RAY'S PILGRIMAGE
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Palace (2)
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Palace (3)
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MAINGATE
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MAINGATE2
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THE 8th from highway 1
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THE 8th from highway 1
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Ray in Hue
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Welcome to Phu Bai
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New barracks
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EM Club
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Bunker
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Aerial View 1
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I was feeling a fair amount of anxiety about my pilgrimage to Vietnam. I was not sure how I would feel being there, and had the bizarre paranoia about getting killed in a plane or car crash. How ironic it would be to live through the war but not as a tourist. Obviously, that was all senseless worry.

I still have a hard time calling it Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC). It was interesting to see that the Saigon airport is Tan Son Nhat. The protective covers for the fighter planes are still there. It certainly is not a very modern airport.

The entry started weird since I was standing in line at Immigration, when someone called out, "Ray!" It was a guy I know from Hong Kong, an American, Dean. He was there on business and had been there before. We were not staying at the same hotel, but he suggested that I come his hotel later as there was a group getting together and they had one of the better bars in Saigon, called of all things, Saigon-Saigon, on the roof of the Caravelle Hotel. I stayed at the Omni since I knew the General Manager and got a great rate. But it is close to the airport and the Caravelle is in the central section close to things to see. It was a good bar, good Filipino band. He then introduced me to a very active place a couple blocks away called Apocalypse Now. If you get there, it is worth a stop.

My one full day I had planned to hire a car and driver to maximize the time and make the rounds to include the Cu Chi tunnels. A tour guide from New Zealand that I met the night before suggested against it. It is 1-1/2 hours outside of Saigon and more like a museum with the tunnels widened a lot to make room for over weight tourists. Anyway, the arrangements with the car got screwed up and I decided to go it freelance. I took a taxi to the Reunification Palace, the former Presidential Palace.

I was on a tour with an English-speaking couple from Brussels. Too young to have served but heard about the war growing up. We went into the basement and saw familiar looking communication gear and maps of the Ho Chi Minh trail. I pointed out some things to them and our 24-year-old tour guide, Van. They were surprised to have a veteran with them. They said it was like having two tour guides. There is still a Huey on the roof and two freaky circles where a Vietnamese pilot dropped two bombs in the closing days dead into the roof, but they were BOTH DUDS!

I walked from there to the site of the U.S. Embassy. I was hounded by a guy on a motor bike who wanted to take me around. I kept blowing him off wanting to walk, but, as we know, the Vietnamese are persistent. I finally succumbed to it and agreed for a few bucks to let him show me around. We headed for the river since it was close to lunch and the museums were closed. It started to rain so we pulled over under some trees and he told me to stand in this kiosk where a soldier watched over traffic. It was the soldier, a young couple, a mother and child and myself. As we all stood there, I looked up and hanging above me was an AK47! I asked the soldier to hold it for a photo, but no deal! It stopped raining and we headed off.

First I hit a market and was hit upon by beggars of all sorts plus shopkeepers of all sorts of cheap T-shirts and knock off clothing. I have been living in Asia for nearly eight years now so that was no big surprise. I made that a stop short. After a bite to eat, it was off to the War Museum.

This was a difficult stop. The area has just about every piece of war machinery we used there from F5A's to artillery. Inside the buildings were displays of small arms, historical photos and worst of all, war atrocities. Of course, they focused on what we did. Photos of My Lai, and a photo that is ingrained in my mind now. A U.S. soldier, tall and thin, with a grin on his face with a VC soldier by the scruff of the neck, but all that was there was a head and shoulders, the rest having been blown away by a grenade. I know that all sides in all wars, bad things are done, but this one hit me. I felt like I needed to apologize. To whom, I do not know. And for what? That we came? That we left? That we failed? Anyway, I did not apologize to anyone. I know that I did not have the real tough experiences that a lot of guys did, but somehow having been there and having contributed to it makes for a certain feeling of responsibility.

There are shops at the museum that sells all kinds of stuff. I bought some MPC. There were also they old Zippo lighters from almost anywhere you can imagine and dog tags. The dog tags bothered me. I wondered. Are they from guys still listed as MIA's, or are they dead, or were they just lost. My friend, Dean, later that night told me they might just be fakes for sale, but some of the names I saw were too much to copy. I have to think that someone should go and copy the names and check them out. I regret now not buying at least one and doing a check myself.

The rest of Saigon was sightseeing, but the most of what there was to see was war related. Somewhere I have lost my Zippo lighter that had my name, Phu Bai 68-69 and a map on it. I told the driver that I wanted to find one that at least had Phu Bai, 68-69 on it. I did not see one at the War Museum. This is where this guy came in useful. He took me someplace I would never find on my own. It was a local market and well back into it was place that had old war stuff. I found one old scrungy one the fit the bill, but it is not mine, you know what I mean. I also picked up a MACV patch, a chute from a flare, a photo of woman VC with an RPG and the guy through in a VC medal. I refused to buy a VC flag.

At the end of the whole day, my motorbike driver told me that his father was killed in the war, by a U.S. bomb. The cynical part of me wonders if that is not said to run up the guilt factor for a larger tip.

