Revisited

Back to Vietnam

The South China Sea was calm that morning.

From the balcony of our small stateroom aboard the Diamond Princess, I watched the coastline of Vietnam slowly appear through the gray morning haze. The ship moved quietly across the water as the faint outline of land emerged in the distance.

Somewhere around us, passengers were already heading towards breakfast and preparing for disembarking. Coffee and rolls arrived at our door as the cabin staff scurried about while soft conversations drifted up from balconies.

But I wasn’t thinking about routines.  I was thinking about Vietnam.

For more than fifty years after my discharge from the U.S. Air Force in 1970, I never gave much thought to returning here. It simply wasn’t a place I ever expected to see again.

Yet here I was.

After months of planning and preparation, Debby and I had boarded the Diamond Princess in Singapore along with five friends. Our group of seven moved easily through the terminal that afternoon and soon found ourselves on the 14th deck sampling the lunch buffet before inspecting our staterooms—what I still prefer to call “quarters.”

Budget travelers that we are, our state-room was modest but comfortable. The small balcony quickly became my favorite place on the ship. From there I could watch the endless stretch of the South China Sea slide past as we sailed north through Southeast Asia.  It became my sanctuary for thinking and writing. 

We departed Singapore around six that evening, cruising through the night and the following day before approaching Vietnam early the next morning.

As the coastline slowly rose from the haze, something unexpected happened.  A smell.  A sound.  A memory.

I know the speed of light is 186,000 miles per second, but I’m convinced light isn’t the fastest thing in the world.

Nothing moves faster than a memory.

In an instant I was back more than fifty-five years.

A familiar voice behind me broke the moment.  “Mike, breakfast is here.”  It was Debby.

Just like that the memory faded, and I was once again standing on the balcony of a cruise ship instead of an air base in the middle of Vietnam.  Still, the feeling remained.

At dinner the night before we arrived, I told the others that I had been feeling anxious and uneasy. I asked them not to mention that I had once served in Vietnam.

When the United States withdrew from the country in 1975, the North Vietnamese quickly took control of the South. Many South Vietnamese people were killed, imprisoned, or forced into the Communist system. I had no idea how the war might still be remembered by people here.

With several generations now living in the South, I wondered if resentment toward Americans still existed.

I began to question whether returning here had been a wise decision.

Debby had arranged a private tour for our day in Ho Chi Minh City. It still felt strange calling the city by that name. During the war it was known as Saigon, and I had passed through here briefly in 1970.

The changes since then are remarkable.

Modern high-rise buildings now dominate the skyline. One stop on our tour took us to a coffee shop on the 76th floor of a downtown high rise   called 101 Tower because of its height. For another twenty dollars we could have gone one floor higher to an observation deck, but the smog was so thick we decided to stay where we were and spend our money on refreshments instead.  I had the traditional Vietnamese Salty Lemonade cocktail (non alcoholic). It was a very tasty treat!

Even through the haze, the view was impressive.

Ho Chi Minh City area is home to nearly 14 million people and spreads out for miles in every direction. From above, the city reminded me a little of the view from the Eiffel Tower in Paris—except here the streets below were filled with motorbikes instead of cars.

Our guide claimed there are nearly eighteen million motorbikes in the city.

I didn’t count them, but it certainly felt that way.

We visited a Buddhist temple where we removed our shoes and hats before entering. Photography inside was not allowed, but the atmosphere was peaceful and reverent.

One small room was dedicated to the god of Hades. People entered quietly, bowing and praying before leaving again. It was unfamiliar to me and reminded me how differently cultures approach faith and worship.

Our guide explained that roughly seventy percent of the Vietnamese population identifies as Buddhist, while Catholics and other religions make up much of the rest.

Seeing this made me think about the work of the World English Institute, which teaches English using the Bible as its primary text. I have personally worked with two students from Vietnam through that program.

Our guide, Liam, told us that modern Vietnam wants peace and hopes to avoid future wars. The French had once occupied the country, and later the United States became involved for nearly twenty years before withdrawing in 1975.

He referred to the conflict as the “American War,” which is how many Vietnamese people remember it today.

History, after all, often depends on who is telling the story.

Yet Liam repeatedly emphasized that Vietnam today holds no grudges. Many Vietnamese admire the United States and enjoy our music, movies, fashion, and language.

As we moved through the crowded streets that day, I noticed how young most of the people were.

Few of them could possibly remember the war.  For them, it was simply history.

Perhaps the question that had troubled me since we first approached Vietnam mattered far less than I had imagined.

Still, the memories remained.

Our next stop was Nha Trang.

