Dispatches

Let's be honest. These days who really gives a rat's ass about the Vietnam War?  Well...me.

I can't remember if I was interested in it when I was growing up, but I very much doubt it. All that changed when I read Michael Herr's "Dispatches",  one of the best non-fiction books of all time and definitely in my personal Top Three, which is saying something. I was hooked. I became a Vietnam war junkie, reading every book about it I could get my hands on (Tim O'Brien's comes to mind, in case you're interested) and watching every movie that came out - and there were plenty.

Then one day, just by chance, I discovered a colleague, who had grown up in Texas, had actually served there. The temptation to grill him incessantly was overwhelming, but his reticence to relive the experience for my vicarious gratification was certainly understandable, if frustrating.

Which is all to say that, to a certain extent, this trip is a melding of these two seemingly unrelated incidents. Oooooh, serendipity! When my friend (let's call him Charles, an obvious pseudonym) and I got together for lunch just before my trip, I begged him mercilessly and finally got him to divulge where he'd been stationed with the promise that I'd actually go there, do some reconnaisance and return with photos - my mission, as it were.

Here's his photo, taken in Vietnam, which I've only included because he's literally unrecognizable. 21 years old and in command of a platoon of around 18 guys, most of whom are 16!!!!!!! Think about it for a minute and imagine yourself in the same position at the same age. It's beyond comprehension.

So...today was The Big Day and my excitement was beyond description - in a strange, morbid kind of way that's hard to explain.

Before we get to that, however, a short diversion. You know how I've been bitching and moaning about back roads and how difficult and stressful they can be (for an old man being the unspoken part)? Today turned out to be one of those days that make it all worthwhile. Look what I found:

The ladies, who acted as though they had NEVER laid eyes on either a Caucasian or a camera, and I spent a delightful half hour together. I take the photo, they take the phone and pass it around to everyone, I take another photo, etc., etc., etc. A meeting of the minds. And just in case you were wondering, the puppies were for sale (I came THIS close to taking one - well, actually all of them) and those things in the bucket are eels and they're most definitely alive. So there you go. 

But just so you don't think I'm making the other shit up, here's the "road" Google Maps deposited me on shortly thereafter.

I had to ride on this for half an hour, all alone and this was the BEST part. So there you go.

And now back to the story...maybe an hour later, I reached the two tiny - and I do mean tiny - hamlets of Duc Pho and Mo Duc. They're on opposite sides of Hwy 1, which of course wasn't there back in the day, and maybe 10 km apart. I had to twist and turn down so many back roads and cow paths that I completely lost track of where I was. I cannot even imagine walking from place to place here since it's just endless rice paddies, intersected by irrigation canals, rivers and small clumps of forest.

Once again, can you see yourself trying to get around ON FOOT, knowing there could be people anywhere along the way looking to kill you? It was what I can only describe as surreal to be standing in this bucolic rural setting and trying to picture it as a war zone. But it was.

I also took some photos of the town itself, even though I realized none of the buildings would have been there 50 years ago. Here's what it looks like now:

Hard to wrap your head around it, isn't it?

Eventually I realized no grizzled veteran was going to amble along and shoot the shit with me about the war (not that it didn't cross my mind, which only goes to show you how deluded I was by then), so I continued north to My Khe beach, where I planned to visit the Son My Memorial (My Lai Massacre to us). 
The Doubleheader.

Finding the goddam thing was another proposition entirely. I tried FOUR FUCKING TIMES, using the poor girl at the reception desk's broken English and hand-drawn pictures for directions. Finally, we were both so exasperated ("1 km aftah loundabout!". "No! Not 1 km!" "1 km!"  "Not there!" "Yes, so there!") that she got her 2 girlfriends to escort the noodlehead right to the gates. Turns out I kept turning around about 200 m short of the place. Battle fatigue.

This proved to be another VERY surreal experience. Basically, they've reconstructed the village (and added a statue and museum), so for all intents and purposes you're walking around where the actual event took place.
"Yep, shot 'em right here."
"Yeah, burned this place right to the ground."

Super creepy seems like a juvenile way to describe the feeling you get strolling around, but it's honestly the most accurate.

Plaque with names of victims and diorama - just in case you didn't get the gist of the thing from the thousand photos and weapons displayed.

Reconstructed pathway, with footprints of villagers, bootprints of soldiers and dragmarks - a nice touch.

Actual burnt villagers' houses. Note air-raid shelter in background.

Reconstructed hut. I'm assuming this is what the houses in Duc Pho & Mo Duc looked like, but I'll have to ask Charles.

Mass grave - another unnerving touch.

Well, that's all folks. Was it what I expected? As always, yes and no. It really was an amazing experience to walk in the exact places where someone I actually know walked, even if it was under very different circhmstances. But the fact that it looks and feels completely different now - as though the war hadn't actually happened - also reminded me that, unless you were there, you haven't got a hope in hell of understanding what it was like.
Thank God.

Next episode: Hoi An? Oi Vey!