This is what the trip was all about. Going back. As it turns out, the Hue airport is the old Phu Bai airport! I arranged a window seat left side hoping to get a view. I did see China Beach in Danang and the pass between Danang and the north, but there was nothing else to see in the approach but rice fields, other flat land and the beach. The airport did look oddly familiar, but so many years have gone by and almost nothing looked alike. However, as soon as we came out of the airport onto Route 1, there it was! The old concrete bunkers left from the French that were part of the 8th RRFS. The road to the main gate going over railroad tracks and all. It is still a military post. There are signs about restricted area and no photos, but my driver said it was OK from inside the car.

My driver, Txia Van Khoa, only about 25 years old, was amazed that I had actually served on that post. He was going to be my driver for the next day and spoke decent English. He offered to find old Vietnamese friends if I knew any. I did not really know anyone, just the faces from the clubs and the mama-sans. I shot some photos from the car and as we drove north on Route 1, so much was familiar. The rice paddies that we used to pass by had not changed at all. There is a lot more along the roads now in terms of small businesses. You can still see old deuce and a half's running about, repainted and looking pretty good!

We got into Hue but I had only been into it once or twice in those days, so I could not speak to how it compares. I stayed at the Century Riverside Hotel, a 3 star place and the best they had to offer. It is 6 years old, but feels like 40. It sits right on the Perfume River and with a riverview room, it was a nice view. It was suggested that I hit a bar called the DMZ Bar. As it turns out, it is directly across the street from the hotel. It is a hole in the wall. A pool table, 4-5 stools at the bar and little area outside with a few tables. I did not get a chance to read all the business cards on the wall, but mine is now part of the collection. I had a couple beers there, but there is not much nightlife in Hue. It is pretty poor and only the tourists have any money. The locals are more than willing to help you part with it. I did take a ride in a sit-low (a pedi-cab) to see some of the sights, of which there are few.

My big tour started at 8AM. My driver took me straight to Phu Bai. He told me that he asked his brother-in-law, who is in the military, if I could get on the base. He said that a lot of paper work would be required and would have had to be done well in advance. But I figured, what the heck, we can pull up and ask. All they could say would be, "No". However, if they did say no, they might be watching closely even if I took photos from the car, so we drove up, took some shots from afar, as we went by, and went past as well. We did a U-turn and went by some soldiers. I leaned out the window to take a shot and one of them took some offense, the others waved. We pulled up just past them at the entrance to another base maybe 200 yards south of the entrance to 8th and on the other side of the road. There are absolutely no signs of anything of the old base camp, nor our antennae. The driver went up to ask at that post about getting onto the 8th. I got out of the car and we had a chat with the soldiers, now about 8 of them. Using the driver as an interpreter, I told them that I had been there, and they asked some pointed questions about if I "liked" coming to fight in Vietnam. If I volunteered. Did I kill anyone? One of them said he had been around in those days. They were all fairly inquisitive and friendly except the one guy who did not like the photo op. I was told to leave the camera down. We talked for about 15 minutes, exchanged (as best we could) philosophies of war. Started by old men and fought by young men and how soldiers actually have respect for their opponents and sometimes meet later as they did after the World Wars. They seemed to be able to relate to that. One of them came out after a bit and said that since the old 8th was now basically residential; it should be all right to go. But they said to be careful because there were still a lot of what they called "frog bombs". I think they meant land mines from they way they described it. I wondered if they got their names since I think the French left them.

We drove up to the gate and the driver went up to talk to the guards. The driver passed out a lot of cigarettes in the whole exercise. He was a smoothie, if you are going some day, keep his name. While he was doing that, I looked at the guard shack where the mama-sans used to get checked in and out. God, that had not changed a bit. The guards said it was OK, but we had to check in at the main office. I am not sure who we talked to, but we drove straight back, past where those little shops on the left were (that is where I bought my lighter, which is lost, another story). The building he was in had an open center with offices left and right. I think it is right across from where the big compound was that we worked in, there is certainly no sign of it. There is just a big field where some of the soldiers were playing soccer. We must have waked this guy, as all he had on was pants. I explained where I lived and that I stayed a short while in a building that was half day room, and a few bunks. He told us that where we lived was now separated as a somewhat separate post, but still no photos.

We went past the gate and down the road that used to go by the mess hall. We went by where the minefield had been between the rows of barbed wire fenced. It was clear that they had been working on clearing them out since they were dug up. Where A row used to be is now a building about two stories high of cinder block that is housing. We pulled up where some people were sitting. Mostly soldiers but a few women and lots of kids. I could not believe I was really there! Standing on the same ground, right on the road across from the EM club down which I had staggered many a night! From their reaction, I must have been the first American ever to step foot on the base.

