FRENCH ARCH IN ASIA

The 'Patuxai', modeled after the Arc de Triomphe

I'm on Lane Xang Avenue, and a towering arch before me rises high above the surrounding city landscape. As I approach, I’m impressed by the architecture. The Arc de Triomphe immediately comes to mind. But I’m not in Paris, I’m still in Vientiane.

This arch, known as the Patuxai, was obviously inspired by the Parisian version. Built after the independence of Laos, the French colonial influence is obvious. Even the street lamps in the surrounding park are French in style.

Constructed in the early 60’s, the arch at one time was originally to be a monument to Laotian war dead. The cement used to construct it was stolen from an American aid project, that was meant to build a runway. The theft was no surprise, given at how corrupt the Royal Laotian Government was back then.

An informational sign on the arch has the following amusing sentence: “From a closer distance, it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete.” That’s a rather harsh observation. It does have a drab grey concrete color, since the arch was never completely finished, and left unpainted. From a closer viewpoint, what is more noticeable is the detailed artwork. Pointed Asian spires reach for the skies from three towers at the top. Buddhist figures appear as though they were carved right out of the walls. The arch may need a coat of paint, but it’s still very impressive.

There are three viewing levels, so I head up the arch's stairwell. Looking down from the highest tower, I can see all the way to the Mekong River. Surveying the surrounding scenery, I notice that no building in all of Vientiane is taller than the arch, and apparently that’s by design. There’s an old local law requiring that all buildings constructed in the capital must be shorter than the Patuxai, which helps Vientiane keep its small town atmosphere. The only exception is the rather odd looking Don Chan Hotel, down by the river. The rest of the view is serene.

View from atop the arch, looking down Lane Xang Avenue

From high above, I look down on Lane Xang Avenue, which runs straight towards the arch. As usual, traffic is light. The boulevard was named after one of the old powerful kingdoms of the north, and as such it became the widest street in all of Vientiane. It’s the only six lane boulevard in all of Laos.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the best view of the city. I can see far off mountains, the Buddhist temples, the Mekong, everything. It’s from this viewpoint that I notice that Vientiane is the greenest capital in Southeast Asia. There are plenty of trees reaching higher than the surrounding buildings. Only the mobile phone towers reach higher. Like in Vietnam, Laos has leapfrogged past land line phones, and opened up their markets to the mobile phone craze. 

Before I descend down the arch, I stop in a souvenir shop. Looking through a stack of framed photos, a striking image stands out. One shows a group of US soldiers holding up an incredibly long snake skin! The caption says: “Queen of Nagas (a mythical snake) seized by American

US soldiers hold up the skin of a 7.8 meter long snake! (Photo: Patuxai Shop)

military on Mekong River, Laos military base on June 27, 1973 with the length of 7.8 meters.” That has to be some kind of a record for snake length.

Besides the other usual gifts of figurines, jewelry, and coins, I notice something else on offer that isn’t sold back home. Disturbingly, they are selling what appear to be tiger claws! Laotian laws prohibit the sale of products from endangered species, but it’s not often enforced.

I ask to see one, and the salesman pulls one from the glass case. It looks and feels real; judging by the size it must have come from an adult. I decline to purchase it, since buying it would only encourage more poaching. Being caught with one at the border might even get me arrested.

I head for the stairs, and soon I’m back on the ground, walking the streets of Vientiane. There’s still a great deal to be seen in this city.

MEKONG RIVER AND THE FAILED PEACE

Late afternoon overlooking the Mekong River

It’s late afternoon, and I’ve taken a seat on a wooden platform, high on the riverbank. The river’s waters are calm, and the slow but steady current flows by silently. The sun drops behind a cloud upriver, as it continues its descent toward distant trees.

A few Laotian couples are also present along the riverside, taking in the romantic view, sitting in pairs atop their parked motorbikes. There are no deep kisses in public here; Laotians are too conservative for that. The young lovers cuddle together, talking quietly in the late afternoon.

Soon the sun peeks out from beneath a grey cloud, and heads for the horizon. Before it does, it casts its warm yellow glow across the serene scene. Sunset on the Mekong.

