The Unexpected Gift

As anticipated, one of the most difficult questions to answer upon return from this remarkable trip has been, "so how was your trip?"  Last week I submitted this column to my local paper, the Shelburne Falls/West County (MA) Independent.  It is an attempt to summarize the impact of the trip, through one lens. 
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Understanding Viet Nam: The Unexpected Gift

One of the reasons I love the hilltowns of West County is the sense of history embedded in this landscape: the old barns, clustered town centers, and land use patterns that reflect life lived close to the land.  The longer I live here, the more I learn about lives past and the impact they’ve had on the land.  It makes me feel more connected to the land I live on to know something of the past lives it has supported.

A few years ago, I coordinated a study of agricultural lands in Ipswich; some of the homes still standing and in use had been built in the 1600s.  In this relatively new country, that seems pretty old, especially to this native Midwesterner.  But now I understand how young this country is.

Floating villages at Ha Long Bay have been there for generations.

Earlier this month, I traveled to Viet Nam with my sister and cousin on a tour sponsored by our shared alumnae association.  The 16-day trip, which took us from Hanoi in the north to the Mekong Delta a thousand miles to the south, was profound.  It affected me in more ways than I can recount in one column, but seeing Viet Nam’s rich and complex history reflected on the landscape continues to shift my perceptions of that country and its people.  More specifically, my understanding of Viet Nam’s multi-millennial history of conquest, expansion, subjugation, division and reunification changed my emotional connection to the U.S. involvement in the war in Viet Nam.

A bit of disclosure here: I was quite active against the war. In the early 1970s, I  worked full-time with an anti-war organization, and the images of the carnage documented in newspaper and television photos remain vivid for me, as they do for many in my generation.  Just being in Hanoi brought back all the emotions I felt during Johnson- and Nixon-era U.S. involvement—all those feelings of guilt, sorrow, rage, and deeply held grief.  During the first few days, I found myself brimming with tears, incredulous at the generosity and friendliness of the people, and struck with the beauty of the country and its rich history.

Before the trip, I had read several books about Viet Nam, including The Sacred Willow, in which Duong Van Mai Elliot tells the story of four generations of her family, including a generation dramatically divided by the war against U.S. forces.  Her detailed and balanced account began to shift something within me.  What had been a fairly black and white understanding of the war, framed when I was in my twenties and more sure of my convictions, evolved into many shades of grey.

Roadside mural in Hanoi celebrating the city's 1000th anniversary.

 Our trip began in the Vietnamese capital of Hanoi, which in 2010 celebrated its 1000^th anniversary—a thousand years since, according to legend, emperor Ly Thai To saw a dragon rising from one of the lakes and flying into the sky, and was given a sword to drive the Chinese out of Viet Nam after a thousand years of domination.   A mosaic wall along one road celebrates the resulting establishment of Hanoi as the capital of Viet Nam.

More than anywhere else in Viet Nam, Hanoi reflects the French colonial influence, its old government buildings still boasting the mustard yellow color of French Indochina. Adjacent to the grand Presidential Palace were the more modest accommodations where Ho Chi Minh lived between 1954, when the French withdrew from Viet Nam, until 1969 when he died.  

Ho Chi Minh's residence from 1954-1969 in Hanoi.

The massive mausoleum to Ho Chi Minh.

 Ho was revered for his success (supported by the U.S.) in driving Japan out of Viet Nam in 1945, but Viet Nam’s independence was short-lived; the French (whom, in a self-serving reversal, the U.S. now backed against the Vietnamese) returned in 1946 and remained until 1954.  When the French left, the Geneva Conference drew a geographic line—the DMZ—that divided Viet Nam into North and South for two decades.

We walked through the Temple of Literatures, founded in 1070, where massive stone tablets, seated on the backs of turtles, record the names of those who passed the highest academic exams.  The oldest of these tablets dates to 1442.  Despite a continuing distrust of the Chinese, this temple—dedicated to the civil law established by Confucius—remains a testament to the importance of education in Vietnamese society today.  

Tablets in the Temple of Literatures.

We visited the Hoi Lo, the notorious prison dubbed the “Hanoi Hilton” in which many US pilots were held, including John McCain and Douglas “Pete” Peterson who later became the first U.S. ambassador to Viet Nam. The arched stone lintel over the door reads “Maison Centrale” reveals its French origin: it was built in the late 19^th century to imprison Vietnamese freedom fighters who were resisting French domination.  

A bronze mural in the Hoi Lo museum (aka Hanoi Hilton) commemorates
the Vietnamese imprisoned and tortured by the French.

 There was an album of photographs of those young U.S. pilots which reminded me of the poor reception they had upon return, but the displays of the torture Vietnamese prisoners had at the hand of the French were equally disturbing. Most remarkable to me was the love of Vietnam that made former prisoner Peterson return as ambassador.