These people were very gracious and inquisitive. I told them, as best as I could remember, what was where and what it was and tried desperately to describe our trailers. The pulled up a stool for me and served tea. One young girl in particular of about 12 or 13 could not stop staring. She had a flower in her hand and seemed like she wanted to give it to me but lacked the nerve. We talked for about 20 minutes or so, I was not really keeping time. I told them that I would get copies of what photos I might have around of what it looked like 30 years ago and mail them to Khoa, he could bring them by for them. They pointed out their well that they said the U.S. had built. I think it is by where the mess hall used to be. Finally, one guy said it would be OK to take a photo, so I did the EM Club first (that one is for you, Danny). Then my driver, all of the children and myself went into the next building that is a theater for them. I looked out the back towards the other trailers but there is no sign of them, nor the concrete walls that used to separate them. Just over growth. I could see more of the bunkers. My driver told me that the girl wanted to take me to show me where she lives, but just about then, a guy in civvies wearing a soccer jersey (yellow #17) and an attitude, came in and summoned my driver, but left a fully uniformed trooper to watch over me. Shortly, Khoa came back and said, "Our visit is over, we must leave NOW." I wanted to see so much more, talk to them, and take photos, but I could see that the big boss decided that this was not going to continue. I barely had time to make proper good-byes and thank them. I tried to sneak up my camera, but Khoa counseled me against it. It was so good to be there, yet so strange. It was so familiar yet dreamlike. I thought that I would have been more nervous being all alone and in a situation that did not have 100% approval, but it was comfortable, none of the guilt that I had felt in the museum in Saigon.

A train was coming as we pulled out and I took a shot of that, what a difference in the trains! It was hard to pull away, but we needed to.

As we went down the road, I was trying to find the road that used to go past the ammo dump and up to Hill 180 (the now call it Circle Top Hill, as there is a turn around up there), and toward Camp Eagle. Just from sheer proximity, I am sure I found it, but you would not believe it, so many trees! They appear to be a fast growing type, kind of an elm, and were 20-30 feet tall. We only went down as far as where the road used to go off to the right in front of the ammo dump. I remembered how barren it used to be, now it is so over grown. Khoa offered to get a 4WD and go up the hill, but I did not want to push that since we had gone past another no admittance sign once we turned off Route 1.

As we headed back toward Hue up Route 1, I tried to determine where the road was that went by Camp Eagle, but could not. There were some side roads, but Khoa was not willing to take the sedan down them, as they were pretty rough. The rest of day we spent doing the temples about which I will not bore you. But it was funny, before we hit the camp, Khoa was pretty chatty, afterwards, he was pretty quiet. He began to open up and he said that he was upset about being told to leave the base. I was not sure if he was worried that he got into trouble, or as he said later, he was PO'd that he was treated with disrespect. In any case, it made for some paranoia as to whether they might come by and confiscate my film. I had tried to phone my wife a few times and the line kept dropping and clicking noise. Paranoia? I also tried to call Roger Allman, one of my roomies, but as fate may have it he was out and I could not talk to him.

Other than that, I shot some pool at the DMZ that night with Zhao, a gal from Danang, a French guy who spoke no English, an another Vietnamese guy. It was a good wrap up.

As a last ditch idea, I got to the airport a little early to get a good seat. I got a left side window in hopes that I might get an air shot of the post. I got a couple and I think they are pretty good, one in particular.

I certainly felt kind of odd going into North Vietnam. The airport, like all of the others, is fairly Spartan. Since I was only staying one night, I stayed at the best hotel in town, the Sofitel Metripole. Got a good rate on the Internet, $171 a night! I said OK to the car pick up but was hit with a shocker when I got to the hotel and was handed a ticket to sign for $49 for the ride. OK, it was a Mercedes and a 40-minute ride, but I would not have agreed to that if I knew up front. You can get a taxi for $20.

That brings me to a point, you would swear that the official currency in Vietnam is the U.S. Dollar. Everything, and I mean, EVERYTHING, is quoted to you in dollars. And beyond that, when you charge your room or anything on a credit card, it is in dollars. A lot of hotels in Asia quote rates in dollars, but when it comes time to check out, it is converted at the then going rate to their currency. I used some Dong (still think that is a weird name for a currency), but I could have done without it. In Saigon there is an ATM machine at the Hong Kong Bank next to the New World Hotel that dispenses nice crisp U.S. dollars!

I went out for short periods of time since it was so hot. All within reasonable distance from the hotel. The people in the North are not nearly as outgoing and friendly as in the South. Not tourist friendly unless they are in the business of tourist dollars and even then, they are in it for the bucks. I felt less comfortable around Hanoi. I took a sit-low for an hour or so and did some walking around what they call the "Old Quarter", mostly shops of all sorts. One street for silks, one for brass, etc.. I was hit upon by beggars and guys asking if I wanted to go find a massage. I was warned anywhere in Vietnam that this is not advisable for any number of reasons but mostly that prostitution is viewed as very illegal. I was not in Vietnam for that, so it was not a concern, but I guess many a guy has had problems. So I did a little sightseeing, stayed close to the hotel and had a couple at the hotel bar, one of few frequented by expats. Talked a lot with a German guy, Rolf, who works for a division of Daimler-Benz selling guidance systems? Hmmmmmm. It was fun talking to a German guy about war atrocities and such.

I was ready to leave Hanoi at any time. It was not a comfortable place to be in for me. People did not smile. I could have been French, Russian, anything, but no one smiled, so I doubt if it was because I am American. On the way out, a window seat again, and took photos of the MIGs sitting at the airport.