compartment is totally open to the sky. Strangely, it has brush

Old US made M-41 tank next to Highway 1, flowers grow where the engine used to be

and flowers growing up out of it. It looks like a bizarre giant metal planter.

Walking up the embankment, a path takes us through high brush into a vast open field. My guide walks us toward two concrete bunker near the field’s center, where a cow on a tether stands watch. Bushes everywhere bear red, yellow, purple and white flowers. A butterfly flits away. We step atop one of the empty bunkers for a view of our surroundings. This is one of the highest points on what used to be a former US Marine base, and from here I see the coast only a few miles away. More importantly I can see all the way north, into what used to be North Vietnam.

This was Gio Linh Firebase.
 
The Marines battle at Khe Sanh is well known, but few know there was also a two month artillery battle here in 1967. Since Gio Linh was so close to the DMZ, it was a favorite target of artillery gunners of the North Vietnamese Army (NVA), and it was one of the first US bases fired on from North Vietnamese territory. In those long days of bombardment, two Marines were killed, and 76 were wounded. Although those casualties sound light compared to other battles in Vietnam, there were only 120 men based in Gio Linh at a time, including both Marines and US Army soldiers. 

A sign near the highway gives the Vietnamese name for this base: “Doc Mieu Firebase Relic”. Also on the sign is a misspelled name that anyone familiar with the Vietnam War will remember, “MAC_NA_MARA”.

Military bunker, built after US forces departed

Gio Linh was part of a project nicknamed, ‘McNamara’s Wall’. Named after Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, the original idea of it was to establish a line of fortified bases just south of the DMZ that stretched from the coast all the way to the Laotian border. This would enable the US to watch the DMZ closely, and to block NVA troops from crossing into South Vietnam. That was the idea anyway. Since heavy Soviet made artillery guns hidden in North Vietnam could strike far past the DMZ, bases like Gio Linh were vulnerable. Even if the plan had worked, the NVA still had another route. They simply walked around the DMZ through the jungles of Laos, sending their troops south down the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

The concrete bunker I’m standing on looks fairly new, and it turns out that it’s not left over from the Marines. My guide of the day says that these two newer bunkers were built in 1994, long after the US had gone. The Vietnamese weren’t looking north anymore, they were looking east to watch the South China Sea. Tensions rose again with China, over the Spratly and Paracel Islands off of Vietnam's coast. Like the Americans before them, the Vietnamese wanted this spot as a lookout.
 
I wonder about the scattered holes I see around these newer bunkers, and my guide shows me a large hole, with some brush growing in it. He points inside, and says matter of factly, “There, bomb.”

An unexploded artillery shell lies in a hole on the former US base

Beneath some branches, is the unmistakeable outline of a rusty artillery shell. Lying in their like a giant bullet, it hasn’t been disarmed yet. A couple of feet away, lies a second one. Since Gio Linh had withstood so many NVA artillery attacks, some unexploded shells are still left buried in the dirt where they ended their deadly trajectory. These accumulated over the years until the base fell to the north in 1972, and everything else above ground was looted. These two potentially deadly shells remained buried for years, until a scrap metal hunter found them while he was looking for shrapnel. Since these two hadn’t yet exploded, he left them in this open hole. The scrap hunter was very lucky he wasn’t blown to pieces when he first dug them up.

My old guide Nguyen isn’t along today, but I recall what he told me about unexploded bombs and the post-war economy around here. “After war, people have nothing to do, (no jobs) so collect metal, from bomb,” he said. “Unscrew the tail, take out gunpowder. Sell gunpowder. Sell metal. Very dangerous. Many people die.”

I’ve heard that after the war, former ARVN soldiers were forced by the communists to clear out unexploded bombs and minefields around the DMZ. Forced into this deadly work, they had little training, and little safety equipment. Many were killed or maimed. If Nguyen was forced to do this dangerous work, he wasn’t about to tell me. He still fears the communist government.

As Vietnam’s population grows, population pressure is forcing people to clear farmland and build new homes on old battlefields, bringing them closer to old munitions. There are even a few family homes built on the former Gio Linh Base, though the land around them is still a dangerous place for their children to play. As I leave, I'm careful to stay on the well worn paths. I don't want to step on anything dangerous.

Since the Vietnam War ended, more than 10,000 Vietnamese civilians have been killed by unexploded ordinance (UXO) and landmines, and more than 12,000 have been injured. A third of those killed were scrap metal hunters.

Decades after the war ended, Vietnam’s people are still dying from the remnants that the war left behind.

EXPLOSION NEAR DEMILITARIZED ZONE

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

There’s been an explosion.

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

Dakrong Bridge, seen from a distance

especially near the old DMZ.

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

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

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

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