Saturday:  Whew, feeling much better.  Spent yesterday recovering, but did manage to get out and walk a bit in downtown Hue.  It’s rained for three days and seems to slow the mass of humanity that we’ve seen on most city streets.  Kind of strange to see all the scooter drivers wearing ponchos and their passengers tucked up under the back.  That’s the way I’d want to ride on the back, totally blind to the rest of the traffic around me. Took a taxi to the other side of the Perfume River, past the Citadel, the fortress surrounding the Imperial City., former capital of Vietnam. This area, constructed in 1804 was the site of some the most serious fighting during the 1968 Tet Offensive.  After the NVA  and Viet Cong violated the Tet Truce agreement and launched the attack which resulted in the bloodiest battle of the war, US Marines spent the next month, fighting house to house to regain control of Hue.  A large amount of the city was destroyed and 5,400 civilians killed, most massacred.  The majority of the buildings in the Imperial City were destroyed by US bombing during that fight.  Most have been reconstructed, though damage is still evident in the fortress walls.  Even though the NVA/VC were defeated, the American public began to question the war.  Wish it wasn’t raining, would like to spend the day walking the gardens.  Going to catch the overnight train to Hanoi, first train ride since I was a young soldier in Germany. Rick
Sunday:  Train ride was a good experience.  Glad we booked the luxury accommodations, with soft  berths.  Was still pretty primitive by western standards. Very third world rail system, but arrived in Hanoi right on time.  Compartment mate was a very nice fellow from California, who markets projection equipment throughout Asia.  Had dinner in the dining car,  like something out of an old western movie, wooden benches, lurching train, unidentifiable chicken parts in gravy, mystery vegetables and 333 Beer.  All three meals were 150,000 dong…good thing we’re still millionaires. Added a roommate after dinner, a Vietnamese national who spoke no English, but snored worse than Terry.  Slept sporadically, as the train lurched and rattled it’s way North.  Kinda strange getting up in the night, crawling down from the narrow berth, staggering down the hall to use the “bombsight” toilet in the next car.  All in all the overnight train was a worthwhile experience I’d repeat if ever traveling again over here.  Sure beat all the bus rides we’ve taken over here.  
Monday:  Exited the Hanoi train station at 5AM to experience the worst taxi chaos we’ve experienced yet.  Taxi ride through the early morning deserted streets of Hanoi was really interesting.  Our hotel was locked up tight, but and adjacent hotel’s coffee shop was open and allowed us to hang out enjoying wonderful coffee and pastries until ours opened. 
Really had no idea what to expect the attitude towards Americans to be here in Hanoi, after all the death and destruction caused by the years of American bombing.  So far, we have found zero animosity towards us, very friendly, outgoing and at every turn.  Heading out for a walking tour of the city, then meet up with a local paraglide pilot for some beers and flying stories.  Only two days here, then starting the trek back to the States.  Rick

    On a lighter note after my last entries, here are a number of random observations that have not made it into our posts: Motorbikes rule here. There must be at least one for every man, woman and child in Vietnam. They are everywhere. Besides choking the roads, they are on the sidewalks, driving through the crowded markets, parked in the hotel lobbies, on and in the buses, in and around all houses, it is impossible to exaggerate the ubiquitousness of the Vietnamese motorbike. And they can really drive them! The ultimate was Saigon at rush hour. At any one moment we could see, without exaggeration, thousands, inches apart, resembling and moving at the pace of a rapidly flowing river. Other than the one with two young women on it which gently clipped a van we were in, we have yet to see a collision or even the aftermath of one. There is no need for High Occupancy Vehicle lanes here - as if anyone stays in any lane anyway. The majority are loaded with two adults, many are carrying families of three, three adults are not uncommon and we have seen four adults on one more than once. They are very skilled; it would be a simple matter to recruit a number of winning motocross teams from any city in Vietnam. The ones who zip through serious traffic while texting would consider racing to be childsplay.
    The traffic of cars, buses, vans and trucks is no less chaotic. We have put in a lot of hours and miles in cars, vans and buses. Not to sound cruel, but I kind of miss the look of stark terror in Rick’s eyes before he got used to it. It was amusing, this look from a guy who got shot and also wounded by a hand grenade on his last visit, a guy with a zillion hang glider flights who recently took up paragliding. Maybe it’s the fear of such an ignominious end here this trip.
    No one would accuse the Vietnamese of wasting resources. Besides four on a motorbike, all other vehicles, including boats, are similarly loaded. I am not sure what the tradeoff is between that kind of abuse and saving fuel, but it seems to work. Many things are sized differently here. Chairs the proper size for American kindergartners are common in the coffee houses and restaurants catering to locals. Walking almost anywhere, constant attention is required to avoid having one’s head split open by any of an infinite number of obstacles. Rolls of toilet paper might be mistaken for adding machine tape, or maybe this is where all that tape went when we quit using it.
    It is going to be tough to get used to a few things when we return Stateside. After paying $15 (divided by 2) for a nice hotel it will be painful to book one anywhere in the U.S. (Along that line, I had to change my airline flights and now have to spend a night in the Hong Kong airport. Reviews in sleepinginairports.net rate the Hong Kong Airport at #3 in the world. I will let you know. TR

