Veterans, Sands and Stone

We had to leave our hotel in Hue early in the morning. We had a long drive south to our next destination in Hoi An. That morning, anticipating a long time in the car, Chrissy and I walked through the park and across the bridge to the north bank of the Perfume River. Even though we were only in Hue for a day, it felt like a very comfortable city. Ladies had gathered in the park doing their morning exercise and men sat in front of not yet open stores drinking their coffees. I asked Binh the day before if Hue had any international schools, unfortunately he said that they didn’t. If I wanted to work in Viet Nam, I would have to work in Ho Chi Minh City or Hanoi.

Just down the block from our hotel was a bar that looked to be a hot spot that we had missed, the DMZ. From the graffiti on its walls, it looked like it has been frequented by westerners from Australia, Europe and the states.

The Hotel was eager to be shuck of us. I don’t know exactly why, we had been quiet the night before, but within a half an hour of Binh coming to pick us up the porter began knocking on our door asking if we were ready to leave. Every time we said no, he would say, “Ok, 5 minutes,” and leave. Finally, we were ready and we found the porter standing outside our door with a luggage rack.

Binh was in the lobby waiting for us. The porter took our luggage out to the car and he and our driver loaded it. We checked out and made it down to the car. The porter seemed excited, another older American ran up the steps of our hotel and our porter called out to him. As I handed him a tip for carrying our bags, the porter already began shouting to two more Americans in the restaurant across the street. He took my tip, but he was more interested in the Americans. He quickly explained to me, “They are veterans of the war.” With that he ran across the street to speak with them.

It was nice to see, after visiting the Citadel and the Martin car at the pagoda, that people in Viet Nam were genuinely interested and friendly toward Americans. In Saigon, everyone we met treated us very well. There didn’t seem any antipathy toward us at all. We wondered several times if that would be the same reaction that we would receive as we made our way north.

The road out of Hue quickly gave way to countryside. Soon the road was lined with rice paddies, mountains and lagoons. Farmers worked their fields with water buffalo, fish farmers tended to the pens in the lagoons and people had produce and other products for sale along the road. The towns became farther apart.

There are three passes between Hue and Da Nang. On the Palouse you wouldn’t notice them. Driving down the breaks to the Snake River is twice as high as any of the passes we crossed. I watched the terrain closely. In the heat I was reminded of a veteran I worked construction with in Walla Walla in 1987. He was a foot soldier and spent his time in the hills and mountains of Viet Nam. I couldn’t imagine trying to climb up and over the hills. While they weren’t tall, they were covered with thick growth. In the heat with all of the gear that the soldiers carried in battle, I am sure that it was tortuous work.

We stopped on our first pass and took a picture of the little village beyond the rice paddies with the Catholic Church below. Even though Viet Nam is communist, it still has freedom of religion. Buddhists hold a special place in the culture, but a strong minority is Catholic. Viet Nam also houses another homegrown religion, Cao Dai. It is a blend of Hinduism, Buddhism and Christianity. One of the saints in Cao Dai is Victor Hugo.

Before we descended from our second pass, we stopped to take pictures.
Below us a lagoon and a spit of land stretched out. There was a wide spot in the road and several poorer people had set up a quick market to sell things to tourists as they stopped. I was the only one to get out of the car. As I tried to line up the picture an old man grabbed my arm and began talking.

“Are you American?” I tried to ignore him. I didn’t want to buy anything that he sold. “You are! I am a veteran. I served with the,” I didn’t catch what Army he served with, but I think he said 25th infantry. That would have been the army known as the tunnel rats. Their base was very close to Cu Chi. I looked at him. He was small. His teeth were very crooked and dirty. He was very poor, but he spoke English very well. He had very little accent and spoke very rapidly. He was giving me real information like his life depended on it. He continued, “I was a houseboy in California and in New York,” he gave me the name of the people he worked for, again he spoke rapidly and I didn’t catch the names of the men we worked for. “Please help me out.” I had heard that line many times before. I looked at him again. His eyes had seen a lot more than mine ever have. They were bloodshot and his left eye clouded by a growing cataract. “Help me out and buy this map and these post cards from me.”

I bought a real nice map on the Mekong Delta, postcards too. I didn’t even look at his map or postcards, “How much?” I asked. Again, I forget how much he said. I know it was cheap. I didn’t want to insult him by overpaying. I paid him and took the map and postcards. I wish I could have stayed and listened to his stories.

On our last pass brought us to some pillboxes where American troops tried to control access between the valleys. We then dropped down 500 feet into the city of Da Nang. Chrissy’s uncle, Craig was stationed in Da Nang. Our only stops in Da Nang were a museum for the Cham People, for lunch and then further south at the American haven during the war, China Beach. China Beach, if we had beaches like this back in the United States, I would love going to the beach. The Vietnamese, like the Japanese consider white skin to be very beautiful. So they avoid the sun as much as possible. During the war this beach was only for American service personnel. Just to the west of the beach is the former airfield in Da Nang. Many of the bombing raids were flown from this field.

A couple of miles to the south of this American stronghold are the Marble Mountains. There are five mountains named after the five elements in eastern culture: Earth, Fire, Water, Metal, and Wood. The mountains aren’t very tall. There height wouldn’t be any taller than Kamiak Butte as it rises above the Palouse. The unique qualities they have rests in their history, their caves and the marble they contain.

As we approached this area, the markets on the sides of the road gradually shifted to marble statuary. We stopped in one of the shops. The stone workers weren’t at work that day, it was a national holiday, but Chrissy and I had a chance to shop. Maybe we were accustomed to prices in Japan, but the prices for many of the statues were a fraction of the price that we had seen in Japan. Furthermore, the prices included shipping. In Japan, shipping similar items would cost just a little less than what we paid for two 70 cm Kirins or Unicorns, in Viet Nam. They will guard the loyalty of our house as the will sit on each side of our entry. Nam, the boy, will sit on the right and Nu, the girl, will have the place of importance on the left.

It is regrettable that as we travel the things that I want to do, the things that matter the most are often lost to a schedule. I would have loved to talk with the veterans in Hue, even if were just a couple of quick questions. I would have loved to talk with the Vietnamese veteran on the pass. I feel bad that I didn’t have the time to listen to their stories. Too often I am to busy looking at the sands and stones where their stories took place to hear the stories of the people.