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. 

A DEADLY TRAP

A Vietnamese punji trap, designed to trap US foot soldiers

Our group is exploring outside the war tunnels of Cu Chi, when our guide Duc announces, “If you don’t like your wife, let me know, and we can leave her in the tunnel!” A former soldier for South Vietnam during the war, Duc may have had a hard life, but he hasn’t lost his sense of humor.

As I look around, I see another tunnel entrance. This one isn’t for visitors, so I grab a light, and crawl down for a quick look alone. Descending the cramped steps, I get six feet underground, where the tunnel branches out. This tunnel is REALLY cramped; obviously not made for a tall guy like me. It’s only knee high. Squeezing down into the tight space for a better look, my light illuminates the walls of red clay. It gets even tighter further ahead, so I have to stop. If I tried to continue, I would have to shimmy along like a snake, and would probably end up stuck. I don’t really feel like screaming for help, and then being dragged out by my feet.

The war tunnels had many levels, like an underground village

Most of these old war tunnels aren’t safe anymore, and many sections have collapsed from erosion. Although there are no longer Vietnam Cong rebels down here, I recall that certain slithering reptiles still make their homes in these tunnels. With that in mind, I crawl backwards to the entrance and climb out of the tunnel.

Walking on, our group reaches a small clearing in the woods. There are no hiding places here, or so we think. The ground is covered with fallen leaves of the surrounding jungle foliage, and a Vietnamese soldier joins us. He steps towards the center, and reaches down into the leaves. I’m taken aback when he lifts a perfectly camouflaged wooden cover, the size of a shoe box, revealing a dark cavity in the earth beneath. He puts his feet in, drops into the small hole, and pulls the cover closed again, all in less than 10 seconds. His hiding place is virtually undetectable.

This tiny hideout is what was known as a spider hole. Viet Cong would emerge from these holes frequently to fire on patrolling American soldiers. When charging GI’s advanced on the VC’s position, the VC would quickly disappear in seconds back into the spider hole. This left the puzzled, frustrated American soldiers wondering how the lone VC had disappeared.

Feeling brave, I hop into the hole to check it out, but like the tunnels, these small holes were tailor made for the smaller, thinner VC. It takes me longer than the small soldier, but I manage to squeeze in. The lid comes on, and it’s pitch black, tight, but a very effective hiding place. Someone could step on the door itself, and never know I’m down here.

A soldier's hiding place, for thin people only

I climb out, and Duc says that a few days previously, a large Canadian woman got stuck in this very same spider hole. It was a struggle to get her back out. “It took us twenty minutes,” he says. “We needed five people to pull her out.” Duc smirked, added a few vulgarities, and said, “She lost her trousers, her panties, everything.”

As we make our way around the old battlefield, we pass many depressions in the surrounding jungle. These are old bomb craters, of many different sizes. Since the VC tunnel system was never destroyed, this whole region was continuously bombed by aircraft and artillery for years. Duc witnessed a bombing himself. One day he left nearby Dong Du base in a helicopter. “I was riding in Huey,” he said. “We look down, we see smoke come out of ground.”

Their chopper was over tunnel territory, and the smoke they saw was from a hidden chimney. Someone was cooking in an underground Viet Cong kitchen. The co-pilot called in the coordinates, and soon an artillery strike rained down on the surrounding landscape. When the dust cleared, the smoke had stopped.

With so much artillery and aerial bombing, by 1972 Cu Chi’s not all of them exploded. The VC found some of them, and carefully brought them down to the tunnels. Duc brings us to a workshop area of the tunnel network, where a dud 250 pound airborne bomb was left partially opened.

“Here they cut open the bomb, take out explosive,” Duc says. Fighting an enemy that was much better armed then they were, the VC scrounged for weapons and explosives wherever they could. Using simple tools, VC tried to carefully removed the explosives, a very dangerous process. Think of The Hurt Locker, with no body armor. Sometimes as they worked, the bomb went off, killing all the VC near it. When the explosive was successfully removed, it was remanufactured into primitive hand grenades and landmines.

