FERRY TOWN BOMBED BY MISTAKE

Onboard a ferryboat crossing the Mekong River at Neak Luong

Neak Luong is a river town, a stopover for those seeking to cross the Mekong River. For travelers like me coming up Highway 1 from Saigon, this ferry town is a stopping point on my way to Phnom Penh.

The vehicle I'm riding in approaches Neak Luong, and as we cross the countryside outside town, I spot three large ponds from the roadway. The ponds are in a staggered line, surrounded by farming fields. These perfectly round ponds are much larger than similar depressions in the earth that I’ve seen before. That's because these ponds were formed years ago as bomb craters! They were formed by American B-52s.

The B-52 Stratofortress was one of the deadliest weapons of the Cold War era, a heavy bomber originally designed to carry nuclear weapons. A single jet could carry more than 100 massive 500 pound bombs. This high flying jet dropped its deadly cargo from 40,000 feet up, far too high for a pilot or bombardier to distinguish between friend or foe on the ground. This devastating weapon was built to fight World War III against cities in the Soviet Union. But here, it was unleashed on the bamboo villages and rice paddies of Cambodia.

Something that has been forgotten, after the US war in Vietnam ended in 1973, was that US bombing of Cambodia continued for months afterward. The total amount of bombs dropped here is almost beyond belief. From March of 1969 to August 15, 1973 when aerial bombing finally ended, 539,129 tons of bombs were dropped on Cambodia. This was 350% of the total tonnage dropped on Japan during all of World War II. For all of that tonnage, not all those bombs hit their intended targets, and these three bomb crater ponds are examples.

On August 6, 1973 the Cambodian government was fighting for its life against the Khmer Rouge. Neak Luong was an embattled garrison and ferry town, controlled by government forces. On that day, three B-52s mistakenly dropped their bomb loads directly on this government held town. 20 tons were dropped, leaving 137 people dead and 300 wounded. Most were government soldiers and their families. This deadly military blunder was exposed by New York Times reporter Sidney Shanberg, and depicted in the movie The Killing Fields. The tragic debacle that hit this town was one reason why the US bombing of Cambodia was finally halted for good only nine days later.

* * * * *

Swift boats like these reached Neak Luong during the US invasion of Cambodia (Photo: Wikipedia)

I return later to Neak Luong on a hot day, and sit down with my translator for lunch. This river town has few traces of the war years visible today; the downtown that was devastated by B-52s years ago has since been rebuilt. As I look around at the locals, I notice there are many Vietnamese here. Some have migrated up from Vietnam, to open shops and businesses in town.

I'm leery of unsanitary roadside food stands, so we step into a restaurant for a rice luncheon. As it turns out, it's not very sanitary in here either. While I'm eating my meal, some kind of animal dung falls from the ceiling, and lands on my wrist. Wiping it away, I look up at the darkened, cobweb covered rafters high above. I’m not sure if that was from a rat, a bat, or a lizard. Well, at least it didn’t fall into my food.

Paying our bill, we step out into the center of town fronting the river. As Highway 1 crosses the Mekong River here, there is no bridge to bring us across. Just like during the war, the only crossing today is by ferry boat. Now and then, that makes Neak Luong a very strategic place.

Khmer travelers wait for the ferryboat

Back in 1970, as the US military invaded eastern Cambodia, US forces came all the way here to Neak Luong. Since Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army (NVA) forces had found safe haven in Cambodia for years, the US military sought to destroy the communist bases and drive them out. American swift boats, and many other water craft (over 100 in all) reached all the way here to Neak Luong. Cruising up the Mekong River from Chau Doc in Vietnam, it took the first swift boats only an hour and a half to get here.

Once they arrived here in Neak Luong, they met little resistance. They went looking for the only ferry boat operating here then, as they suspected it of smuggling arms for the NVA. But the ferry was gone. Asking locals where it was, they revealed that the communists had scuttled the ferry in the river, trying to hide it from the Americans. They hoped to refloat it later after the US departed. The  submerged ferry boat was spotted by an airborne patrol; somehow they were able to see it through the Mekong’s dirty waters. The ferry was refloated, and then taken back to South Vietnam to deny the communists future use of it.