I have a view of the river that's almost horizon to horizon. As always, the Mekong River is impressive. Yet here river traffic is light, with few boats to be seen. I remember the busy floating market I'd seen down in the Mekong Delta

A longboat heads upstream on the Mekong River

in Vietnam, but here there are only three small boats, each with a lone fisherman aboard. The only others out are four fishermen wading the shallows.

As one of the world’s great rivers, the mighty Mekong seems vastly underused, at least here in Vientiane. When the French colonists took over Laos, their explorers marveled at the size of the Mekong, raving at its potential for commerce. Their surveyors believed they had found a new trading route north into China, where the great river originates. That potential was never realized.

Leaving my river side perch, I walk along Quai Fa Ngum, the city’s river front road. A couple blocks on, I come across an imposing, new red roof building constructed with familiar Asian architecture. In a landscaped planter out front, red flowers are carefully arranged to spell, “MRC". These are the offices of the Mekong River Commission.

Formed by Laos, Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam, the commission was founded in 1995. According to the MRC, they are

Headquarters of Mekong River Commission in Vientiane

working, “for sustainable development”, with a vision for, “an economically prosperous, socially just and environmentally sound Mekong River Basin”. This vision has little resemblance to the current reality in Southeast Asia, especially related to the environment.

With growing populations, these countries that line the Mekong’s river banks need more and more of the great river’s water for agriculture and hydropower. There are 11 proposed dams in the area, an ongoing threat to the environment and wildlife. Given the levels of corruption in Southeast Asia, the future of the Mekong is anybody’s guess. 

World Wildlife Fund reports Irrawaddy Dolphins are at risk of being eliminated from the Mekong River. Less than 80 of these rare animals are left here. The dolphins' immune systems seem to be suffering from river contaminants. I once asked an Australian environmentalist about their chances of survival on the river. “It doesn’t look good,” he said. “The river is just too polluted.”

Decaying ex-offices of International Commission for Supervision and Control (ICSC)

A block past the MRC, the pavement turns to dirt and I find the remnants of another Laotian commission in an abandoned three story building. Back in the day, this was one of the more modern office buildings in town. Now it’s just a crumbling shell, overgrown with weeds. Despite its decrepit present condition, this was once a place of great political importance in Laos.

These were the offices of the International Commission for Supervision and Control. (ICSC) Born out of the 1954 Geneva Agreement that ended the French war in Vietnam, the ICSC was supposed to monitor and verify terms to end the conflict in Laos as well, and keep the country neutral. It was hoped this independent commission would aid with the integration of Pathet Lao rebels into the Royal Laotian Government. 

Since the conflict dragged on for two decades, what was supposed to be a short mission for the ICSC dragged on as well. Like most of the peace attempts in Southeast Asia at the time, there were good intentions, but the ICSC was over politicized, with little means of enforcement. Made up of teams from Canada, India and Poland, their monitors were rarely allowed into rebel areas to verify if the Pathet Lao were following the treaty’s terms. Often, they weren’t. As for dealing with their opposites in Vientiane, the ICSC had to deal with multiple changes in government, due to frequent coups. 

In the end, Laos was unfortunately just a pawn, and it was outside forces that determined the end of the war in Laos. When the Paris Peace Accords ended America’s war in Vietnam in 1973, a cease fire in Laos was signed less than a month later under pressure. After more agreements, communists became part of a coalition government. Soon, Vientiane’s residents woke to the bizarre sight of Pathet Lao troops patrolling the streets jointly with police of the Royal Laotian Government. (RLG)

Pathet Lao Politburo meeting to seize power in 1975 (museum photo)

What should've been a power sharing agreement between the two opposing groups was soon subverted by the Pathet Lao. No longer stuck in the jungle, the communists gradually took over the central government by orchestrating riots and demonstrations. Subverting the government from within, they gradually forced RLG ministers out of their jobs Most fled to exile.

On November 28th of 1975, Prime Minister Souvanna Phouma finally resigned. By then the Pathet Lao had already declared to the populace that Vientiane had been ‘liberated’. The reality was that individual liberties were ending. With their takeover complete and the war over, Laos became the final domino to fall in Southeast Asia.