Kontum to Hue Left Kon Tum on the afternoon bus headed to Hoi An, a beachside town, that had no activity during the war. A highly recommended attraction. The bus route was up the Ho Chi Minh Trail, really the new highway that parallels the original supply route used by the NVA to move equipment and troops South. We passed through Dak To and Dak Seang, which we had toured the day before, with Charlie Hill and Rocket Ridge overlooking the area. Even on the bus, the sense of loss was present. I wonder how many of the Vietnamese crowed on the van have a clue what history is present along this route. Traveling deeper into the mountains brought back many memories. As it started to get dark, recollections of nights in these mountains flooded my head. Nights spent wet in the cold mountain nights were clear as if they happened yesterday. Made it to Da Nang about 9:30 PM and took a 500,000 dong taxi ride to Hoi An, about 45 minutes away. Good thing we’re millionaires over here. Got to the hotel I reserved, only to find I had made the reservation for the next day and they had no rooms. The very helpful young lady at reception found us a place for the night. What a rat hole! During the night, my stomach began cramping. Up early, we hiked through town to the original hotel, which is located on the riverbank, with lots of boat traffic going by. After checking in, we walked through the Central Market. Everyone wants to sell you something and there is some of everything. Smells of herbs, spices, fruit and vegetables blend with the aroma of fish and various raw meats. Lots of roundeyes here in Hoi An. Really amazing how fat the white population of the world is and how ugly the majority are. My stomach is really starting to act up now. Have some noodles for lunch then head back to the hotel, where I collapse in the bed for the next 24 hours, except for the trips to the bathroom. Terry is now starting to show the same symptoms. Was really worried about the bus ride to Hue, but things worked out OK, as the bus stopped at exactly the right time for me. Made it to Hue, where I spent my last 4 months in country assigned to the 101St Airborne, with a light rain falling. We were put off in the middle of town, expecting a cab ride to the hotel. I had written the address on some paper and showed it to a guy where we got off, he pointed down the street. Figuring it many blocks away, was pleasantly surprised to find our hotel at the end of the block. The Hue Queen hotel is the best lodging yet. Very friendly and helpful staff, with plush room. When we checked in, the room had a king size bed. Terry and I have become good friends, but not that good, so returned to reception to ask for a room with two beds. After waiting 10 minutes, were shown to the same room, now with two double beds. Another restless night, but up early to eat for the first time in 36 hours. Awesome restaurant on the roof with a huge spread of various foods. As much as I wanted to try it all, used good judgment and limited my intake. We’ll see what today brings. Rick