Decades after the war ended, there is still no bridge here. I'll be held up here in town for an extra half hour, waiting to cross by ferry. Just steps from the ferry landing, I spot an all grey stone monument made of two soldier's statues, from during the war years. But there is no plaque to explain its purpose. My translator explains, “Vietnam-Cambodia Armed Force military. They join together to kill Khmer Rouge.”

These two somber statues are facing towards Phnom Penh, as though they march there to oust the Khmer Rouge in 1978. The Khmer Rouge radicals battled the Vietnamese Army here in Neak Luong, but they didn’t hold them for long, and Khmer Rouge resistance collapsed. Maybe the Vietnamese would have captured Phnom Penh even sooner, if there had been a bridge here then to cross the Mekong. Then again, maybe the Khmer Rouge would have already blown the bridge, as had happened in the capital. 

Monument to fighters that ousted the Khmer Rouge

Oddly enough, high on a billboard overlooking this stone monument, is a picture of current dictator/Prime Minister Hun Sen, and some other 'Cambodia People's Party' leaders. 

After first fighting as a dedicated Khmer Rouge commander, he deserted them in fear, fleeing to Vietnam. 

Hun Sen later joined this Vietnamese invasion to oust his former comrades, and as a reward the Vietnamese government later helped elevate him to power.

“Hun Sen was installed by Vietnam,” a local vendor once told me. I'm not surprised by her view. Many Khmers still see Hun Sen as a Vietnamese puppet.

Finally, it's our turn to board the ferryboat. There are two running today, and ours is named “Vishnu”, after the Hindu deity. Each ferryboat is quite large; ours holds three buses, a couple of trucks, ten cars, many motorcycles, and pedestrians. Beggars and street vendors crowd the ferryboats too. When a bridge is finally built, the hordes of vendors and beggars will be the biggest losers. They mob all the buses and cars that line up waiting for the ferry, and then accompany them back forth across the river.

As we cast off and begin the crossing, I look upriver. Many businesses line the Mekong's banks, but one section is made up of flimsy shacks, built on stilts over the river. Since this is the rainy season, the river is rising. Already the water is dangerously close to the floorboards of some of these poor homes. If the river rises much higher, they could be swept away by the strong current.

Stilt houses of poor families are nearly flooded by the rising Mekong River

I ponder the future of this crossing. Having a sturdy bridge here over the Mekong is long overdue, it would increase the traffic flow from Saigon to Phnom Penh. There have been proposals floating around for years, from donors and businesses looking to build a bridge in Neak Luong.  

A recent proposal came from the Japanese government, to build a new bridge with foreign aid. But due to problems over purchasing the necessary land on the shorelines, and due to corruption problems, it didn't happen.

There will be a bridge built here someday. How long it will take before it finally becomes a reality?




(**POST STORY NOTE** - Sometime after I visited this river crossing, agreements were signed, and a bridge finally was built. I wonder how many bribes it took to pay off government officials to finally build it.)

UNDERGROUND CITY OF THE COMMUNISTS

This ought to be a jail cell. There are iron bars on the doors, and just above eye level there are more iron bars running along the top of the white wooden walls. Furniture is sparse; there's only a pair of simple beds with a coat rack. Yet this isn’t a jail cell, it’s a bedroom. And during the war, this happened to have been the bedroom of the most powerful communist in all of Laos. 

Secure bedrooms for the leader's family

Central Committee Chairman Kaysone's bedroom

Kaysone Phomvihane slept here, and this iron-barred bedroom is inside what was once a secret underground complex of caves, deep under the towering stone mountains of Viengxay. These caves were the Pathet Lao’s main headquarters during the long war in Laos; the most closely guarded place in the country. Kaysone was not a prisoner here, but at times he certainly lived like one. He spent many days and nights in this cave, hiding from the aerial bombing that rained down from the US and Royal Laotian air forces. 