Cu Chi was once well known for fruit trees, but those are long gone now, since it wasn’t just bombs that were dropped on the surrounding woods. “All the tree die, everything dead,” Duc says. “They drop Agent Orange.”

In the early years of the war, Agent Orange was sprayed over rural areas where the enemy was thought to hide. Used as an herbicide to remove brush and trees, nobody knew how toxic the chemical really was in the early years. When the military eventually learned that exposure to Agent Orange was causing health problems, they stopped using it, but by that time it was too late. Millions had already been exposed to the dangerous chemical including soldiers from both sides, and numerous civilians. Many developed health problems later from their exposure, including many types of cancer, Parkinson’s disease, miscarriages, and birth defects in their children.

Decades later trees are growing back now, but few edible crops are grown here, due to the fear of chemicals still present. Much of the land has been switched over to government rubber tree farms.

Arriving at another section of the old battlefield, we reach another clearing, or so it seems. Duc steps into the center and kicks at the grass on the ground. The grassy floor swoops downward like a swinging door, revealing a four foot fall down onto sharpened steel spikes in a pit beneath. This is a punji trap, the kind the VC dug out in the jungle earth, hoping to kill or wound unsuspecting American troops patrolling on foot.

Duc shows us a few more traps here. There are the deep tiger pit-like traps, spiked balls that swung down from trees, and wooden boards that swung down laden with spikes. The most common punji traps were smaller, shallow holes dug out along footpaths. If a GI stepped into one, the bamboo or steel spikes were sharp enough to penetrate through his boot into his foot. The VC sometimes urinated on the spikes before they hid them, to increase the likelihood of infection.

The skeleton of an American M-41 tank, stripped after it was abandoned

We reach another clearing, and come across an old American M-41 tank. It ran over a mine here in 1970, and has been here ever since. Duc says, “One American died here. After tank hit mine, the tank cannot move. He got out, and got shot.”

Some bullet marks are still visible on the outside of the tank. Just steps away, old trenches and a tunnel entrance show where the VC could have taken cover.

Looking at the tank now, it has been stripped of most of its parts. The treads are gone, and the engine’s gone. I remember when I worked in Afghanistan, where I saw old tank engines converted into small village generators. Here, the rest was probably sold for scrap metal by locals. Now it’s just an old shell, for the curious to climb on.

I remember well a tank story from Don, a Vietnam war veteran from my hometown in America. He was an army mechanic based here in Cu Chi. The story went that they had an M-41 tank like this one on their base, and as sometimes happens in any military bureaucracy, all the paperwork for it had been lost. One of the oddities about the US Army, was that it was an extremely difficult, nearly impossible task to re-register a tank without any paperwork. Re-doing the paperwork was such a difficult, time consuming process, that it would have been much easier for them to just take the tank, put it into a hole, and bury it. And that’s exactly what they did.

They found an out of the way corner of the base, and used earth movers to excavate a deep hole. After removing the engine for spare parts, they pushed the tank right into the giant hole, and buried it. That wasn’t quite the end of it. A couple days later, the tank’s radio antenna popped up out of the loose dirt. This worried Don and his buddies. If their base commander found out that they had buried a tank, they would have been in a great deal of trouble. So Don’s Sargeant told him and another GI to grab a couple shovels, go out to the offending antenna, dig down a couple feet, chop it off, and rebury the hole. And that’s exactly what they did.

It almost seems like I should ask Don exactly where that old tank was buried. After all, it could be dug up and all that steel could be recycled. But if that tank was found, it may be more valuable to the Vietnamese government for propaganda purposes. They just might dig it up, repaint it like new, and stick it up on a monument somewhere with a plaque saying how it was captured in battle. The war may be over, but there is still propaganda. 

It would be great for me to get into the old Dong Du base for a look around at Don's old haunts, but I learn that going inside is out of the question. It’s still a military base today, only now it’s occupied by a few thousand troops of the Vietnamese Army. They’re not about to let an American back in.