WOULD YOU LIKE AN EXPLOSIVE WITH YOUR COFFEE?

Cafe owner Sith offers me a whiskey

I’m bouncing along in our 4X4 on a rural Laotian road. We’ve just left a village where I watched a blacksmith pound old war refuse into farm tools! ‘Swords into plowshares’ indeed. On our way back, we stop at a small roadside café to satisfy our thirst. It's a hot day, and a freshly squeezed juice would really hit the spot.

As we enter, I quickly notice that by western standards it’s not a café. It’s more like an ornate shack with tables, and bizarre decorations. I’m wary of the lack of cleanliness, but my guide recommends the place. I decide against a fresh juice, and opt for a safer can of soda. 

Soon, I’m approached by an old Laotian with white hair. This is Sith, the café’s owner. I’m relieved to learn that he speaks some English, though his French is even better. 

“I French teacher, many years,” Sith tells me. He first learned in school, back during French colonial times. Wearing shorts and sandals, he still sports a black French beret. 

Retired from teaching, he now runs this small café. I check out one section of the eatery’s walls, and I’m surprised to see it covered with two things: posters of pretty Laotian women, and a variety of unexploded ordinance!! While peddling coffee, Sith has been selling UXO relics as war souvenirs on the side.

This is a very dangerous trade, and our host has quite a selection. The display has various mortar rounds, artillery shells, spent artillery casings, a claymore mine, and a belt of machine gun bullets. His biggest display is of 'bombies', small explosives from deadly cluster bombs. Up on a shelf, he has set up a gridlike display of more than 50 of the dangerous orbs. 

Display of deadly US 'bombies' line a wall. Are all of them disarmed?

Since Sith isn’t a trained in bomb disposal, it’s a good bet that at least one of those 50 bombies is still live. If that was true, and one of those bombies is dropped onto the floor and detonates, it could easily kill everyone in this room. It’s happened before. 

Selling disarmed explosives is illegal in most parts of Laos, but in remote places like this, the strict laws regarding the safe handling and selling of UXO aren’t followed. 

As I’m looking at the deadly display, Sith picks up a bombie, tosses it in the air, then offers it to me. “You want buy one?”

I look at him nervously. I’m not into war souvenirs, even if it was defused. Besides, if I was caught carrying a bombie at a border crossing, or caught carrying one inside my luggage onto an aircraft, I would be in a great deal of trouble. I decline. 

More 'bombies' on display. Many types of cluster bombs were dropped on Laos.

Since I’m not buying, the friendly old guy shifts the conversation to politics. He mixes in  the old, and the modern of the political world. He states to me, “Nixon is like George W. Bush.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Nixon like the war more than peace,” he says. “Nixon like to bomb the people.”

Sith doesn’t get many American visitors, so as I depart, our host pulls out a bottle of homemade Laotian whiskey. Getting out a small glass, he has a toast with me. 

After we drain our glasses, Sith quickly tucks the bottle away. As he does so, he wears a mischevous grin, as though he’s trying to hide it. “My wife,” he says, gesturing toward the back of the café. 

Now I understand. Sith didn’t want his wife to catch him drinking!

We climb back into our 4X4, and hit the road. 

WHERE THE BOMBS FELL - HAIPHONG

A boat dweller ferries supplies in Haiphong

Two undersized crabs shuffle towards me, in that strange, sideways walk that only crabs do. I've found these freshwater shellfish on the shore of a Vietnamese river. The dark current flows fast today; it’s banks nearly overflow from the rain. The crabs turn and head for muddy water, while I turn down Tam Bac street, a road named after this river. Downstream a bridge view reveals the Tam Bac is merely a tributary; it empties into the much deeper Cam River. This whole section of northern Vietnam is full of meandering rivers, all part of the immense Red River Delta.

Finding a pier where the rivers meet, I look across the waters to see a fleet of commercial boats and ships. Dozens are docked or at anchor, while another six freighters cross in front of me in the channel. And that’s just what’s in my immediate view. I hear a ship’s horn sound off in the distance, and down river I can make out massive yellow cranes on the docks, ready to unload cargo ships

Vessels docked in Haiphong Harbor

arriving from the South China Sea.