     A couple of days ago, I received a comment about “moving on” with regard Vietnam. I might not have responded to the “move on” comment except that this was from a person who long ago earned the right to make it. That made me think about it all day in Vietnam.
    Although this was from a person whose opinion I must respect on this subject, I think they have it wrong. By almost any measure I have “moved on.” A continuing relationship with a wonderful wife, two successful sons, comfortable retirement after a good career, completion of more than one “bucket list”, I certainly cannot complain about life after the war years.
    Upon further reflection, I am believe that my years in the war(s) improved the way I have lived and appreciated life. I wrote a letter home every day from Vietnam. Here is an excerpt from one that I wrote in 1969: “It rained this evening, for the first time in two months. Walking in it, I thought about how lucky I am. I can still feel, see and hear the cool, fresh rain. I can see the swiftly moving clouds and feel the wind. Tomorrow morning, if I wish to do so, I can get up and watch the sun rise, hear the birds singing and watch the city come to life. I can see and smell the trees, the grass and the flowers. Maybe what makes me luckiest of all, I can appreciate these things now. How many people take so much for granted while striving for the “better” things in life. When a man lies dying, I wonder what he thinks he will miss the next day: his wealth, the trees, the singing birds? For me at least, this year will have been worthwhile if I continue to appreciate life the way I am learning to now. One learns how little material things are worth, or, rather, how easily they are lost, when flying over hundreds of miles of ruined farms and destroyed rice paddies. And leveled villages from which hundreds of thousands of people have been uprooted and forced to relocate (or rather, helped to “flee communist domination”). (How we can say we are helping these people fight for their freedom is beyond me.) One can see how tenuous is our hold on life and health seeing, as I saw today, a wounded Vietnamese soldier being carried to a helicopter for medevac, or the two bloody, bandaged and near death women being loaded from stretchers onto the same chopper.”
    I believe that that appreciation of life has stuck with me to this day.
    I still remember, during that year in Vietnam, the recurring longing to be in a peaceful shady park watching children play in the grass. ( I do not know why that scene, since I never planned to have children back then.) Now I can go do that any day I want.
    If moving on means not feeling a sense of pain and grief for the guys who were less lucky than I was, well, I am determined not to let that happen. It seems like a duty not to forget.
    Some years ago, I found a poem that pretty much sums up that duty for me. Before I get to watch Jeff play baseball, of course they play the National Anthem. During that playing, watching Jeff standing rigidly still along the baseline, I silently recite to myself:

If you are able,
save them a place inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may or may not have always.

Take what they have left
and what they have taught you with their dying
and keep it with your own.

And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,

take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.

Captain Michael Davis O'Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam

    After the day before yesterday, the rest of the trip should be much less emotional.
    Our guide was a 58 year old gentle man - a gentleman, too - who had served as a guerilla on the side of the former South Vietnam, defending his village. He had seen and experienced much that no man should have to. (In the retreat before the rapidly advancing NVA, he had pulled hot rocket fragments from his brother’s back and his little nephew, shot in the head, died in his arms.) After all that and more, I do not think that I have never met a more thoughtful, peaceful man. I learned more than the details of what we were seeing from him.
    Had we planned a little further in advance, we could have had dinner with Buffalo. Once on the opposing side from our guide, Buffalo was the sole survivor of his 30 man Viet Cong platoon, apparently wiped out in an airstrike. Nick-named for the traditional beast of burden here, he carried his unit’s machine gun.
    Now, Mr. Huynh said, he is a “little crazy,” wandering the mountains called Charlie Hill and Rocket Ridge, taking pictures and writing poetry. Standing on the former runway at Dak To, looking out at those battle scenes, our guide read one of Buffalo’s poems. I attempted to read something that means a lot to me, but was unable to do so. Rick read it from the scrap of paper I keep in my wallet. If I ever return here, it will be to spend some time with Buffalo.

    Dak Seang translates as “River of Blood.”
    In early April of 1970, the Battle of Dak Seang began. What first appeared to be a serious, but smaller scale attack on the Special Forces camp there, soon proved to be a major NVA attempt to completely overrun a US garrison and the several hundred man indigenous force they operated with. Over one hundred NVA troops were killed in the first human wave attack.  More hundreds died in the next few days.
    I was on the alert crew that day at Vung Tau, well south in the Mekong Delta. If memory serves, I was on my way to the airplane when the higher-ups made the decision to only support Dak Seang with air drops using crews and airplanes from the Caribou squadrons at the northern base of Phu Cat. In the ensuing battle, twenty five or so of the Phu Cat airplanes were shot up. Three Caribous and crews were lost in the first four days. (Google: Battle of Dak Seang, Caribou, etc.)
    Visiting the location of the camp was spooky. The site has been planted in rubber trees. It is quiet, shady and cool. We had an eerie feeling in the now peaceful few acres where hundreds died in that brief, fierce battle. The Trieng tribe Montagnards have moved back to the spot. The short runway that served the camp is now the main street of their village. During the day, only the pieces of personal military equipment, unexploded mortar and other shells - some quite dangerous - and remnants of bunkers and foxholes give evidence of what happened there. The Trieng continue to report large numbers of ghosts, the wandering souls of those who died in the fight, drifting through the trees. A haunting feeling stayed with us and neither Rick nor I slept well that night.