It was way back in the 1950’s, that the Pathet Lao first gathered their forces in this region. Since it was so remote, and so close to Vietnam, it was out of reach of the Royal Laotian Government. And it stayed quiet here until 1964, when US led aerial bombing began. When the massive American bombing campaign commenced that year over northern Laos, it was dubbed, ‘Operation Barrel Roll’. At the time nobody could have imagined that Laos would be bombed for eight more long and devastating years, making Laos the most heavily bombed country on earth! 

Viengxay - once littered with bomb craters, it's now a beautiful town

With American aircraft ruling the skies, the Pathet Lao leadership quickly moved into these caves that same year. The continued bombing forced most of Viengxay’s residents to live underground, like troglodytes. So Viengxay became a city of caves. In these tunnels deep within the mountains, there were sleeping quarters, offices, workshops, a hospital, even an underground market. One thing not kept below ground, were the anti-aircraft guns used to shoot at attacking aircraft. An informational sign outside explains those difficult and dangerous years. 

“On Watch Night and Day - On 17 May 1964, the first US plane, a T28, attacked the Viengxay area. During the years of bombardment until 1973, this area was hardly ever quiet in the daytime. Warning sirens were set off at the sight of approaching planes, and explosions would echo around the hills and valleys. There was a complete blackout at night and during raids all cooking had to be done inside the caves. The area was defended by anti-aircraft guns placed on top of many of the mountains that you can see from here. Because of the danger of bomb damage and rocks falling from the mountains, it was said to be safer to be on top of the mountains if you could not shelter in caves. A gun emplacement at what is now the post office was hit by a bomb, causing several deaths.”

Door to chemical attack shelter

The sign fails to mention that the T28’s were not flown by Americans. Although donated by the US, these slower propeller planes were flown by Laotian pilots of the Royal Government. 

Steps away from Kaysone’s bedroom, I approach another secret hideout. The sign overhead reads, ‘THE EMERGENCY ROOM’, and the door and its frame are made of thick steel. Four large corner handles enabled Kaysone to lock the door airtight from the inside. I enter, and suddenly, I feel very much like I'm back in the days of the cold war. A lone bulb above illuminates this inner room, carved completely out of bedrock. This was Kaysone’s last bunker refuge. Besides another bed and a pair of wooden chairs, a blue pump in the corner reveals the real reason for this room. This hand operated pump, connected to the cave wall wasn’t for water. It was to pump filtered air, in case of chemical attack.

With the long war raging in Southeast Asia, Kaysone was worried that the US Air Force would drop chemical weapons on Viengxay. Although aerial bombings went on for years, the caves were never attacked with chemical weapons. 

I ask my local guide Kale how long Kaysone lived in this cave hideout. 

“Nine years,” he answers.

An air pump is inside this shelter in case of chemical weapon attack

That’s the stock party answer, but it’s an exaggeration. This may have been Kaysone’s 'official' wartime home, but the old party boss also spent much of his time across the border with his patrons in North Vietnam. As the crow flies, it’s only 10 miles to the Vietnamese border, source of the aid that kept his rebellion going. Although bombings were a constant threat, Viengxay was never seriously threatened on the ground. If Kaysone and his cronies ever had been threatened by advancing government troops, (and they weren’t) they would have easily fled across the border to North Vietnam in minutes. 

As I make my way through the damp caves, I’m impressed at the height and width of many of the spacious rooms. This is a much more comfortable underground experience, than when I had to crawl through the pitch black tunnels of Cu Chi in Vietnam. In most places here I can walk fully erect, as I explore the darkened passageways of these historical caves. 

Connecting cave in the labyrinth

Beneath a nearby overhanging rock ledge, is an elevated platform. Two cement blocks the size of feet give away how this spot was used. This was an Asian style squatty potty; Communist Party Chairman Kaysone’s toilet! Since this subterranean world lacked plumbing, there were no sitdown toilets down here. With caves carved out of solid rock, it was impossible to create a pit latrine without stinking up the limestone labyrinth. It seems that Kaysone, and anyone else who sheltered in here during air raids, had to relieve themselves into buckets. These waste filled containers were later carried away by hand, and emptied outside the caves. That had to be one of the least glorious of jobs; disposing of the Great Leader’s excrement. 

