My mind goes into high gear as anticipation and excitement collide mid-air while strapped firmly to the light blue cloth of a United economy seat. Head back, tray table upright, seat forward; we’ve heard it all before. The aircraft makes its final descent. There are few moments that get my blood pumping like touching down in an unfamiliar area. The unexpected becomes the expected; you just don’t know what it is.
You know you can count on the chaos. Throngs of motorcycles, plumes of exhaust fumes, honking horns, animals commanding equal road rights, and people; regardless of when you arrive the city beats to its own drum. Manic becomes the new norm.
Saigon is a sprawling city; hot, sticky. It’s the kind of place I knew I was going to love before I even looked around; it had that feel. My reading of “A Quiet American” had helped promote the romance of Saigon and build in my mind a set of expectations; all of which would be surpassed.
My hotel was classic french architecture, albeit rundown, and the man in charge beamed at me as I arrived; his smile enveloping me further in the warmth of the city. My balcony looked out over a boulevard and as my eyes-lids became heavy it was the melody of noise that serenaded me to sleep.
A chaotic blaring sound of silence.
I woke to a city distinctly Vietnamese. The inhabitants of Saigon are cashing in on the tourist trade but not at the expense of their own traditions. Even in a tourist area it was impossible to find an omelette; this breakfast staple had been disregarded. Instead it was Pho Bo; and Pho Bo was everywhere. The local daily kick-start of beef noodle soup.
My first day I was immersed in stories and sights of the war….the “American War”. I went out to an area called the CuChi tunnels. The guide was ex-military and seemed to have retained a fair bit of internal aggression towards his old enemy from the north; and the US. He appeared to know what he was talking about but his credibility took a hit when more and more he sprinkled non-facts throughout his spiel. He was a jovial man with a flair for the inappropriate who loved boobs and let anyone who had any know this frequently.
The tunnels are fascinating; it’s a place where imagination can easily get the best of you.
They are an immense network of connecting underground shafts. These in turn form part of a much larger network that is a serpentine below much of the country. The tunnels were the epicenter of several military campaigns during the war; among the most famous being the Tet Offensive in 1968.
The tunnels were not only used as a place to seek shelter and protection but also served as communication and supply routes, hospitals, food and weapon caches and living quarters for North Vietnamese fighters. The tunnel systems were one of the keys in their resistance to American forces, and helped to counter the growing American military effort.
For the Viet Cong, life in the tunnels must have been a nightmare. Air, food and water were scarce and the tunnels were infested with ants, poisonous centipedes, scorpions, spiders and rodents. Soldiers would spend their days in the tunnels and exit during the night to gather supplies or engage in battle. Sometimes, during periods of heavy bombing they would be forced to remain underground for days at a time. Sickness was rampant among the people living in the tunnels with malaria being the most rampant.
I entered one of the tunnels and immediately felt claustrophobic. The tunnel is only slightly bigger than me at a crawl. There is no possibility of standing. The heat is stifling and there is no natural light.
I descended alone as the thought of a panicked stranger in front of me, becoming frozen with terror, was unnerving. Being trapped in there with no available exit in any direction, crawling in darkness, encased in dirt; I waited till all others had left the area before making my descent.
It is unimaginable to think of men by the thousands crawling through these tunnels, living for weeks among them, suffering dehydration and sickness; dying. My tour of duty was only 50 feet long but it was enough, to think accurately, of how it might have been.
Like a mole my head popped up from the earth; not a soul to be seen.
I had waited to experience the tunnels solo and it now appeared I had written the storyline for the rest of the day. The two-hour bus journey to CuChi would end up being one way as I find myself having been left behind.
Having never hitchhiked in Asia before I wasn’t sure of the protocol. The thumb had often been the symbol of bad manners in other countries so I waved whenever I saw an approaching vehicle.
I got a lot of waves accompanied with smiles in return.
After a while a van did stop and I managed a lift for the two hours back to Saigon. The odd thing was that the guy seemed so distresses at having me in his vehicle I was surprised he stopped in the first place.
If you don’t like the look of me; don’t stop.
Vietnam on initial impressions is not the friendliest place. I think it’s because there doesn’t seem to be many monks here in comparison to the rest of Indochina. Maybe the lack of a religious doctrine overseeing every aspect of daily life is the cause or maybe a generational resentment lingers; whatever the reason Vietnam is certainly no Laos.
Later in the trip, while on board a train, a three-foot tall Vietnamese lady called me a “stupid man” as she thought my backpack was in her berth; it wasn’t my backpack!