We flew from Hanoi into Da Nang, landing at the airport that had been a major U. S. military base from 1959 to 1975, and stayed in a very posh resort on China Beach, where the first US marines landed in 1965.  The contrast in appearance is striking.

If you look closely, you can see bullet holes in this ancient urn.

In Hue, where the famed Imperial Citadel of the Nguyen Dynasty was all but destroyed in the conflict following the Tet Offensive of 1968, great bronze urns show the impact of bullets from the weeks of intensive street-to-street fighting. Behind the impressively restored sections we could see ruined walls and mounds covered by tropical vegetation hiding what remains to be restored.

The Cu Chi tunnels in the Mekong Delta have also become a museum of sorts.  This is where Viet Cong insurgents, as well as Viet Minh who followed the Ho Chi Minh trail from the north, traveled through and hid within the 150 miles of hand-carved tunnels to challenge the much better armed South Vietnamese Army and U.S. forces.  Again, the history of these tunnels precedes U.S. involvement; they were originally excavated by Vietnamese farmers trying to escape French forces decades earlier. 

In each of these sites, the history of occupation and resistance is told in unemotional terms.  The long history of the country—from Chinese domination to imperial dynasties to communist insurgence—reflects an on-going effort to be independent and unified.  And despite changing politics and economies, there appears to be a quiet pride that is grounded in this history.

However, my impression is that the industry, generosity, and determination of the Vietnamese people is focused on the future rather than dwelling in the past.  In the 37 years since the fall of Saigon and the reunification of north and south, the country has reinvigorated itself.  After eleven dark years (1975-1986) of rigid control and “reeducation” of more than a 100,000 South Vietnamese sympathetic with the Americans, the Communist government realized the failing economy signaled they were on the wrong track, and changed courses.  In 1986, Viet Nam opened its doors to the west. 

The thriving floating market on the Mekong delighted us.

Private enterprise, previously outlawed, is now encouraged.  Family farms have replaced the communal farms of the late 1970s and early ‘80s.  Boats along the Mekong are loaded with rice, building materials, fruits and vegetables in a veritable floating market of free enterprise.  And thousands of motorcycles and scooters, carrying everything from porcelain to goldfish to refrigerators, careen through the cities, defying any sense of order yet somehow avoiding death.

The thriving agricultural economy is largely non-industrial, relying instead on the efforts of individuals.  Irrigation, plowing, planting, harvesting of rice is done by hand. Most industries—with the notable exception of oil production and export—are now privatized. While the political system is still communist, the economy is becoming more capitalist.

Our remarkable guide, Nguyen Tuan Huy, took us through a farming village, a brick factory, an island nursery of fruiting trees that is an eco-tourism destination, a rice-polishing factory, a UNESCO World Heritage site that was a trading metropolis in the 16^th century, and several pagodas, tombs and museums.  His candor about life in Viet Nam, his balanced narrative of the war (which he described as not a regional north vs. south conflict, but a conflict of philosophies), his humorous description of the “Vietnamizing” of colonial influences (“We kicked out the French, but kept the croissants”), provided a remarkable perspective about this resilient country.

At the Cu Chi tunnels, Huy spoke of the enormous discrepancy in power between those fighting for reunification of Vietnam, and the American-supplied and –backed South Vietnamese Army.  “We had to change the terms of the battle,” he said.  “We had to let the Americans know they did not belong here.”  Which is what the Vietnamese did to defeat the Chinese a millennium ago, and again with the French half a century ago.  I believed him when he said Ho Chi Minh was not so much a communist as a nationalist; the desire of Viet Nam to be one country has been the driving force behind their eventual victories over colonial occupation.

When I think of Viet Nam now, I recall the breathtaking beauty of the vertical cliffs standing in Ha Long Bay, the pastoral industry of those harvesting rice, the lively markets in the old quarter of Hanoi and floating on the Mekong River, the cacophony of all those motorcycles pulsing the cultural lifeblood through the paved arteries of Saigon. I especially embrace the generosity and kindness of the people we met. The whole experience shifted something in me. 

I better understand the United States as an adolescent country, somewhat impetuous, not anchored by the longer history of place, not tempered by the experience of occupation.  And, like adolescents I have known and loved, unwilling to admit when we are wrong, unwilling to accept that our perspective might be short-sighted, unable to learn from past  mistakes.  On the other hand, my personal angst over the war has been ameliorated somewhat.  My tears seem self-indulgent in the face of the Vietnamese choice to focus on the future. 

 As we prepared to leave the country, Huy expressed his hope that, if nothing else, we would now think of Viet Nam as a country, not as a war.  That has been the unexpected gift from this remarkable trip.