With the conflict finished the teams of foreign monitors left for home, and the ICSC closed its doors. I look at this hollow derelict, and familiar yellow colonial paint is faded and peeling. Left to the elements and the homeless, even the doors and windows have been looted. Green grass grows on the top balcony. 

Seeing movement near the back, I notice this building isn’t totally empty. Just outside, four construction workers are taking bucket showers in their underwear. Peering up through the windows, I see more signs of life. Laborers are hauling building materials inside. It seems that this old derelict is being reborn, as they prepare to renovate.

Heading back the way I came, I pass the Mekong River Commission on my way home. These ‘Commissions’ didn’t seem to have a very successful record in Laos. The ICSC’s mission failed, and so did the chances for democracy Laos.

I sincerely hope that the Mekong River Commission is far more successful.

THE GOLD TEMPLE

The impressive looking, 'World Precious Sacred Stupa' in Vientiane

I’m not quite believing my eyes.

I’m looking at a grand religious tower, and it appears to be made of gold.

This must be the largest golden structure I’ve ever seen. Like something out of an old movie, it’s a tall, golden Buddhist stupa shining in the sunlight. I never expected to see something like this in a poor country like Laos. This beats other golden icons I’ve seen anywhere, the size is just enormous.

This is Pha That Luang, also known as the, 'World Precious Sacred Stupa'.

Surrounded by a dark stone wall, three golden levels reach up to the center stupa. Approaching, I find the stairs to climb and and around the different levels. The platform around the tower is surrounded by a wall of gigantic, golden lotus flower petals. Continuing up, the great stupa is surrounded by many smaller stupas, forming what almost appears to be a gigantic golden fence.  

Of course the stupa isn’t constructed of gold itself, Laos is far too poor for that. Most of the interior of this grand monument is brick and plaster, covered with gold paint. That doesn’t take away from the stunning view though, the gleaming center stupa reaches 147 feet high, almost as tall as the Statue of Liberty in New York.

Much like Lady Liberty is a symbol of America, the Grand Stupa is the national symbol of Laos. Pha That Luang Temple is for Buddhist worship; it represents the human progression from ignorance to enlightenment. The Supreme Patriarch of Lao Buddhism, the most revered monk in all of Laos, lives in one of the wats (monasteries) of this elaborate complex. 

The first stupa here was probably built around the 11th century. Local legend disagrees, many believe that the original stupa was built way back in the 3rd century, by Buddhists from India. The original relic located underneath the stupa is said to be one of the bones of Buddha himself, making this one of the most revered places in the country.
 

Old king of Laos statue guards the temple

Three golden levels lead to the stupa

In 1991 as communism collapsed worldwide, the Great Stupa replaced the hammer and sickle as the national symbol of Laos. This was very telling, since this national symbol has nothing to do with communism, and everything to do with Buddhism. The government finally returned to their real Laotian roots.

As I step back outside the protective wall, I notice a soldier passing by the entrance with a metal detector. As I watch, he sweeps the detector back and forth nearby. I’m puzzled to see him here. In Laos, anyone with a metal detector is usually looking for unexploded munitions, like the boys I had already seen along the old Ho Chi Minh Trail. But here, at their most revered monument? Perhaps the military still has concerns about possible terrorist attacks. Or maybe it’s a simpler reason; he could have been looking for dropped coins from visitors.

Gold statues in the temple complex

On the walkway leading to the stupa, there are numerous benches where Buddhist pilgrims can rest. I notice these benches are all painted with an advertisement for an airline from Thailand. How ironic to find them here, in a place that was once destroyed by the Thais.

When Thailand (then called Siam) invaded Laos in 1827, their soldiers destroyed this grand icon. The country’s beloved stupa, along with the rest of Vientiane, were left in ruins for decades. This wanton act of destruction hasn’t been forgotten by Laotians, and it’s one of the origins for their ongoing distrust of the Thais.

A somber statue of a Laotian royal, King Setthathirat, sits on a throne nearby. He has a sword laying across his lap, and he’s facing Thailand. It’s as though he’s guarding the stupa from future invaders.

As with other countries in Southeast Asia, over the centuries Laotians were usually dominated by their stronger neighbors. Kingdoms in the region would rise and fall, resulting in frequent border changes, and shifting regions of influence. The Khmer kings, the Vietnamese, the Thais, the Burmese, the Chinese, and the Chams all moved in and out of Laotian territory through the centuries.

