July 12, Hanoi:I arrived yesterday morning and had the entire afternoon to myself. I explored the Old City with its endless market. I managed to go all day without making a purchase, but ended up with a silk shirt for $6. I had a conversation with an interesting Belgian student at a café. He’s about 22 and has just been wandering around Laos, Thailand and Vietnam for a few months. It’s interesting to hear a European point of view of visiting this place, i.e., it’s not relatively unheard of for other Westerners to visit Vietnam.

July 13, Hanoi:Yesterday I visited the Ethnology Museum. Here, all the ethnic minorities are represented: dress, tools, customs, etc. It is only five years old and is an indication that the government’s “Doi-Moi” (renovation) policy embraces the many cultures in this country. Also, there are many paintings depicting scenes of war, but it’s presented not so much as propaganda but as national struggle. Indeed, most of these paintings are from the French Colonial era. The Temple of Literature was also fascinating. Built in the 11th Century, it was Vietnam’s first university. The Vietnamese are very proud of their history of education. In one of the buildings there are occasional traditional folk music performances. We sat in on one and it was fantastic — so much so that I had dinner at the restaurant where they performed last night. There was a giant picture on the wall at the restaurant of former Secretary of State Madeline Albright and her entourage when she dined here a few years ago.

We spent so much time at these first two places as well as the picturesque Hoan Kiem Lake, that we ran out of time to see the History Museum and Revolution Museum. We’re going there today. We’re going to start off at Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum. We were supposed to yesterday, but it was Uncle Ho’s “day off.”

I saw where Sen. John McCain was shot down, in the middle of a lake in the heart of Hanoi. He parachuted into the lake and was pulled to safety by a man who still lives nearby. McCain has since been back to visit him. The funny thing is, there is a monument on the side of the lake describing the defeat of the invading pilot, but it’s inscribed as if he’s dead. People even place offerings of incense at the base of the monument as if he is dead. It must seem odd for McCain to see his own memorial.

July 14, Hanoi:OK, I’ve come to realize a major scandal in Vietnam, at least in Hanoi. The street maps are almost impossible to follow; one street can change its name every other block. My theory: the public works people (“Ministry of Street Signs,” perhaps?) are in cahoots with the cyclo (bicycle taxi) mafia. I can’t even begin to pull a set of directions from my pocket without a pedicab driver popping up to help the lost and helpless tourist!

Today, Quang explained to me some of the differences between northern and southern Vietnam. In the North, he says, the men might work, but not as hard as a Southerner. The Northerner is more relaxed as a result of communism. There is less incentive to work hard if they’re going to get paid the same as the next guy (right out of Econ 101). Also in the North, one sees women doing much hard labor. For example, we saw a group of women working at a quarry, carrying rocks in baskets on their heads. This is part of the culture spawned by war and climate: the men were often away from the village fighting. Also, there is only one growing season for rice in the north, so the men often leave for a few months to find work. In the South, people are much more likely to do extra work with enthusiasm as they have had less time under communist rule. They’re more accustomed to the joys of making a profit.

July 15, Ha Long City:While on the road from Hanoi to Ha Long yesterday, I was thinking about the heavy reminders of the war I’ve already seen in my short time here. I was thinking about attitudes back home, i.e., why don’t we care about other cultures, etc. Just then, in the middle of my mental American bashing, something happened that was at least a small jolt of reality for me in this Third World Wonderland. We were driving about 30-40 mph on the road when, out of nowhere, we hit a moterbiker. Actually, he hit us. We were on the correct side of the road (if there really is such a thing in Vietnam), and this guy darted out of an alley, onto the road and into the rear of our car. Instantly, there were four or five uniformed soldiers present to maintain order, so I thought. But here is part of the reality of life in Vietnam: even though the man on the motorbike was undoubtedly at fault, Joong, our driver, was “guilty.” How? Joong wasn’t from that town and the biker was.

It turned out the soldiers were buddies of the “victim” and had in fact just followed him out of the alley from one of their homes. Joong was escorted into the home to negotiate compensation while Quang and I waited on a bench by the side of the road. They emerged 10 or 15 minutes later. Joong got some money from the car, and in an understandably irritated manner, presented it to the biker before being shooed away by a soldier. To make it an even more unbelievable scene, Joong said the biker and his soldier buddies had been drinking.