Spent yesterday visiting a number of battlefields and war memorials in Dak To and Dak Seang. Hired a very good guide, with a private driver. Terry had researched Mr. Huynh, who is a former village militia member from the Kon Tum area during the war. He is very knowledgeable of the military actions of both US and NVA forces in the Central Highlands. Mr. Huynh speaks very good English and was very open about the various aspects of living in the current Vietnam. We visited a number of war memorials during the day, all dedicated to the winners of the war. It is not allowed to recognize the actions of the South Vietnamese Army. We had lunch at a small, family run café. This was our first real experience eating where only the locals eat. Very good food, lots of various veggies, rice , three different mystery meats and tea, $2.50. After lunch, we visited the former Special Forces camp at Dak Seang, where a two week siege resulted in over 896 NVA KIA’s in ground action and another 472 by air strikes. 1 American advisor and 1 Australian advisor were killed on the ground and 11 Air Force personnel were killed when three aircraft were shot down during re-supply missions. Trieng villagers who moved back into the area after the war ended, report sightings of groups of soldiers moving through the rubber plantation that now covers the site at night. There is a large amount of unexploded ordinance still littering the area. A strange since of peace was present, even though there was so much bloodshed on the site. Kon Tum has been a very good experience. Not too busy, but lots of good energy here. Excellent experience after the bad one at Buon Ma Thout. Wonderful family runs the hotel. They have met our every need and gone out of their way to make our stay a memorable one. Hate to get on the bus this afternoon, but the road North is calling.
Rick

 Unexploded shells at Dak Seang

The Dak Seang camp is now a peaceful rubber tree grove

Unexploded mortor and tank rounds

"FRONT TOWARD ENEMY" claymore mine we found at the Dak Seang Special Forces camp. We did not look hard for these things. Stuff everywhere after 42 years (April 1970)

