-^-for posterity-^-

another day that could fill a book. maybe a couple.

it all started out early. i woke up at 6:00 very tired and wished that i could have kept sleeping until maybe 10:00. walked to the supermarket and met ms. ha. she was a little late and i thought that i still might be able to crawl back in bed. we took a local bus to the main bus station. we were going to the cu chi tunnels.

ms. ha asked me to go with her because she hadn’t seen the tunnels yet and wanted to. i had been wanting to see them too. she said that if we did go, would i mind taking a local bus instead of the tourist bus? evidently we took the vietnamese tourist bus to go to vung tau and i didn’t know. i said sure. my face was excited but inside i was concerned. rightfully so.

this bus cost 1000 dong for a one and a half hour trip. that’s a hearty .07 cents. the tourist bus would have cost about 50,000 dong. the scent of state subsidies was in the air. we boarded and there were no passengers. we sat in the back where i could stretch my legs out and avoid the seat in front of me. the bus was very heavy and looked like a throwback to the ussr. the engine screamed and the shocks didn’t absorb. i think a belt was loose.

the bus slowly filled until there were people standing in the aisle. every stop someone would enter and the attendant would quickly dash out and haul a bicycle onto the roof. he would crawl down and back inside while the bus was moving through traffic. the man next to me was very young and had a small child. maybe three years old. the child looked green and that is not a figure of speech. he sat lifelessly next to me with his one hand inadvertently patting my leg as we bounced along. his father grabbed a vomit bag from the attendant (they had them handy) and held it open in front of his son’s face. the son stared at it for a good 10 minutes without puking. just the thought of him being sick almost put me over the edge.

we arrived just south of cu chi and were swarmed by local taxi drivers. ms. ha was trying to organize things but she’s as indecisive as a fawn. we finally got something organized. two moto drivers decided that they would take us the half hour trip, wait for us there, and drive us back. they drove too quickly. like they didn’t care if they died.

the cu chi tunnel parking lot was a small field and a long road stretched off into the jungle. my mind quickly shifted to the task at hand: i was to relive the war. i looked through the jungle growth. it was thick and i imagined you couldn’t see someone if they were only 10 feet in. the sky was was blue as death and the ground bleed red clay. it was a long walk and no one else was really around. then the unthinkable happened.

was i seeing things? i mean, i heard things. someone yelling into a bullhorn. people screaming. was i really seeing what i thought?

there were ten men dressed like guerilla soldiers running through the jungle. my heart stopped and i paused. they wore dark green helmets that spread out as they lowered. their backs were covered with jungle leaves. they held guns and ran low to the ground. i was sure that i was hallucinating.

we rounded the corner and there were about ten busses. they were parked half on one side of the road, half on the other all facing one another. the screaming i heard was that of children. they were all dressed in large green hats. the brims of the hats were round and wide. they all carried small paper vietnamese flags and waved them high above their heads. i was the only white face.

normally i have some idea about when i’m going to feel uncomfortable. i can prepare myself. now, the road led directly through the screaming children and right behind the ten or so soldiers that had just crossed in front of us.

the absurd happens. there is a tank that comes out of the woods right behind us. it’s made of wood and painted to look real. it is covered in leaves and there are many soldiers crouched around it. it is carrying speakers and gunfire can be heard. me and ms. ha are following this small band of ten soldiers and leading a tank. we are right in the middle of the parade. my white face in a sea of vietnamese. in a sea of vietnamese remembering their victory over my country. i was uncomfortable.

a man behind me walked in front of the tank. he had a uniform on with many stars and pins and what not. he spoke into a bullhorn. every once in a while the crowd would burst out into applause. i clapped too. it was a futile effort to assimilate myself. maybe if they all thought i understood his patriotic mumbo-jumbo they would leave me alone.

the entourage left us at the gate and proceeded through the jungle. i stood there stunned. behind me there were hundreds of children all dressed with green hat and flag. to my left there was a fake platoon of vietnamese soldiers and a tank. i hadn’t even seen the tunnels and was ready to go home.

we did finally make it to the tunnels. foreigners have to pay 65,000 dong while vietnamese pay only 6,000 dong. guess they figure that if you destroy their country you should pay a bit more to see the tourist attractions.

the tour was fascinating. for those that aren’t familiar with the cu chi tunnels, they are a series of tunnels that stretch for over 250 kilometers just north west of ho chi minh city. they were a strong hold of resistance during the vietnam war. they were all dug by hand in the clay soil. the tour guide said that, “the land around cu chi is good for rice. the land of cu chi is higher and is good for tunnels.” there are three levels of tunnels and some stretch well into the ground. there were hospitals underground and even tunnels that had entrances underneath the river.

we were shown a video. i was in a group of a couple koreans, some japanese and a few people from india. i never heard the phrase, “american-killer” so many times in my life. they kept saying it over and over. “these traps were american-killers. this person was distinguished as an american-killer. this girl killed 15 americans and was given high honors as an american-killer. these bamboo traps were once used to hunt animals. now they hunted americans. they were american-killers.” honest. made my stomach turn. i mean, my stomach would have turned too if someone was saying, “the napalm was a wonderful vietnamese-killer. agent orange has been a wonderful vietnamese-killer because it has allowed for deformities long after the war ended.”

we were shown the tunnels. we were first asked to find the entrance which no one could do. it was right under our feet and well hidden in a pile of dirt and leaves. the entrance was small and my shoulders wouldn’t have fit through. our guide showed us another section that had been remade for fat tourists. we crawled down into the tunnel and scurried through. it was only 30 feet long but scary. you had to run completely crouched over and my head constantly hit the ceiling. my shoulders also constantly rubbed the walls.

we went into another series of tunnels. they were all short and designed to show us how different stages of their operation worked. there were hospitals, store rooms, meeting rooms and a mess hall. at the end of the tour the guide asked if any of us wanted to go on a long tunnel walk. all the way to the river. i guess he didn’t think anyone would take him up on it because we were all breathing heavily. i decided i would like to go.

we crawled into the tunnel, me behind him. he would point out bamboo traps along the way. he scurried through the tunnels like he was born there. without the light from his flashlight i was alone in the darkness, trapped under a thick layer of clay. i felt along the walls to find my way. they were rough and the ground was smooth. the tunnel twisted and turned many times. we had already lowered ourselves into the second tier of the tunnel system. we were about 20 feet under the ground. the air was thick and felt like it had been through fifteen people’s lungs before it found mine. i was covered in dirt. finally i found the exit and made it back to the tour group. there aren’t too many times in my life i’ll be able to crawl through the cu chi tunnels.

at the end of the tour someone asked our guide what he did during the war. he said he was a volunteer and served in the tunnels here. he was born in 1948. the same year both of my parents were born. he showed us his wound. a gunshot had taken off a large part of his left shoulder and now he had a gaping scar there. my parents were his age. makes you wonder.

we left and headed off to the buddhist temple. it is sunday. there we found the american war memorial. this sobering memorial stands in a large room maybe 100 feet across and 40 feet high. the walls are covered in black granite. the names of those that died are permanently etched. the granite stretches up to the ceiling and around the room on three of the four sides. the names are small. much smaller than the vietnam memorial in washington dc. there were many more names. there were so many more names.

i stood in the middle of the room and looked around. the granite walls looked as if they wanted to fall and crush me. they loomed over me. the weight of all of those names seemed to be enough to bring the walls down. why should i carry so much guilt for something i had nothing to do with?

we made it back on the bus. it reminded me of the tunnels. dark, hot, thick air, no space to move. you have to imagine you’re somewhere else to stay sane.