I’ve come down the highway from Hanoi this morning into the Red River Delta, to check out one of Vietnam’s largest, longest and busiest ports. This is Haiphong Harbor. As the closest major port to Hanoi, Haiphong gained the attention of Americans in 1972.  In those days of war, President Nixon ordered this harbor mined, and resumed the bombing of Haiphong. Nixon hoped to stop the USSR from bringing weapons into Vietnam by ship, and mining the port sparked major demonstrations from anti-war protestors who saw this as an escalation.

When the Paris Peace Accords were signed the next year, part of the agreement meant that the sea mines that had been dropped into this harbor would have to be removed. In an odd twist of the agreement, US Navy minesweepers cleared this very harbor, even though the war continued between North and South Vietnam. 

Old French colonial buildings, in need of a fresh coat of paint

As I walk around Haiphong, I feel alone and unique. I'm finding one of Vietnam’s largest cities is almost empty of westerners. As a commercial shipping port there are foreign sailors, but most are Asian. Western tourists don’t bother with this commercial port. If they want to go to the coast, they head for scenic Halong Bay, or for Nha Trang’s beaches.

This lack of westerners does give Haiphong a degree of charm that Saigon lacks. With fewer tourists, the city has a more Vietnamese vibe. Exceptions to this, are the influences left behind by the French. Around the downtown’s commercial district, there are plenty of cafés, and many old French colonial shophouses still survive. Most are well beyond their prime though, and could use a fresh coat of paint.

Closer to the port, yellow government offices with familiar French colonial architecture are in better condition. As I walk by and look more closely, these appear far too new for the colonial era. These are French in style, but they weren’t built by the French, since the old original structures were destroyed by American bombing. 

 “They admire French architecture,” explains my Vietnamese friend Bich later. When the communist government constructed new buildings after the war, they built their replacements in the same French style. Given that the Vietnamese hated the French colonials, that seems very odd to me.

Maxim's Cafe in downtown Haiphong

Originally from Haiphong, I met Bich through a friend in Saigon. She works in tourism, and I arranged to meet her at Maxim’s Café in downtown Haiphong. She’s happy to tell me all about her city over dinner.

“Haiphong people (are) known as strong of character, strong of mind, and strong of body,” she says self-assuredly. Bich is petite, but those first two characteristics describe her perfectly.

Haiphong is known as, ‘The City of Red Flowers', and she says that it’s beautiful here in late spring when flowers bloom. Too bad I’m here on a gloomy rainy day, so I’ll miss the scenery.

Bich’s favorite subject is the city’s people. “Haiphong has the most handsome men, and the most beautiful women,” she boasts. She adds that it’s also known as, ‘The City of Miss Vietnam’, since a number of beauty queens are from here. Bich obviously has a lot of pride in her hometown.

I chuckle when she says, “People here known for very hard work or laziness.”
 
Then Bich changes the subject, and turns serious. She says that as a large port city, it has a mafia, and may have the worst violence and drug addiction problems in Vietnam. But it’s all very relative really. The crime and drug problems of Haiphong are miniscule, compared to US port cities like New York or Los Angeles.

Wreckage of US warplanes shot down over Haiphong during the war

Despite her city’s rough reputation, she still loves Haiphong. “I like the craziness,” she says. She would stay here, but since better work opportunities are elsewhere, she’s leaving for China.

I ask Bich about Haiphong in wartime, but since she was born afterwards, she didn't have much to say. “We never remember about the war,” Bich says, “unless people ask.” 

Her mother remembers plenty though, since she survived numerous bombing raids then. She remembers the devastation well, especially the aftermath of a raid that hit a commercial center. ”She see 100 bodies,” Bich said, “all lined up together, laying by the market.”

Fortunately her relatives survived the attack, and her mother left Haiphong soon afterwards. Due to air raids, she moved out to the countryside for the rest of the war, where life was safer.