Flat Tires and Slow Boats 
Vietnam is certainly a place of great history, pain and sights to see. I’d agree that the North is less than friendly for initial impression but the things they had to endure, I can see. There’s a part of me who wants to re-visit and see the tunnels to see what my godbrothers’ went through.. I can’t even imagine living in those tunnels..
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We can’t wait to visit Vietnam this year. Those tunnels sounds fascinating to see! You can’t imagine how distressing it must have been to be down there.
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I have heard of these tunnels, they were impressive, considering the large area they covered. They were sometimes almost cities under the ground, allowing them to emerge and disappear without a trace.
Thanks for sharing this with us.
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Those tunnels as you say must have been hell to live in everyday but they played their part in overcoming the American aggression. I grew up hearing the horrifying news bulletins everyday from Vietnam. No wonder they dont smile much.
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Some of my friends visited these tunnels 6 months ago. They told me the same frightening story. I am super impressed by how agile and positively stubborn Vietnamese had been during the war.
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Having just spent a lot of time visiting war cemeteries, war grounds and memorials in Belgium, the world that the soldiers and those who lived in the countries during their respective wars is a humbling experience, as I am sure you found whilst exploring all that is the Vietnam War. Nice read.
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Wow just thinking about that tunnel and imagining how small it was, is giving me a little bit of a panic attack right now! Nice story though…I hope to head to VIetnam by end of next year!
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I am looking to head to the Philippines later this year so was good to read your blog post.
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Tim, welcome back – you’ve been missed but I knew you would be off on some adventure. I’ve never heard it called the American War but that makes as much sense as the Americans calling it the Vietnam War. Those tunnels sound horrible and I must admit the way you wrote it up that I was feeling terribly sorry for those Vietnamese soldiers who had to travel/live in them. I wonder if they ever stopped having nightmares. You are one brave soul to have tried them out for yourself.
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Vietnam was one of the places I first ventured to on my travels away from the United Kingdom. Hearing the war called ‘The American War’ rather than the ‘Vietnam War’ was one of the first of many culture shocks, but this really showed me, even now, the reality that there is always more to war and history than you can ever learn at home! Thanks for sharing this!
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Tim — always enjoy the stories of your travels. You are no doubt a risk taker. I was a little surprised that you didn’t find the Vietnamese people that friendly. Several of my friends (and my professional association) have visited Vietnam and came back saying they loved it. Maybe you just hit a bad streak.
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Only the Vietnamese in the north were unfriendly; those south of the DMZ were as nice as could be.
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I’ve missed your posts lately. It’s such a treat to be taken into a brief travel experience to Vietnam via your words 😉
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Thanks Jeri.
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Tim, I’ve read about the tunnels in many books about the Vietnam War (I was a youth at that time) and was always horrified at the thought of the men living in them or clearing them out. I’m not claustrophobic, but I think a venture through those tunnels could turn that trait on in me. You were very brave to experience that. I look forward to reading more about your journey.
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I’ve read about the tunnels before and several men I’m close to served in “the American War” so I’ve heard stories and even all these years later there’s no love loss for either the country or the people. So it’s probably not surprising that Vietnam is one of the last places on Earth I’d ever want to visit, but it’s still fascinating to learn about it from an open minded experienced traveler. Thanks, Tim!
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I truly enjoy your creative and passionate writing, Tim. You had me hanging on… I’ve never been to Viet Nam. I find your piece interesting, with information that I will remember.
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Great post. I grew up in Vietnam and though Vietnamese people do love westerners, we all resented what happened to South Vietnam during the collapse. You’ll find that as you go deeper into the heartland, there are people so poor they don’t have the time of day for tourists or foreigners.
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I didn’t know about these tunnels and although they sound interesting, I suspect claustrophobia would get the better of me and I couldn’t go in. How frustrating to come up and find the bus had left without you!
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The tunnels just sound like a nightmare. Surely that experience would be something that you would not soon forget. It is one horror in what was a war of horrors for many.
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I can’t even imagine those tunnels during a time of war Ken; it’s one of those places that a vivid imagination can do your head in.
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I am not prone to claustrophobia but the thought of crawling through those tunnels, even a short distance, fills me with dread. Your a brave one Tim.
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I always enjoy reading about your travels Tim. You write with such sincerity and each of your words have a great level of impact. I do not like being in narrow spaces – that tunnel would have freaked me out.
You are missed over at the Bloggers Group – thank goodness I am following your blogs!
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Thanks Phoenicia. I have been so busy lately that I wasn’t able to commit to BHB in a meaningful way; will be back soon though.
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I don’t know that I could ever tour those tunnels…sounds positively frightening. There must be a lot of ghosts that walk through there:) I applaud your courage…
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One of those things I am pretty sure I don’t need to do again.
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