July 16, boat – Ha Long BayThis morning I was directed to the designated air-conditioned dining room (specifically for Westerners, it appeared) before my day trip on beautiful Ha Long Bay. There were about 20 French people and myself at breakfast. It was frustrating because I could tell they were friendly and would have talked to me, but I was not confident enough to try my basic French. All I could think to say (which I didn’t even do) was, “Ou est le soleil? Ce n’est pas bon pour les photos…” Pathetic. I could just hear Dr. Weber back home: “Didn’t you learn anything in my class?”

Last night I witnessed a disturbing sight while at dinner: A legless man was dragging not only himself, but a seemingly unconscious young child on a blanket, along the gutter in front of the row of outdoor cafés where I was eating. Back and forth he went, looking hopelessly for a handout. I have just asked Quang about the situation with the many homeless beggars in this country. What becomes of them? Why doesn’t the government help?

Floating around this UNESCO-designated World Heritage site, a very educational can of worms has been opened. Quang explains to me that many of these people fought for the Americans during the war and became disabled. They received no help/pension from the United States while the Americans spend massive amounts of money on MIA searches. The United States used them, then abandoned them like we did with the Afghanis against the Soviets. The Vietnamese are real people with real feelings. Yet they have barely asked the U.S. for anything.

What if, Quang asks, the U.S. government would invest in factories to employ Vietnamese (other than the usual suspects Ford, Coca Cola and Nike, which employ a very small percentage of people) instead of giving handouts? The Vietnamese are patient and want to work, yet America continues to invest in Hong Kong, China, etc. Most of the Vietnamese who move to America are “speculative,” he says, and have the idea of America as a paradise where they are given everything. Whereas people who want to stay in Vietnam love their country and could benefit over the long haul if the United States would invest here. For example, why not start a school of technology or other type of university in Vietnam instead of handing out a few scholarships to study in the states. Most Vietnamese, Quang says, aren’t interested in making a quick buck or playing a lottery; they want stable work.

July 18, Dong Ha, Quang Tri Province: What a full and incredible day. We left Hue at 8 a.m. and headed north on Highway One. We had a nice visit with Hugh Hosman of Clear Path International, and no sooner did we get back on the road, than a group of scrap metal hunters came meandering out of the hills as we drove by. We stopped and talked to them, and they seem to fully understand the risk they take by handling unexploded ordnance. From there we drove a little further north to Dong Ha City (where I am now spending the night) to pick up our guide, Tam, for our trip into the DMZ.

He took us first to the site of Camp Carroll where bits of sandbags still lie around. From there it was on to the Khe Sanh Memorial and Museum. To get there we actually drove on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. In a few weeks, this particular vein will be paved over. Next to the museum is the second airstrip built by the United States in 1972 to help the ARVN in its attacks over the Laotian border after the United States instituted its Vietnamization policy (i.e., turning the war over to the South). The airstrip is now just rough dirt terrain with cattle wandering around. Just a few yards away is the first airstrip used by the Americans prior to the siege on Khe Sanh in 1968. The siege — I soon found myself down the road a few miles, standing high on a hillside looking down on the plateau where the marines were entrenched with mountains all around them. I don’t claim to know a thing about military strategy, but how could that have been anything but disastrous? It was an eerie experience, as the only thing I could hear was the occasional rattle of a cow bell somewhere in the brush below.

Afterward we drove right up to the border with Laos, just for the heck of it since we were so close. We even saw a few “box people” on the way. These are people who sneak across the border to buy cheap cigarettes, then smuggle them back into Vietnam to sell for a small profit. Their jackets and shirts are stuffed with boxes, and it is obvious what they are doing. Thus the name.

July 20, Hue:We visited the National Cemetery in Quang Tri Province yesterday. Each province (mostly from the north) has its own section. The people buried there are those who built, maintained and, of course, fought on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Quang said only four years ago he would have never imagined an American visiting there.