My guide Kale leads me down another damp, dimly lit tunnel. Passing through a doorway, it opens up into a large room. Like most communist meeting rooms, it’s austere and basic, although a small opening at the end gives this room better ventilation and lighting. Simple cloth covered tables are surrounded by seven wooden chairs. Old maps hang from the walls. 

A blue sign gives the rooms significance: “MEETING ROOM OF THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE POLITBUREAU OF THE ” Strangely, the sign ends there. Of the what? The Communist Party? It appears that whoever painted the sign, ran out of space to complete the leadership’s full title. 

This well protected cavern, was a nerve center for the Pathet Lao. Here politburo members plotted their revolution, discussing victories and defeats during their long war of rebellion. 

For an added historical touch, standing on the table in front of each seat, is a framed photo of each of the politburo’s members. Unlike certain members of the Vietnamese Politburo that gained international fame and notoriety, most of these men remained practically anonymous to the western world. I wonder if any of them are still alive today. 

The 'politburo' for the Laotian communist party held their meetings here

In an adjoining room, six simple bedframes are lined up in a row. This was the ‘resting room’, for the communist leaders. This was also needed due to the air raids. When the politburo would meet, apparently there were occasional attacks that prevented them from leaving the cavern when the meetings adjourned. 

I’m disappointed that there aren’t many artifacts to see here. Most of the furnishings, weapons, and everything else that the Pathet Lao stored in these caves are long gone. Since the war ended, this hidden sanctuary has remained quiet. 

I leave Kaysone’s lair, and outside the entrance there are plenty of trees and greenery. There is no grand entrance to the cave, no massive steel door either. Sandbags used to protect the entrances are gone too. The entrance now is a natural stone arch, partly blocked by boulders and brush. Except for a nearby cement stairway, you would never guess that this was once the headquarters of communism in Laos. 

A hidden cave's entrance (at left)

After the war in Laos, as the Cold War continued, these caves remained officially secret. They were closed and guarded for years. The Pathet Lao wanted to keep their caveland refuge safe, just in case they were ever needed again. But they weren't needed. In recent years when Laos opened it’s borders to tourists, soon after they opened these caves as well. As I explore the caverns today, there are no guards anywhere. Not one. Even the entrance gate to Kaysone’s cave was left unmanned. That may be due to lack of tourists, since there are no other visitors here either. It is only my guide and I, exploring this obsolete, subterranean world.  

Close to Kaysone’s cave entrance, is what looks like a strange Swiss chalet. Built after the bombing stopped, Kaysone moved in here after the peace was signed in 1973. Along with other nearby government buildings, it now sits empty. The Pathet Lao built his home near the cave entrances for safety. They wanted to be able to run back into the caves, if the bombings had started all over again. They never did. 

F-111s over Southeast Asia. An F-111 was the last US aircraft to bomb Laos.(Source:USAF)

The last USAF bombing mission over Laos was from an F-111, which dropped its bombs on February 22, 1973. The massive American bombing campaign over Laos was finally over. The US military had learned that victory through air power alone, didn’t work. Much of the Laotian countryside had been destroyed, and many were killed. Yet the communists, like these caves, were still here. 

In the end, the winning side in Laos was decided by the extent of continuing military support. The Royal Laotian government was able to survive, as long as they received massive amounts of military aid, and air support from the US. But without American help, they couldn’t survive for long against the North Vietnamese Army. The support of the nearby North Vietnamese, had outlasted the support of the distant Americans. 

MOUNTAIN OF MISSING MEN

Remote Annamite Mountains of Northeast Laos. Few foreigners come here.

I'm way off the tourist trail, maybe the only westerner for many miles. Where I'm going, there are no amenities. I’m heading east out of the Plain of Jars, into a part of Laos even more remote. This half sized, bare-bones bus is taking me into Houaphan Province, towards the Vietnamese border. Few foreigners go there. 