Home Again

After about 40 hours of being awake except for catnaps on the plane, we arrived home in Massachusetts Monday night tired but glowing from our experiences of the past two weeks. What a privilege to be able to make such a trip to a beautiful country with a fascinating history and unparalleled energy today. I think each of us has more posts we want to make, so don't be surprised if there are additions even after we have come home. But we wanted to let readers know we have returned, full of stories to tell. Here is a picture of us three and Huy, our guide, as we motored up the Perfume River in Hue.

Cu Chi Tunnel Complex

Saturday we traveled 45 mi west of Saigon and halfway to the Cambodian border to visit a location that was strategic during the war in Vietnam. The Cu Chi tunnels are the underground complex of rooms and passages in which Viet Cong soldiers lived, worked, met and held weapons. There were 150 miles of tunnels, many originally constructed during the French occupation. The tunnels were built by hand, with workers wielding short sharp hoes, placing loosened soil into bamboo baskets which other workers (elders, villagers and children included) then carried to the surface of the ground, disposing of it in their gardens, in the river, in the forest. Clay soil made the tunnels possible, containing many reinforcing and aerating roots from the rubber trees and jungle above; ventilation shafts of bamboo were driven down into the earth, serving three layers of tunnels.

Seeing the extent and solidity of the tunnels (which except for meeting rooms measured about 4 x 4 feet high and wide) makes it almost impossible to imagine the Herculean task of creating them. Their strategic location, near the Ho Chi Minh trail and the Saigon River, marked a hot spot in the war, and the tunnels, camoflaged from above, made it possible for the Viet Cong army to hide better from both airplanes and ground patrols. The network of jungle booby traps soldiers created (shown below) created enormous obstacles for the South Vietnamese and American troops. Other canny strategies (such creating rubber sandals that made impressions in reverse directions) added to relentless determination proved key in the outcome of the war. After the tunnels were discovered by the South Vietnamese and U. S. forces, in 1967, hand-to-hand combat also took place in the tunnels. As we well know, thousands of soldiers -- on both sides -- died; many more were tragically injured and/or suffered disabling memories. The sad, sad history of this place was palpable, and our visit was somber.

The brochure published by the government, describing the Cu Chi site, says: "The underground tunnel system indicated the will of determination, wisdom, pride of Cu Chi people, as the symbol of the Vietnamese people's revolutionary heroism." Our guide Huy pointed out a symbol on the hat of a realistic sculpture of Viet Cong soldiers -- blue and red with a star -- that represented nationalist, not communist, hopes; the drive toward freedom and an unoccupied Vietnam was very apparent.

rubber plantation

On the way to the Cu Chi tunnels (about which Rusty will write), we stopped along the road at what was obviously a plantation: rows and rows of neatly planted trees, each of which had diagonal strips of tape along the trunk and small bowls attached about three to four feet above the ground.

This rubber plantation originally belonged to the French -- Michelin Tire, to be precise.  Taken over by the state, now rubber production is a huge revenue producer for Vietnam.  About a quarter of the 630,000 hectares in production are privately owned, 72% publicly owned; not sure about the balance. The value of rubber increases annually about $500 US per ton, according to Huy.

Trees are planted sequentially; we did pass some very small saplings in what looked like a private yard.  They can be harvested until they are about 30 years old.  Then the wood is harvested for furniture.

We got out of the bus and (like sticky rice) crossed over the road to take a closer look.   Small diagonal cuts in the bark allows the sap to drain down, guided by the tape to a small trough of a spigot, where it drips into the bowl.  The thin white liquid has the consistency of condensed milk, but as you rub it between your fingers, gradually becomes drier and somewhat the consistency of rubber cement.  The sap is collected early in the morning.






There are few homes near rubber plantations, apparently (again according to Huy) because rubber trees are not healthy for humans.  He said they "suck the oxygen from the air," and the life expectancy of people living near or within rubber plantations is five years shorter than that of other Vietnamese.

Not surprisingly, near where we stopped there were two vendors of trinkets for tourists.  This sweet young girl had necklaces made of the seed of the rubber tree, and this man (her father? with a little puppy beside him) sold some beautiful wood carvings, as well as bracelets made of water buffalo horn (I couldn't resist!).  

Saigon snapshot

This image taken from our hotel room window at the Intercontinental Asiana Saigon says a lot about Saigon today: the contrast between the architecturally and historically significant Notre Dame Cathedral and the cell tower immediately next to us.

The windows of the cathedral, built by the French, are from Chartres, the brick was shipped from Marseilles, and the statue of Mary outside is a late 19th century Italian sculpture.  It sits across the street from the vernable post office designed by Gustav Eiffel of tower fame.

Visit to a Brick Factory along the Mekong

Traveling along the Mekong River, we saw many barges carrying loads of gravel, soil, sand, rice, fruits, and more, such as this load of rice husks.  The visit to the rice factory a day or two earlier (all time is beginning to merge for us!), showed how every bit of the rice is used -- polished for sticky rice, brown rice for other dishes, broken rice for flour and rice husks for fuel.

