I suppose it’s become clear over the seasons how I feel about calling in Vietnam. I doubt very much it will ever be my favourite place on our itinerary. But I realized this year that I hadn’t really seen any of the country, since I’d never been further than the dock-side vendor stands in Nha Trang last year. So I figured it was time for me to be brave.
The drive to Cu Chi, some three hours outside of where we port, was harrowing. Traffic in Vietnam is nearly as crazed as in India (except there are no cows), every five minutes you’d jump out of your skin as the driver laid on the horn to avoid something. The buildings that flashed by on either side looked as though they were about to collapse, and not in the charming lopsided way that one finds in England or the rest of the UK. Nothing here looked livable. That said, since we were only passing through, it’s not as if we really had a chance to get more than a superficial impression.
Once we arrived, I was surprised to find that the Cu Chi tunnel complex was not nearly as ominous as I expected. That isn’t to say it was pleasant, it was just no more unsettling than anywhere else. The air here is thick in a way that has only a small percentage to do with the ever-present nearly suffocating humidity. As we were escorted onto the grounds, there was a jaw-rattling rip of machine gun fire from somewhere in the distance. They have a firing range on site, where you can try your hand at an AK47, or any other type of gun taken from the American armory. Since the range is at the far end of the grounds, it’s hard to tell where the shots are coming from; the effect is eerie and decidedly unsettling.
Before guiding us around the grounds, the guide escorted us into a sheltered area where there were several maps and models of how the tunnels worked. There was also a short introductory video which appeared to have been shot in 1967. Watching this was a seriously unnerving experience, as it was created from the Vietnamese point of view.
Awards have been given for being an ‘American Killer hero’
It sends a shiver down your spine, even when you aren’t from the states. History is always written by the victor, the difference between who is a ‘hero’ and who is not is only decided by which side is writing the descriptions.
As we made our way around the complex the humidity seems to almost have weight. Everything you’re wearing sticks to you, and even though you’re drinking water as fast as you can, you can feel yourself dehydrating. This when I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, I can only imagine what it must have been like in combat gear. Scary.
The first thing you see when you turn the corner from the introduction room is a massive swinging bamboo trap. It’s barricaded off of course, because it’s still functional. The guide took a nearby pole and touched one side, causing the top of the trap to spin over, revealing the sharp spines in the pit below. No one falling in there would have stood a chance, but neither would death have been quick. Then the guide said something that forced me to turn my eyes away, to look at the trees, at the birds, at anything except down into that pit:
It’s an original trap.
Leaving the grisly relic behind, we continued through the jungle, past huge termite mounds that disguise air-tubes that go down twenty feet to the tunnels. Past original tunnel entrances that are no more than a foot wide. A lot of people stopped to have their picture taken crawling out of a tunnel. I stayed far away from that option. Partly for fear I would get stuck. That would have been just my luck.
What happened to you this contract?
I got stuck in a tunnel.
Yeah not going to happen.
We also passed at least one destroyed tank. Painted in white on the side was the date it had been blown up. Even disabled it was an impressive piece of machinery. Personally, I’m always much happier to see a disabled weapon of war than an active one. There are too many active ones as it is. But someone was manning that tank when it was destroyed, that’s the part I tried not to think about it.
Eventually we got to the portion of the complex that housed the firing range. Here the noise from the gun blasts was so loud that it left your ears ringing for an hour afterwards. A few of the others decided to try their hand at playing solider, but I hadn’t brought any cash with me and besides firing an AK47 was never exactly on my to do list. I just took the opportunity to try to regroup instead. By this point the heat was causing my brain to turn to mush.
At the very end of the tour we were offered the opportunity to actually go through one of the tunnels, one that has been expanded for tourists. The term ‘expanded’ is a relative one here, you still have to go through doubled over. I made it to the entrance and stood there looking at it for about five seconds, before my stomach clenched and a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the heat hit me like a ton of bricks. Over the years I’ve learned to listen to that feeling, whatever causes it, it’s an indicator that I’m about to be somewhere that I do not want to be. So I climbed back out again and waited for the others to emerge several metres down the trail.
I did not at all regret my decision.
The ride home was much more uneventful than the ride there. I think the driver was perhaps trying to keep the horn quiet because so many people were sleeping. It had been a long day of walking, and most of us were drenched with sweat and dizzy from the heat.
I can’t say that I regretted going, but I also can’t say that I’ll be doing it again. From now on I stick to my old pattern – and stay on the ship till we put Vietnam behind us.