As the rickety local bus chugs along, we rumble our way over the rolling hills east of Phonsavan. But these relatively easy roads don’t last. Soon we are off the Plain of Jars, curving in and out of the Annamite Mountains. Meanwhile, our little chicken bus stops in just about every roadside village along the way. Soon every seat is taken, and the undersized bus is packed. 

Since this bus was made for Asians and not westerners, I don't have much leg room either. With my knees jammed into the seat in front of me, I pull my knees up in a vain attempt to get comfortable. With no seats left, a teenager stands by the open side door, giving us a fresh breeze of air as we drive on. 

This poor guy got sick out the door

There’s no air conditioning on this bus, but since we are in the cool air of the high altitude, it isn’t really needed. The views are gorgeous. Most of the surrounding mountains are covered with trees or overgrowth, and there are few signs of civilization. Looking away from the highway into the distance, few highland villages are visible at all. Even for Laos, the population density in this region is very low. 

The curving, sloping roads of the mountains make some on the bus queasy. As we descend and curve around the swtichbacks, the standing teenager vomits more than once. Now I know why the poor kid was standing by the door.

In some areas, we pass brand new, thin power poles that have just been installed. Strangely, they are painted blue. They don’t have power lines on them yet, but they are coming. It’s an encourging sign of development. First come sturdy bridges, and then a paved highway. Next comes electricity, and improved communications follows. Hopefully more schools, and access to better markets for the farmers will be next.

The highland peoples who live up here, are very different from the lowland ethnic Lao. This is hill tribe country. There are many different ethnic groups here, and some don’t even speak Laotian. The differences up here extend far beyond language, with numerous cultures and religions. Rather than Buddhism, many of these hill tribe folk still practice Animism. 

Old war weapons, some US made, on wall of a northern Laos restaurant today

Driving along one remote hill, our bus passes four teenage hill tribe boys walking by the roadside. Two wear camouflage shirts, and one carries an old US made M-16 rifle, slung over his thin shoulder! The boy is so short, that the M -16 almost looks larger then him. He is dwarfed by the old weapon. 

Further down the road, the bus passes three Hmong men carrying crossbows. Despite seeing these armed men, I don’t think that there was any local unrest going on, at least not today. They were probably just out hunting, since they didn’t even look up at the bus as we passed. In poor remote areas such as this, men have to rely on wild game to round out the family diet. Still, there have been occasional uprisings by the Hmong here, notably back in 2004. 

According to a US State Department report: “Ethnic Hmong in Houaphanh Province launched a series of coordinated attacks on government outposts in an apparent effort to seize weapons located in a government arsenal in Viengsai town. The attack against the arsenal was repulsed, but in the aftermath, the rebels fired on a bus and motorcycle traveling to a market, killing five passengers. Five of the attackers were also killed when security forces caught up with them shortly after the vehicle ambush. Following this incident, fighting broke out between rebels and government troops in several areas of Houaphanh Province; at least 13 soldiers and probably several dozen Hmong rebels were killed in this fighting, and over 100 Hmong villagers suspected of supporting the rebellion were arrested...”

Secret mountaintop American base called "Lima Site 85" (Photo: Wikepedia)

This is one of the most remote regions of Laos, and back during the Vietnam War years, it saw plenty of fighting. Just north of here, not far from the Vietnamese border, is a mountain sacred to the Hmong known as Phou Pha Thi. This mountain also became very valuable to the US during the war, as it housed a secret base. The site is now overgrown and abandoned, so I won’t be able to get any closer to it than the highway, but Phou Pha Thi may have been America’s most secret military installation in all of Southeast Asia. Even more secret than Long Tieng, it was known as 'Lima Site 85'.

This remote mountain housed a small radar installation. Used for tactical air navigation, it was operated by a small group airmen from the US Air Force, working undercover. Since the tall mountain was so close to the Vietnamese border, the radar could reach all the way to the skies over Hanoi, about 160 miles eastward. This remote little base in Laos was an important key, for the American bombing campaign over North Vietnam. 