Barges carry the husks of rice to the factory for fuel.

Rice husks are a much cheaper source of fuel than coal or gas.

Because rice husks burn at a much lower temperature than coal or gas, the bricks must be fired a much longer time -- up to 45 days, with another week to cool.  The ash is then sold to farmers to be used as fertilizer.

Unfired bricks covered a large portion of the floor.

The open core of the bricks makes them lighter, to be used for upper story of buildings. In buildings we saw under construction, it looked as if rebar was only used at occasional joints.  Asked about earthquake stability, Huy said this area -- unlike the Pacific Rim -- is not subject to earthquakes.  Nevertheless, I wonder about building codes.  (Things like steps are irregular in their risers; ramps are certainly not ADA compliant; setbacks are non-existent.  Many aspects differ from US zoning and building codes.)

Two women load fired bricks into a wagon to stack by the dock.

These women were loading fired bricks into a cart, then pulling it to unload near the dock for transport to the next buyer.

One enormous room had kilns lined up on both sides.

Each kiln can hold up to 100,000 bricks -- these are huge!  Similar in design to the bee hive oven that is part of our 18th century fireplace, but monumentally larger.  None were in use when we visited, but I can only begin to imagine how hot this area gets when they are firing.

Each kiln had a small alcove where incense is burned as an offering.

The inside of the kilns was as artful as the exterior -- the hole at the top probably 15 feet or more above the floor.

Inside one of the kilns.

One kiln was in the process of being loaded -- the other piece of machinery (other than the extruder) was a narrow conveyor belt a portion of which you can see at the upper left of the photo below.  One man stands at the bottom loading bricks onto it, another climbs up inside to stack the bricks.  The hole is covered, rice husks tucked into the slots at the bottom, and once the fire is set everything is closed up for a month and a half, with occasional refueling.

Kiln being loaded with bricks to be fired.

Steps built into the outside of the kiln allow workers to climb up and open the vent to cool bricks.

We moved into an adjacent building, and discovered that bricks were not the only thing made in this factory. Piles of gnomes, shells, decorative motifs, and endless stacks of garden pots and other ornaments awaited shipping, or perhaps glazing or painting in another shop.

Not just bricks!

Many styles of garden ornaments and pots.

As with rice fields, a grave may be auspiciously placed right in the middle of a factory.

Despite the presence of graves honoring ancestors showing up mid-rice field, farmland, and other places that might seem random to us but are carefully sited by fortune tellers (a mainstay of Vietnamese culture), I was surprised to see this rather magnificent grave in the middle of the storehouse.

I found the carts particularly photogenic, but they also indicate the number of workers who would be here on a normal production day.

More About Motorcycles: Taxis, Licenses, Helmets

Huy said:

"We have everything: FEDEX, DHL, but the best mode of transportation is the motorcycle.

Typical Saturday morning intersection

"People use their motorcycle to make money. You will notice a man on a motorcycle with one extra helmet, or maybe 2 or 3 extra helmets. That's a taxi.

Taxis

"You can negotiate the price when you hire him to take you to your destination. Then, after you agree on the price, he will race through the streets to get you to your destination quickly so he can be ready to get another fare or to get back to his original place. Because he will be speeding, the passenger often needs to hug the driver. We call that a 'hugging taxi'. I don't recommend that you hire a hugging taxi.

"Motorcycles get about 120 mpg.

"Every time you buy a new bike, you will need a new license plate which will cost about $50 USD. You must be 18 years old and take a 2-part driving test: a written part and a driving part. The written part covers the 'rules of the road.' The motor vehicle laws are not really 'laws', they are more like suggestions." We noticed a young school boy driving a motorcycle. He did not appear to be 18; perhaps between 13 and 14. Negotiable. Because children are taken on their parents' cycles from infancy, driving one is "in their blood."

Huy shared another personal story.

"When my daughter was 2 1/2 years old, I needed a safety belt to take her with me on my cycle. My wife was not going to be riding with us. I belted my daughter behind me. After the ride she said, 'Daddy, the next time we ride on the bike, may I ride in front of you?' I answered, 'Yes, you may. But why do you want to ride in front of me?' 'So that I can see better. And also so I can beep the horn whenever I want to.'" Huy's face lit up with a big grin as we bus passengers burst out in laughter.

Helmets:

Motorcycle operators must wear a helmet. BUT...many people have excuses for why they don't wear a helmet. "If I wear a helmet, then I can't hear my cell phone." "It messes up my hair." Negotiable. So people wear helmets for the police, not for their own safety. Huy said there are helmets made with a cut-out at the back of the head to accommodate a pony tail.