These days, city utility workers are regularly exposed to war’s old dangers. Bich says when city workers tear up roads to install sewers, they find heaps of unexploded bombs. Under one recent construction site, instead of bombs, diggers found many skeletons.

“What were the bodies from?” I ask her. “Who killed them?"

On display in Haiphong is an old Russian made Mig-17, next to old navy boat

“Maybe Japanese,” Bich guesses, but no one knows for sure. Since they were buried in unmarked graves, they couldn’t blame Americans, as US troops never occupied Haiphong. They were likely killed by the French, who occupied Haiphong far longer than the Japanese.

Bidding goodbye to Bich, I head back to my hotel. As I pass a museum, through the fence I spot an old Russian made Mig-17 under an enclosure. Nearby is a pile of wreckage from various US aircraft that were shot down over Haiphong.
 
Entering for a closer look, I approach, and two dogs lunge at me from the shadows barking savagely. I jump back out of reach. Fortunately, they're tethered underneath the old obsolete jet. With these canine guardians, I won’t be able to get a closer look at the Russian made Mig.
 
As it’s growing darker, I depart for my old French hotel. Settling in for the night, I flip on the TV. Finding the History Channel, I'm surprised it's airing a program on aerial dogfights over North Vietnam during the war! As I watch the episode, an animated re-enactment shows two US Navy Skyraiders shoot down a Mig-17, just like the one I saw rusting on the street.

I’m amazed. Somehow, this show wasn’t blocked by Vietnamese censors!

OLD TOWN HANOI STROLL

Lady fruit sellers wait for customers in Old Town Hanoi

As morning comes in Hanoi, I am rudely awakened at 5 a.m. by a government loudspeaker. It's blaring out their daily propaganda wakeup message. Unfortunately for me, the speaker happens to be located right outside my hotel window. I groan, cover my ears, and try to go back to sleep. I later go down to reception, and switch my room to the back of the hotel so I can be further away from the morning noise. But now I have the opposite problem, the hotel’s back rooms have no windows at all! It’s more of a cave really, it's certainly a fire hazard. Well, at least it’s quiet.

After finding some croissants in a nearby café, I head out for a walk around the city’s old quarter. Hanoi is a city that's 1,000 years old. Although this ancient commercial neighborhood is limited by narrow streets, the business scene here is really bustling. Asian style shophouses are packed tightly together, selling all manner of local and imported goods. Everyone I see in the old town is busy browsing, buying, or trying to make a sale. Street vendors in conical hats sell fresh fruit, while the ever present motorbikes buzz on by.

French colonial architecture in Old Town

Old archway entrance in Hanoi

Crossing many streets in the packed borough, I learn that each road in this area has a product specialty. One street has numerous silk shops, another street is packed with shoe stores, and still another is packed with hair accessories. It seems a counterproductive arrangement for shopkeepers to have their competition all on the same street, but it works in Hanoi, as it has here for centuries.

The Presidential Palace, former home of the French colonial governor.

Following the free market reforms of their Chinese neighbors to the north, capitalism has taken hold in this capital city. But even though this city is Vietnam’s second largest, I notice the pace is different. Looking around the shops, it’s not as noisy and hectic here, as it is in Saigon/HCMC. As compared to the hardworking, dollar chasing southerners, business in the north is conducted in a more restrained fashion. Hanoi has always been more reserved than Saigon, and they endured communist controlled markets far longer than in the south did. As things are now, Saigon may be the center of finance, but Hanoi is still the center of political power.

As I leave the old quarter and explore other areas of the downtown, I find that many of the old French colonial buildings still survive. Close to Hoan Kiem Lake, there are the majestic Opera House, many old restaurants and lovely French villas. Some government offices in Hanoi still work out of old yellow colonial buildings from the French era. The Presidential Palace is immaculate, and

Italian restaurant in Old Town. International eateries are becoming more popular.

looks as though the French governor has just walked out the door. There are far more examples of colonial architecture remaining here, than there are in Saigon, and even pre-colonial Chinese style homes can still be found. This isn’t what I was expecting at all, I'm pleasantly surprised.