Thailand (Siam) retained control of Laos for decades, until the French came onto the scene in 1893. That’s when the French sent two Navy gunboats up a Thai river, and anchored them off of Bangkok, directly threatening their capital. In negotiations that followed, the Thais were pressured to cede control of the land east of the Mekong River to the French. Laos became a French colony for decades to come. It was only in 1953 that the country once again became independent. They still fear domination by their neighbors in Thailand and Vietnam. 

I depart this impressive temple, and head back into Vientiane. 

FADED COLONIAL LIFE OF VIENTIANE

Presidential Palace of Laos in downtown Vientiane

I stand at the gate of the Presidential Palace. A grand, classic French dominion painted grey and white, this is one of the few colonial buildings in Vientiane that is well preserved. Appearing as though it was transported directly from the French countryside, the colonial governor used to reside in this mansion of stone.

What may be the largest Laotian flag in the whole country, flies from a flagpole out front. Curiously, the Laotian flag is not your usual communist flag. Blue and red with a large white circle, it more closely resembles the flag of Thailand.

From what I can see there is little activity inside. In fact, looking around I don’t see a single soul. There’s not even a security guard around. I’d love a tour, but the palace isn’t open to the public. Sadly, the grand edifice is only used for occasional government functions and ceremonies, so I depart down the street to further acquaint myself with Vientiane.

One of the quietest capitals in all of Asia, Vientiane has a sleepy feel to it, as though it is still waking up after a

Buddhist monks pass a deteriorating old French colonial house

decades long nap. With a population of less than a quarter million, it’s far less crowded than Hanoi, or Bangkok to the west.

“I like Laos more than Thailand,” I heard from Tony, a retired English soldier who works on mobile phone towers in Laos. “It’s quieter here. Life is better.” For most of the small expat community that lives here, the slower pace of life here is their preference.

As I walk around Vientiane, a capital void of skyscrapers, it resembles a town, not a big city. There isn’t much garbage lying in the streets either. Like the rest of Southeast Asia, the crime rate here is fairly low, and violence is rare. When there is a murder once in a blue moon, it’s usually connected to drug trafficking.

A pair of monks pass me by in their bright orange robes, a common sight in the downtown. Buddhism in Laos is even stronger here than it is in Vietnam, and there are many Buddhist monasteries in this part of town. A few blocks on, I reach a legacy of the French; old

Dilapidated French colonial house; few are well preserved

mansions with French architecture. Vientiane is actually a French word, their own pronunciation of the Lao name for the city, “Vieng Chan”, which means “city of sandalwood”.

Passing once luxurious homes, the glory years of these deteriorating buildings are long gone. French colonists who inhabited them left in 1953 when Laos regained its independence. These high ceiling mansions were once the envy of Laos, homes to French officials living the quiet life. Vientiane was a  backwater in those days, as Laos was one of the most isolated, least desired outposts in the French empire. For today’s foreign diplomatic corps, not much has changed.

Some of the original French colonial structures I’m passing are now government buildings, and they obviously need of a coat of paint. Although some chateaus have been fairly well preserved, most are not, and look dilapidated. I pass one with an exterior wall so deteriorated, that large sections of plaster have fallen away, exposing bare brick underneath.

Unoccupied riverfront home is overgrown with weeds

When the French left these homes, they were replaced by the Laotian elite, but by the late 1970’s the upper class had gone as well. Members of the ruling elite were either sent to prison, or had fled the country due to the rise of the Pathet Lao. Most houses were taken over by the communists and their families. As the economy took a dive in the late 70’s and 80’s nobody had the money to repair these once opulent homes, so these beautiful old buildings simply fell apart. The destruction of Vientiane’s beautiful old colonial buildings didn’t happen from the war, it was caused by age and a lack of maintenance. Passing more old mansions and chateaus with closed French shutters, I find a group fenced off. These are completely unoccupied, with grass and weeds growing out of control. I wonder if these are in line for renovation, but its more likely that they will be torn down to make way for new construction. It’s sad but true, that much of Vientiane’s rich heritage is falling to the wrecking ball.