The Little Trouble Maker

    Yesterday, even the indomitable Pollyanna, Rick, was not smiling. At least not the whole day.
    It started out OK. We had not slept too well, worrying, correctly as it turned out, that we might not be able to depend on the little hotel for a 6am wakeup call. No big deal. Rick had rubbed the fat tummy of his little jade pocket happy-Buddha. We had an elaborate breakfast that came with the hotel room. It included a spectacular variety of fresh fruit, excellent French bread - that is one of the French influences that really stuck here - and several American breakfast staples. Our car to the bus station, arranged by our cordial hotel host, was close enough to on time. We arrived at the station to find that we really did have reserved seats on a huge, safe looking, clean bus. Things started downhill from there, and not just because we were leaving what may be the highest altitude city in Vietnam.
    Having lived and traveled a significant part of my life in underdeveloped countries, I have a pretty high tolerance for horn noise. This driver took it to a new level. Warning or punishing all the smaller buses, cars, motorbikes, trucks, bicycles or pedestrians that might even think of intruding on our space, his hand never seemed to leave the horn. Even with my good earplugs in place, that horn was loud! And I had a mild headache. I came to relish the time he spent with his cell phone occupying his horn hand. At least until we almost had a head-on with an eighteen wheeler on a blind curve, screeching to a stop within five feet of impact. The waste basket full of used sick sacks kept its thirty mile per hour forward momentum half way up the aisle before turning over and - need I describe further? Earlier, when the bus purser handed out the first plastic sack - they were an appropriate green color - I knew the trouble was about to start.
    Our destination, Buon Ma Thuot, is definitely not one of the normal tourist destinations. It is where, in March 1975, the North Vietnamese Army launched the huge main force offensive that culminated in the total collapse of South Vietnam by the end of April.
    We were warned by locals in Dalat that our trip there would bring us into more contact and control by the communist authorities.
    The atmosphere upon arrival was palpably different from our previous locations. Happy to have made it in one piece and armed with our slightly out-of-date Lonely Planet Vietnam travel guide, we caught a taxi to the White Horse Hotel. The French colonial architecture was superb. The price was a little higher than we have been spoiled with but not too bad. The first clue that maybe we should have a more up-to-date travel guide was when the two attractive, by no means traditionally garbed ladies got into the elevator with us. They respected our attempt at ignoring them and Rick and I proceeded to our room. It looked OK, we were hungry and we needed to let the jackhammers outside our window view of the building five feet away get closer to quitting time so we dropped our bags and headed to the hotel restaurant. The chicken was definitely not the factory-raised U.S. kind. In fact, except for some that Chris, Jeff and I shared from a highway stand in Niger, it was the chewiest I have ever had. No sweat, I have been short of exercise this trip.
    The cute little waitresses wore skirts that Rick mistook for short shorts. By the time a big new SUV pulled up outside the hotel entrance and disgorged its load of well fed and dressed middle-aged men, the picture was becoming clear. Later, finding more up-to-date travel advice online, we read “If you want to see the local party officials meeting up with their ladies of the evening, stay at the White Horse Hotel.” Ooops.
    We did not want to hassle with changing hotels; we just needed a good night’s sleep. First, although we did not really feel like it, we thought we ought to walk around a few blocks of Buon Ma Thuot to give the place a chance to change our impression. It didn’t.
    Back at our room, a closer inspection revealed no sheets on the bed nor pillowcases. Oh well, I have slept soundly in worse places. In fact we both slept soundly, lulled to sleep in the vibrating beds, powered by the disco below us. There was no hot water, so this morning’s shower provided an invigorating wakeup. I guess that was the last suggestion that we capitalists stay out of town.
    Not sure about Rick’s happy-Buddha. Rubbing his chubby belly is supposed to bring luck. Maybe we should not have given up so quickly on our early goal of following the Noble Eightfold Path. This morning I did not let Rick rub the little guy’s stomach and I did so instead. Things went much better.
TR

Have returned to the Central Highlands for the first time in 42 years. Arrived in Dalat after a 5 hour bus ride. Lots of rough, curvy roads, but worth the trip upon arrival. Had a great visit there, meeting a wonderful Vietnamese hotel owner, that even though she had no room for us, took us under her wing, feeding us breakfast and doing our laundry and finding us lodging. If you are ever in Dalat, check out the Dreams Hotel. Spent two nights, then caught an Express bus to Buon Ma Thout, coffee capital of Vietnam. Horrible trip, roughest mountain roads yet. Barf bags were included at no extra charge and used extensively by many passengers. It has become painfully obvious that a requirement to drive a vehicle here is to continuously blow your horn. Some of the scariest drivers I have ever seen. After the grueling 7 hour ride, we arrived in Buon Ma Thout and checked into the White Horse Hotel. Had great reviews in the guidebook, but turned out to be the hangout for the local party members and their prostitutes. Had a jack-hammer working outside our room until late afternoon, then the disco in the basement kicked in. Left us both in a pretty bleak mood. Upon arriving at the bus station, we met a former South Vietnamese Lieutenant, who had spent 2 ½ years in re-education prison after the war. He spoke very good English and was retired from coffee farming. He indicated that there was no animosity between the former opponents and that everyone is now just Vietnamese. Caught a van bus, 13 passenger capacity with 23 on board at 8AM for Kon Tum. As packed as it was, had a pleasant 4 ½ hour trip. Only one sick passenger, too bad she was seated immediately behind us. Terry attempted to doctor her with some Pepto Bismal, but to no avail. During my days as a participant in the Southeastern Asian War Games, (2^nd place), I spent 8 months in the mountains West of Kon Tum and Pleiku. Nothing is recognizable. In the passing years, coffee has become a major crop, streets are paved and full of scooters, medians are landscaped with beautiful flowers and have the Vietnamese flag or hammer and sickle on every lamp post. Kon Tum is a very pleasant experience, especially after Buon Ma Thout. Clean, not too busy, great river front, where we sat and enjoyed $.50 Siagon Lager and gazed at the mountains. We found lodging in an excellent, quiet family-run hotel, $14 per night for a double. This could be my favorite place so far.Rick