As secret as this base was, it wasn’t long before the Vietnamese found it. With so many North Vietnamese (NVA) soldiers running around northern Laos at the time, they must have been astonished to find this base so close to their own border. Once located, they quickly set out to destroy it. 

Captured US gear & NVA soldier(Photo:Vtn Archive)

Soon after, the skies over Lima Site 85 were the scene of perhaps the most improbable aerial dogfight of the entire war. The North Vietnamese sent three old Russian Antonov 2 biplanes to attack the remote radar site. When this surprise attack occurred, there were no American fighters nearby to fight them off. So an Air America pilot counter-attacked with the only aircraft available: a Huey helicopter! Since the chopper was faster than the biplanes, an accompanying crewman was able to shoot down one of the biplanes from the door, using only a rifle. Like everything else related to Lima Site 85, the story of this bizarre aerial battle remained an official secret for years. 

With the failure of their air assault, the NVA sent in thousands of Vietnamese soldiers to take the base from the ground. The small mountain installation was defended by outnumbered Hmong militia. When the NVA made their final assault on the radar base one night in 1968, fighting was fierce. As the situation deteriorated, the American airmen joined the battle. 

When NVA commandos managed to climb the mountain and reach the radar site, the airmen’s time ran out. As the base fell into enemy hands, some of the radar technicians attempted to rappel down the steep mountain cliff. But they were killed by the NVA before they could reach the jungle below. 11 of the brave airmen lost their lives, while only five Americans were rescued. 

It’s only recently that the US government publicly honored the men lost on that night so many years ago. In 2010, President Obama awarded the Medal of Honor to the family of Chief Master Sgt. Richard Etchberger of the US Air Force. Etchberger had fought bravely on the mountain, managing to call in air strikes, while protecting other wounded Americans around him. But he didn’t survive. After boarding a rescue chopper, he was shot as the helicopter lifted off from the mountain. Most of the other Americans that died there are still listed as Missing in Action today. Hundreds of Hmong, and North Vietnamese soldiers also died in this unknown battle for this remote mountain, deep in the northeast of Laos. 

SWORDS INTO PLOWSHARES, BOMBS INTO TOOLS

"They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks" - Isaiah 2: 4

These metal posts are made from US made cluster bomb casings dropped during the war

A light rain falls as our 4X4 pulls into Tha Chok, a Hmong farming village in northern Laos. Only the main road through town is paved, the rest are muddy dirt roads. Exiting the SUV, I step around puddles and walk into the village. The homes are humble; I see evidence of rural poverty. Most houses are wooden, with traditional thatch rooftops. Life has been improving here though; six months ago electrical power lines finally arrived. It’s a developmental milestone, though most living here cannot afford to buy appliances.

As we approach a village farmhouse, my guide points to a small wooden shack built on top of stilts. He explains why the shacks are elevated; nobody lives in them, they are for food storage.  “They put rice inside,” he explains. “They keep away the rat.”

Although the elevated storage shacks are wooden, the stilts supporting them are made from far different material; metal. They are remnants of the war; each of the four stilts are made from the split half of a cluster bomb casing! They have been turned up on one end, and buried into the ground. The smooth metal surface ensures that rats can’t climb them to reach the rice! 

This cluster bomb casing has been turned into an elevated onion planter!

Walking to another nearby house, a cluster bomb case has been put to other agricultural use: as a planter! I approach the strange elevated planter, wondering what's growing inside. 

Hmong children eye me curiously as I lean over and take a whiff. Onions! By the looks of them, they’ll be ready for harvesting soon. 

This strange display of former military hardware isn’t over, there’s more down the road. My guide leads me into the yard of another nearby house. One long wall of the home’s fence, is made entirely of cluster bomb casings, sitting on one end, lined up one after another. Incredible! There are more than 20, with varying degrees of rust. The fence leans over from all the weight, appearing as though it may collapse. 