Unlike Hanoi or Saigon, Vientiane’s old colonial buildings didn’t face much destruction due to the war years, except for one battle after a 1960 coup. As different factions took sides in the cold war, forces led by an army centrist,Colonel Kong Le, seized power to keep Laos neutral. When soldiers loyal

Old USSR built building is nearly vacant

to the previous government moved to retake Vientiane, fighting left 600 people dead, and some areas of the city were in ruins. That would be the last major battle in Vientiane, until the present day.

As I walk through Vientiane’s neighborhoods, there are few reminders of those decades past. I do see a couple of US military style jeeps driving around town, but they aren’t original. These olive green copies weren’t built in the US, they’re counterfeits!

There are some folks here learning English, but it’s not as widely spoken as in Vietnam. I saw one Laotian woman walking down the street wearing a tee shirt that said, “Just two women away from a threesome.” Obviously she didn’t know what that meant.

Traffic in Vientiane is a welcome change from other capitals of Southeast Asia. It’s light, rarely crowded, even for rush hour. Most Laotians in town travel on motorbikes, or crowd into a bus or truck. Annoying tourist buses are few. Very common are tuk-tuks; open air vehicles that look half motorbike, half golf cart. 

Along with the slow pace of traffic in the city, commerce here is relatively quiet. There are many cafés, restaurants and hotels downtown, but advertising is muted. Vientiane is the economic center of Laos, but big business is not very visible. There is no rising skyline, and few large billboards. The advertising I see most often, is for the most popular drink: Beer Lao.

For a one party communist government, I’m surprised at the small number of government billboards in town. I suppose that when the government returned to capitalism, they decided hard line communist propaganda wasn’t the way to go anymore. Their public presence is low

Old communist flag, hanging near a Buddhist shrine??!!

key, even the police are less visible. Still, everyone knows the communist party are the real people in charge in Laos. 

Passing through Nam Phu, a downtown fountain plaza, I look up at a gloomy, brown and white building that looks like something out of hard times Russia. One of the larger buildings in the downtown, this boxy structure looks totally out of place, mostly abandoned. An Aussie expat told me that this seven story monstrosity was built with aid from the former Soviet Union. 

“It used to have a communist logo sticking out from the roof,” said Robin, a restaurant owner, “but that’s gone now.” Office buildings built during the Soviet era were never really known for their quality, or their aesthetic value.

Away from the government ministries, there are few visible reminders of the lean days of communism, but I spot one as I head towards the river. Walking by a row house, I see a red flag marked with the hammer and sickle hanging over a balcony railing above. Also on the same balcony, is a small Buddhist shrine. I suppose the resident here felt the need to pay homage to both. Such contradictory symbols, but that’s how Vientiane’s residents survive.

BATTLE ZONE REMAINS

How does this guy keep from tipping over?

The Densavan bus station isn’t much by western standards. It's just a dirt lot surrounded by ramshackle restaurants. But this station is my only way out of town. The next rickety bus won't leave for for an hour, so I look for a car to take me deeper into Laos. Finding none, I locate the next best thing: a pickup truck. I agree on a fare with the driver, and his grey haired friend hops into the back to come along for the ride. (I learn more of this mysterious passenger later.) Soon we’re headed west on Highway 9.
 
The greenery scenery is amazing in this part of Laos, with banana and palm trees dotting the landscape. I’d heard this region was rugged, but the topography isn’t very mountainous, its more like rolling hills. Cruising the countryside, we pass five slow moving motorbikes packed with bananas! These banana bikes are so heavily loaded, it seems difficult for them to stay balanced. I’m surprised they don’t blow a tire from all the weight they’re carrying.

After passing an old water filled bomb crater, we slow for road construction. A backhoe is digging into a hill to make a highway drainage ditch. After the earthmover dumps its load, two barefoot boys lurking nearby jump right onto the fresh dirt piles. Each boy carries a primitive metal detector in one hand, and a probe in the other. They sweep the detectors back and forth over the newly disturbed earth, looking for very dangerous buried treasure. 