Even though I once had orders assigning me to Nha Trang, Vietnam, I have never been here.   During my transitioning period, the USAF relocated my old outfit farther north to Phu Cat. 

Nha Trang was near Cam Ranh Bay, where I both entered and left Vietnam years ago.  The landscape felt strangely familiar.  Mountains rising behind the coastline and stretches of windblown sand, reminded me so much of my 3 days in Cam Ranh Bay. I will always remember the fine sand blowing through the cracks and screen-wire, coating my bunk and clothes with a fine grit. 

The city itself has a population of about half a million people and, like Ho Chi Minh City, is busy and crowded for its size. Our cruise ship tied up alongside a long wooden dock and rolled out the gang-way before we could disembark and meet our ride. We traveled into the city in a private tour van.

The scenery around the bay was actually quite beautiful, although the heavy smog made it difficult to see very far. Debby assured me the beaches were lovely and the water clear, but from where I stood it was hard to see much beyond a couple of blocks.

Our guide, Michael,  struggled a bit with English, which made some of the explanations difficult to follow. Still, we visited several temples, pagodas, and a large Catholic church.

One stop took us to a famous granite rock formation on the beach known as “Husband Rock.” According to local legend, a young fisherman once hid behind the rock to watch naked fairies bathing in the sea. When they discovered him, he slipped and fell, leaving the imprint of his hand in the stone.

Another version of the story tells of a husband and wife clinging to the rocks during a violent storm before being swept away by the sea.  The rock still shows a hand print to this day. 

Like many attractions, the site is now owned by the government, with a pagoda and viewing area built nearby. For a small entrance fee visitors can explore the site and enjoy the ocean views.

An open-air pavilion nearby hosted a small musical performance when we arrived. A Vietnamese ensemble played several traditional instruments, with traditional music, creating a beautiful sound that echoed across the pavilion.  

At one point the musicians even played “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” which seemed slightly out of place but drew a cheerful crowd. I admit that I enjoyed the music more than the pile of rocks on the beach in the distance. 

Later that evening we returned to the ship in time for our 5:15 dinner.

Our final Vietnam stop was Da Nang.

More than fifty-five years earlier, Da Nang had simply been a stopover as I traveled from Phu Cat to an air base in Nakhon Phanom, Thailand, for a thirty-day temporary assignment.

During the war, Da Nang was one of the busiest air bases in Vietnam.  Today it is a peaceful coastal city.

As we cruised slowly towards the dock, thoughts of rows and rows of ragged plywood and screen wire barracks surrounded by stacked vags of sand filled my thoughts. Across the side of one particular building, someone had written, “ Let it be” in black spray paint.  I doubt I will ever forget that. 

Debby had arranged a tour through Viator that took us inland to the historic city of Hue. The smog was noticeably lighter there, and for the first time in several days we could actually see the mountains and countryside clearly.

The city was preparing for the Chinese New Year, and colorful flower markets lined the streets.

We visited the tomb of a former emperor and the palace complex often referred to as Vietnam’s Forbidden City. Our guide, a young woman named Loi, shared more historical information than most of us could possibly absorb in one day.

At another stop we climbed 127 steps up a hillside to reach "The, Tomb of Khai Dinh”, where one of the emperors was buried.

It was a long climb but the architecture and surrounding view was worth it.

Lunch was served at a busy restaurant filled with several other tour groups. We enjoyed a variety of local dishes along with hot jasmine tea.

Later we stopped at a small shop where I purchased a souvenir, a wooden water buffalo three dimensional puzzle carved from the wood of the Jackfruit tree. Nearby, a young woman demonstrated how incense sticks are made for use in Buddhist temples.

Watching her work was fascinating.

By the time we returned to the ship that evening, everyone was tired from a long day of walking and sightseeing.

The next day we sailed toward Hong Kong.

Once again, since approaching Vietnam, I finally had time to sit quietly on the balcony and watch the sea slide past.

Gradually the tension I had felt began to fade.

The cities, the crowds, the temples, the motorbikes—all of it slowly settled into memory.

By the time we neared Hong Kong, I felt like myself again.

Or so I thought.

As the ship eased across the calm water into Hong Kong harbor an hour before sunrise, a faint smell drifted across the water. The city had celebrated the first day of Chinese New Year last night with a huge  fireworks display.

I’m sure most people on the ship probably never noticed the lingering smell.But I did.  For just a moment, it carried me back fifty-five years to a different time when smoke in the air meant something very different.

The memories returned as suddenly as they had when we first approached Vietnam.  Also, in an instant, they were gone. 

I suppose that should not have surprised me.

After all, nothing moves faster than a memory.

Mike