Also in the same yard, a separate cluster bomb casing protrudes from the ground, with a tire around it. Sitting on top of it, teathered by its neck, is a small monkey. This cluster bomb case is the monkey’s jungle gym. My presence seems to excite the unfortunate pet. The monkey climbs up and down his metallic home. This has to be the most bizarre use of war refuse that I’ve seen yet. 

Bomb casing is now monkey's jungle jim

Dropped here during the war by the US Air Force, old cluster bombs are tragically still killing Laotian civilians today. My guide says there used to be more cluster bomb casings here before. But with the village so poor, many were sold for scrap.

As we continue walking around the village, he points out a couple of partially detonated old bombs. Split wide open, they now serve as animal feeding troughs! 

Still there’s more. My guide takes me into a small shack, the neighborhood 'blacksmith' shop. Given the poverty here, there is no giant bellows, no fiery furnace. The Hmong blacksmith working here makes due with a fire on an elevated metal table. He doesn’t have an anvil either, for this he has improvised. He has pounded a post into the ground, and covered the top with a strong metal cap made from a military casing; this is his pounding post. I watch as he works on his creation for today: a long knife. It makes a loud metallic racket, as he pounds away at it with a heavy hammer. 

The raw material for this knife, is metal from unexploded ordinance (UXO)! He fashions many other household tools and farming implements this way. (I recall one of my previous meals on the Plain of Jars. I had soup, with an aluminum spoon that had an odd appearance from being hammered into shape. It had been handmade, fashioned from a crashed US aircraft.)

I’m amazed at the ingenuity of the Hmong in these poor villages. They have taken what were once hazardous bomb materials, and then adapted them to suit their needs. Their inventions are used not just for their homes, but also their livelihoods. There are so many cluster bomb casings around this village, it’s obvious that major fighting took place here. I wonder how much UXO still remains here...

Crude fence of cluster bomb casings. There was heavy fighting here during the war.

A local Hmong walks into the blacksmith shack, and I start up a conversation. He’s a farmer, and lived here even before the war. When the conflict came he fled, hiding out with others in caves, and in the forest. When the war finished, he returned. He now has five children. Working as a farmer, he had found bombs when clearing land. 

“What kind of bombs did you find?” I asked him.

“They were all bombies,”(cluster bomblets) he said.

“How many did you find?”

He thinks for a few moments, and replies, “about 10.”

“What did you do with them?”

“I would take them, put them in a campfire, and then run. Sometimes the bombie would crack open. Sometimes nothing happen. Sometimes they explode. It explode so big, the whole fire go out.”

Rusted remains of 'bombie'

This was his crude method of bomb disposal, and fortunately he didn’t die in the process. It wasn’t just bombies that are a buried threat here. In a nearby village, another farmer was killed while he was out tilling his fields. His died when his plow struck an old mortar round. Who would have thought that farming in Laos would be such a dangerous job?

Shaking the brave farmers hand, I bid him goodbye, and we start walking back through the village. Passing more homes, I spot another thatched roof house, with strangely metallic walls. 

Town blacksmith makes a living reworking war refuse into tools, such as this knife

My guide points, saying, “Look, the walls made with UXO.” Sure enough. Rather than the usual wooden planked walls that the neighbors have, these walls are made of metal. Since they have been hammered out flat and pieced together, it’s difficult to make out what their origin was. Most likely, they were fashioned from cluster bomb containers, or from drop tanks used for surplus jet fuel. 

Passing another simple home, my guide says, “Old man live here, he used to grow opium in his garden, for personal use. He died, so don’t have any more.”

It’s not surprising that the old Hmong that lived here grew opium openly, since Laotian hill tribes had used opium for years in traditional ceremonies. During the war, the US military and CIA were unfairly blamed for the Laotian opium trade. The fact is, opium had been grown and traded in Laos for generations before Americans arrived. When French colonials were here, they encouraged opium production as a cash crop. 