What they are seeking, is bomb shrapnel from old American air raids. Although this road is now a paved roadway, this stretch of Highway 9 used to be a major transport

Laotian boy searches for bomb shrapnel with a metal detector

route along the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

According to United States Air Force bombing data, there were more than 500,000 bombing missions over Laos during the Vietnam War, and the heaviest concentration of bombing was here in the southeast. That left tons of old bomb shrapnel scattered across the countryside. This region of Laos is so dirt poor, that selling scrap metal from the war became one of the few jobs available here besides farming. Since this is so dangerous, it’s illegal to dig for scrap metal in most parts of Laos, but enforcement is lax. Children like these sometimes find unexploded ordinance as they search for shrapnel, and occasionally the old bombs explode. It’s a very hazardous occupation.

In Laos, scrap metal sells for the equivalent of about US $ 0.12 per pound. A cheap metal detector can be bought for only 100,000 kip (US $11), so some kids get a loan to buy a metal detector, and pay it off with the scrap they find in the first couple of weeks. That is, if they don’t get blown up first.
 
Leaving the diggers we get back up to speed, and I begin seeing local dwellings, along with hill tribe folk wearing dark traditional clothing. Like their breathren

A hill tribe house on stilts

in the Vietnamese highlands, most hill tribe houses are on stilts. Some are little more than shacks, and many poverty stricken villages away from the highway lack electricity. Since Laos is landlocked and mountainous, many primitive Laotian communities remained isolated from the outside world for centuries. With so many ethnic groups and different languages here, the idea of Laos as a country with its present borders didn’t really come about until the French colonists arrived. In some parts of Laos, slavery still existed even into the 20th century. Laos as we know it today is a relatively recent creation.

Like homes in Densavan, rooftops along Highway 9 are corrugated metal, or traditional thatch. Some hill tribe villages still bear evidence from those bombings decades ago. Rooftops can still be seen today, bizarrely decorated with tail fins from old US bombs. Their superstition was that these adornments would protect their homes from aerial attack. Back when the US were bombing the Ho Chi Minh Trail daily, there were few targeting restrictions around here. Technology was not as advanced as they are today, so there were numerous targeting errors. Since North Vietnamese convoys were usually hidden under camouflage, it was sometimes the hill tribe villages out in the open that were targeted. The resulting destruction for the hill tribes was catastrophic.
 

Fire along Highway 9

Continuing down the highway, I see black, billowing smoke ahead. Driving closer, I see a fire burning near the road. Flames shoot 10 feet in the air from a bonfire of burning brush. This is an annual occurrence in southeast Laos, as farmers clear land for agriculture. But this is not without its hazards. As families grow, and new land is cleared for farming, rural farmers occasionally strike buried unexploded bombs with plows or hand tools. When they accidentally strike a live round, the result is injuries or fatalities. This left many hill tribe farmers afraid to clear new fields for agriculture. The presence of buried unexploded ordinance has seriously hindered the post-war recovery of Laos.

We finally reach my destination, the town of Ban Dong. As towns go, it’s not very developed. A large pig wanders down the highway, and a group of goats scatter as my truck passes. Despite the livestock on the loose, this is one of the district's larger towns. Almost everything I see was built after the war’s end. During the bombing years, every building in town was blasted into oblivion. Ban Dong is now reborn as a settlement of single story homes, a mere blip on Highway 9.

My driver pulls into a local café, with a makeshift gas station out front. I chuckle at the primitive gas pump; an old style hand operated pump , much like US gas pumps of the 1920’s. Just across the street, an old vehicle looks even more out of place. Lying just up the hill, is an American made M-41 tank! The rusty old behemoth sits just beyond a fence, near a government building under construction.

Old US made M-41 tank, left in Ban Dong after battle in 1971

The gate isn’t locked, and nobody's around, so my little entourage and I go inside. Approaching the rusty hulk, I carefully climb up on the tank, taking care not to get burned. The tank's steel surface is burning to the touch from sunlight. You could easily cook an egg on the scorching hot metal of this tank. It must have been a very hot, dangerous life for tank crewmen back during the war. Since armored vehicles drew a lot of enemy fire, tank crews had a casualty rate even higher than the infantry.

Looking on the side of the metal monster, I see it wasn’t left here due to mechanical breakdown. This tank took an armor piercing communist round right in the side. One flank of the tank has twisted steel where the treads used to be. This field in the middle of nowhere, was the site of a major battle in Laos back in 1971. The military called this campaign, ‘Operation Lam Son 719’.
 