I tried to use the hotel Internet unsuccessfully again this afternoon. Frustrated, I stepped outside and into an impromptu hour-long stroll around the entire wall of the Imperial Citadel just across the street. Well into it I realized I didn’t have my camera. When will I learn? Here’s what I saw:

Looking at the bullet holes in the wall (from the 1968 Tet Offensive) up close, I saw lizards running in and out. I walked by little boys playing soccer (house rule was to kick the ball off the wall is still in bounds). I saw, at a very busy and visible corner of the wall, two little boys relieving themselves into a giant shell hole in the wall (just like on the cover of “Who’s Next” but different). I then came upon an Internet café across the street. Hurray! I removed my flip-flops and entered the clean room with 10 or so terminals with content customers clanking away on computers. I sat down. The Internet wouldn’t work. The employee couldn’t make it or the only other available computer work. It’s nothing to be critical about. It’s impressive that Vietnam has come this far considering I was in a village yesterday that just got electricity in 1996. One step at a time. Back on the hotel side of the Citadel, I saw a man climbing down the wall (approximately 17-20 feet high) by gripping the bullet holes on the way down.

July 26, Pleiku:Yesterday, we arrived in Kontum, here in the Central Highlands. As we pulled into the parking lot of the Dakbla Hotel, a faded pistachio ice cream-colored monument to Soviet-era tourism, I immediately recognized Thanh, our local guide here in 2000. He was caught off guard at my remembrance of him. After jarring his memory for a few seconds, it came back to him — the rainy day at Camp Polei Krong (Dad’s Special Forces camp in 1963). There are other guides who work out of the hotel office, but just by chance he was assigned to work with us yesterday. We went back to Polei Krong, and at the bridge, we walked downhill to the narrow American-built road along the river leading to the site. We walked all the way to the village that now sits on the old campsite, but just before we reached it, the road had been washed away by a flash flood. I didn’t ask to go back around by car into the village like two years ago. It wouldn’t have been the same without Dad there anyway. One thing I hadn’t noticed in 2000 is the road leading out there was an artery of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The NVA overran the camp after Dad’s time there.

There’s actually a 55th minority in the Highlands, me. With the exception of the restaurant the first night in Kontum, I’ve not seen a Westerner. Full-fledged tourism hasn’t been established in the middle of the country as it has in Hanoi, Saigon and the coastal areas. It’s not as though I feel like I’m in any danger here because the people certainly are friendly. Still, up here the stares are a little more frequent, last longer and are a bit edgy at times. It’s probably something all people who live in an ethnic majority should experience at some point in their lives.

July 28, Saigon:I arrived in Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City yesterday afternoon. This morning Quang took me to Reunification Palace. He said it was usually crowded like that on Sundays because so many families take their children. The grounds in front contain various war relics, including the first two tanks to crash the palace gate on April 30, 1975. Also, there is an American bomber jet that was flown by a South Vietnamese pilot who wound up fighting for the North. In this jet, he flew into Saigon and bombed the palace. That pilot, who now flies for Vietnam Airlines, is featured in the same documentary as my friends Ann and Tony.

The palace was started by President Diem, who didn’t live to see it completed. It was lived in and worked in by President Thieu and his family before fleeing to the U.S. For the most part, the inside has been left as it was in 1975. A mixture of traditional Vietnamese and early 1970s Western styles, it is at once opulent and groovy. It’s now only a museum. The top floor offers a view of the front gate out into the city. I’m told the U.S. Embassy could be seen from here at one time. It has been torn down in recent years and replaced with a smaller consulate building.

After the palace, I returned to the War Remnants Museum. I went there in 2000, but I’m glad I went back. In the last two years, it has put up a new building to replace the rather unattractive one from before. It houses many photos, some rather famous ones, taken mostly by American and European photographers. Many of them died on the job in Vietnam and Laos, and they are also memorialized here. Another change is with the tone of the captions under the pictures. While the expected communist bias still exists, they no longer read anything like, “In this photo, the horrified American invaders and their S. Vietnamese puppets cower in their fox holes as the glorious liberation army slams through their lines…” I can only assume the change is due to the increase of non-Vietnamese visitors. It was also outside the museum where I finally bought pirated copies of The Quiet American and The Sorrow of War. The vendor was a land mine victim from Pleiku who had no hands, one eye and one foot. He spoke some English and was very nice. He extended the stump of his arm for me to shake in lieu of a hand. He showed no bitterness, just a genuine smile.

Stephen Harrison can be reached at [email protected].