Since Hanoi had been bombed so many times during the war with the US, I was imagining that the old city must have been reduced to rubble back then, like Berlin during World War II. I was expecting to find blase communist blocks; I’m surprised to see that so many of Hanoi's old historic buildings have survived. These lovely old neighborhoods give Hanoi a romantic air, a sense of history that is hard to find elsewhere in Vietnam.

CAFÉ LIFE ON KON TUM'S RIVER FRONT

Scenic view looking south from highland town of Kon Tum, with Dakbla River at right

I’m relaxing in a sidewalk café called Thu Ha Coffee, along the Dakbla River in the Highlands. It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon in the town of Kon Tum, and traffic on the nearby bridge south to Pleiku is light. On the road in front of me, two cows slowly pull a cart, while a farmer taps them along with a stick. The floodplain across the river is covered with a patchwork of farming fields.

The city has built a lovely river walk, and I’m surprised to see this kind of development so deep in the highlands. The walkway has designer fencing, steps leading down to the river, and plenty of landscaping. Saigon’s river walk isn’t this picturesque. Even new street lamps are of French design. The Vietnamese may have fought the French for decades, but they still like their decor.

In Vietnam, cafés such as this are another legacy of the French, and are extremely popular from one end of the country to the other. There are even a couple of nationwide chains, and they’re more popular than bars or discos for meeting friends, especially among groups of women. In Vietnam's conservative culture, good girls don’t go to bars, but they do go to cafes. You can see them crowded into cafés in any city, gathering after work or university classes. They chat the afternoon away, while sipping their iced coffees. 

I gaze at the lovely view of the distant mountains that cover most of the horizon. It’s a mostly sunny day, except for the smoky haze in the air. It’s that time of year when farmers outside town are clearing more farmland, leaving the familiar odor of burning brush.

An ox pulls its load along the river road in Kon Tum

There are more remaining forests left here than there are around Pleiku, but even this deep in the highlands the numbers are dropping. This was once a heavily forested area, but year by year the ancient forests have been shrinking.  In the war years air dropped defoliants were killing trees, but that was decades ago. The massive deforestation seen in the highlands these days is also man made. The population growth and migration of ethnic Vietnamese from other provinces has caused a major increase in land cleared for farming. There are also complaints of corruption connected to illegal logging.

As I finish my cold green tea, I notice an older American speaking with a local Vietnamese having coffee at another table. Wondering what the westerner is doing in town, I approach to find out.

“We’re with a charity, we support an orphanage here,” he informs me. “In our group there are some veterans, their families, and we have four doctors. They’re out at the orphanage now."

Charity groups such as this have helped to bring a lot of support for humanitarian work back into Vietnam. He excuses himself, returning to his serious discussion with his local staffer. He has a lot of orphanage business to take care of before they leave tomorrow. I wish them well, and depart the café. 

After walking a few blocks, I find myself in another café, an internet café. Even in this remote highland town, close to the Cambodian border, they still have internet. In this country where free speech is limited and press is still tightly controlled, access to the world wide web is mostly, but not entirely, unrestricted. The Vietnamese government does block a small percentage of websites. These include a select number of sites oriented to news, gambling, pornography, and those run by human rights organizations. But the vast majority of the internet is accessible in Vietnam.

Yes, that's really a child riding a steer, on the Kon Tum river front

I sit down to do email, and as expected, the connection is slow. But I’m not complaining, a half hour only costs the equivalent of 60 cents. I look around the internet café, and every single customer is under 18. There are boys playing computer games, while teenage girls do online chat. I’m pleased to see that there are not only ethnic Vietnamese here, but also teens from the highland minorities. These youngsters may be only playing games today, but they are all computer literate, and who knows where that will lead. Some of these kids are studying English, and at internet cafés here, and across Vietnam, thousands of them are chatting live with foreigners in faraway lands, including other American teenagers.

In a country where the government still goes to great lengths to control information, access to the world wide web may one day change. But the effects of this technology are already being felt. Compared to previous generations, these children are becoming far more aware of the outside world. It makes me wonder, what effect will this have on the future of Vietnam?

Who knows?