In 1971 the US military was reducing its ground forces in Vietnam, hoping to make the ARVN (South Vietnam Army) self-sufficient. Trying to maintain pressure on the North Vietnamese, the ARVN crossed from Vietnam into Laos to attack the Ho Chi Minh Trail. ARVN troops and armored columns penetrated deep into Laos, with the US providing air support. The ARVN drove all the way here to Ban Dong, where they quickly built a fire support base. Communist spies may have tipped off the NVA that they were coming, because the plan soon unraveled.

Since the NVA were already here in Laos, they had tanks of their own, plus thousands of ground troops. They attacked the ARVN’s fire support bases, including here in Ban Dong. As happened time and again during the Vietnam War, the ARVN had to be rescued by the US military. They evacuated ARVN troops by air, and bombed the NVA as ARVN units retreated. The surviving ARVN crossed back into Vietnam, where I had crossed into Laos east of here. The invasion failed to route the NVA. From then on, the communists controlled the Ho Chi Minh Trail until the war's end. 

USSR made anti-aircraft gun, with barrels from captured artillery to the right

5,000 ARVN were killed around these hills, and the NVA probably lost more. 200 Americans were dead or missing, plus the US/ARVN side lost many helicopters and armored vehicles. In their hasty retreat, the ARVN left their damaged tanks and jeeps behind in this Band Dong field. Nearly all of them were cut up and sold for scrap by the desperately poor locals after the war. Of all those vehicles left here abandoned, only this gutted tank remains. The hatch covers and tank treads are long gone, along with most of the engine.
 
Hopping off the tank, I approach a pile of metal tubes lying in the field. Drawing closer, I find they aren’t tubes at all, they are the barrels of eight old US made howitzers, all lined up in a row. These were also captured by the NVA when the ARVN troops left their artillery behind.

Nearby an old Soviet made anti-aircraft gun points skyward, never to fire at American aircraft again. An old artillery round is sticking out of the barrel, left by some jokester. At the Russian gun's base, are disarmed US dud bombs. There are

Old US bombs, duds dropped on Laos during the war

literally tons of steel here, 250 lb, 500 lb, and 750 lb bombs lie together, jumbled into a military scrap heap. Green weeds grow between the rusted brown bombs. Yellow butterflies flit about over this now peaceful field.

Leaving this quiet compound, I exit the gate, and head for the the café across the street. I’m joined by the two Laotians who brought me here, and it turns out that the grey haired gent who sat in the flat bed speaks some English. As I drink a soda, I learn his story.

His name is Vanh, and he says he owns a small trading shop. His English is limited, but enthusiastic nonetheless. He practices with me energetically. “Hello! How do you do? Very well, thank you!” Vanh  speaks to me with an intentionally comic energy, and I respond laughing.

In turn, he teaches me some Laotian. “Sabadee!” Vanh says. I’ve already learned that means 'hello'. “Kop Chai!” he says. That means, ‘thank you’. 

As we chat, I'm shocked to learn that

US made weapons in Vientiane museum captured from ARVN troops at battle of Lam Son 719

decades ago, Vanh was also a Pathet Lao soldier! Pathet Lao means, ‘Land of the Lao’, and back during the war years it was the communist insurgent group fighting the Royal Laotian Government, America’s ally at the time. 

Through broken English and sign languge, I gather that back in Vanh’s soldier days, he was based further south in Laos during the war. He wasn’t here in Ban Dong, when the fighting raged in 1971. Since the ARVN and US forces attacked the Ho Chi Minh Trail used by the North Vietnamese Army, the Pathet Lao were happy to let the NVA do the dirty work for them.

Since I already have a driver and I’m not paying Vanh, I’m curious as to why he's tagging along with me today. Since he's an Ex-Pathet Lao, I wonder, was he sent along to spy on me? 

My presence here may have raised some eyebrows. There are few lone foreigners that stop in this remote corner of Laos, and even fewer are American.

We finish our drinks, and climb back into the truck. There isn’t much more to see in this poor rural place, and I leave Ban Dong to continue my journey. There is much more for me to do farther to the north, in the Laotian capital of Vientiane.