Hmong teenagers in traditional attire

As part of the ‘Golden Triangle’, Laotian opium eventually found its way into western countries in its more refined form: heroin. The opium trade wasn’t even outlawed in Laos until 1971, but it’s still a scourge today, part of the underground economy. 

As we head back towards the main road, we come across a pair of young Hmong women wearing traditional Hmong outfits. They look stunning; it seems I’ve stumbled upon a family photos shoot. Their skirts are multi-colored, and hand woven. A long, belt like garment hangs low from around their waist, highlighted in pink, white and red. Their outfits are topped with a black and white hat that resembles a turban. 

The only thing that is of western style in their outfits, are their low heeled shoes. 

Like many Asians, these Hmong girls are short in stature; each stands well below my shoulder. But size doesn’t matter here, their outfits are reminiscent of royalty. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed that they were both princesses. 

This village may not be rich, but the Hmong people still dress up for special occasions. The ethnic Hmong have endured a great deal of hardship over the years, but they are still very proud of their culture. 

DISAPPEARING FORESTS AND DANGEROUS SHRAPNEL

Old growth forests in Laos are slowly disappearing, as lumber is sent to China and Vietnam

A new day finds me in another 4 wheel drive SUV, this time heading down a road northeast of Phonsavan. On our way, my driver passes a pair of heavy trucks, hauling timber. I eye up their stacked cargo, thick logs cut from old growth trees. 

“Many timber go to Vietnam,” frowns my translator. “Bad for Lao.”

As a raw natural resource, logging in Laos has been on the increase. From what I hear, most of the money goes to the government, even to the military. Since the Soviet Union no longer exists, the government has been forced to search for new revenue to pay for their army. Logging is one of their sources of revenue. 

We curve through the hills, as the trucks continue on eastward to supply the Vietnamese lumber business. I ask my translator on the foreign influences on Laotian business.  

“So many Chinese and Vietnamese come here to do business,” he says, and then he cracks a joke. “In the future, there will be no Laos. It will be Chi-Nam!” 

Two rusted tailfins from wartime mortar rounds

As we’re driving, the countryside looks beautiful. Laos has excellent scenery, but looks can be deceiving. “This area very beautiful,” my translator tells me, “but not safe.”

He motions towards a group of farm houses, the scene of an unfortunate post-war accident a few years ago. “Over there, they made a (cooking) fire outside of the house,” he says. “There was a bombie in dirt under the fire. Blow up. Two people die.”

* * * * *

Later that day, my guide brings me to a remote ethnic Hmong village further outside Phonsavan. As we walk down the main street, my guide leads me into a wooden shack. Peering into the darkness, I’m puzzled as to why he led me in here, until he points towards the wall. There next to an empty chicken cage, I see a large brown pile of metal. 

Bomb shrapnel!

Pile of bomb shrapnel collected by a black market scrap metal dealer

The owner of this shack runs a black market business: dealing scrap metal. Poor locals sell him bomb shrapnel they've found for recycling. This pile of jagged shrapnel is all rusted, save for a couple of non-wartime items, like a couple of bicycle wheels and machine parts. Mixed into this once deadly heap are tail fins from mortar shells, rusted clumps of ball bearings from cluster bombs, and numerous jagged, twisted chunks of shrapnel from heavy bombs dropped by the U.S. Air Force. 

This shack is just a small part of the underground scrap metal industry, now outlawed in Laos. Black market dealers give collectors 30 cents per kilo for scrap, and $1.50 per kilo for explosive. A pittance for such dangerous work. 

I recall the two boys that I had seen with metal detectors, searching for bomb shrapnel on the old Ho Chi Minh Trail. About half of all the un-exploded ordinance (UXO) accidents in Laos happen when someone is collecting shrapnel, or trying to salvage explosive from an old bomb. 

I look at this rusted pile and wonder about all the scrap metal hunters who contributed to make this deadly heap. How many of them have been injured or killed? How many more of them will die in the future? When people are desperate for money, they will do just about anything for work. 

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!

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. 

ICE CREAM SOLDIER FOUGHT FOR 2 ARMIES

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. 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.

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 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.