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Another clunking sleeper train takes us south from Hanoi, about halfway down the country to Hue. An 18-hour beast of a journey. We wake about 5am to see the sun rising out of the window, flat green ricefields, people already up working in them. We rattle into Hue about midday.
Hue is another walled and moated city, but a bit more relaxed than Hanoi (if Hanoi is London, then Hue is York). We cycle all around the city in the afternoon, just poking about. Come across a few captured US tanks from the 'puppet regime' of the south on display, rusting away quietly.
A few friendly waves and smiles from people as we ride along. A man with his wife and two kids out for an afternoon ride (all on the same scooter) strike up a conversation with us, and before we know it we've agreed to meet ''Mr Tony'' and his family later for a meal. Yes this is a bit unusual, and several scenarios come into our minds, not least being strapped to the back of a scooter and kidnapped.
(Minor drama on the way back to the hotel - P topples off her bike and
Mr Tony
On about his fourth beer, bless 'im. cuts up her legs quite badly. The accident is made all the more remarkable by the fact she is completely stationary and not even on the bike at the time. Anyway, we bandage her up and limp off to meet with Mr Tony for our meal.)
Mr Tony arrives a bit late, alone and flustered. Turns out his daughter is unwell so he had to come alone. Alarms bells ring. Language difficulties means its unclear whether he's a teacher or a painter and decorator, or both. We stick to easy subjects instead, such as families and football, whilst getting stuck into bottles of local beer. A big silver pot appears on the table - with a plate of whole squid (ink sack included), prawns (still alive), fish, pork, noodles, fresh herbs - and Mr Tony throws them into a bubbling broth. All the time he's knocking back bottles of beer, becoming slightly more unbalanced as the night goes on, and more euphoric about our meeting. Lots of clinking of glasses.
Throughout the night he's getting sporadic texts and phone calls from his wife, who he says may or may not join us. She shows up after we've eaten,
clearly not happy with him for dragging her out, and for being a bit drunk. He continues to sink beer, and at one stage he invites us back to his house for more drinks, then offers to take us to a tailor's house to get a suit made there and then. Half of me is thinking he's just a bit nervous and over-friendly, the other half is eyeing the metal cooking pot for use as a defensive weapon should things take a turn for the worse.
It turned out to be all completely harmless. I think he just wanted to practice his english and get a free meal into the bargain. We made excuses about having an early start the next day and called a taxi (after politely declining his offer to give us a lift). We look back to see him struggling to start his scooter, and almost tipping over with the effort - his wife with her arms folded and shaking her head at him. I can only imagine the row he got the next morning.
Next day we're up early and packed into a stubby little bus for a tour of the area known in
Huge chopper
A captured US Chinook, now rusting in peace. the Vietnam war as the De-Militarised Zone (DMZ). Contrary to what the name implies, during the war this was the most militarised and fortified area on the planet, and marked the official dividing line between the communist north and US-backed south.
As is the case with group tours, most of the day is spent getting on and off the bus (P limping from her injuries) and shuffling into various sights.
Mr Yay was our guide - a rotund man in his fifties, who manages to look military in appearance even though he's just in chinos and a pressed shirt. Maybe it's the extandable stick he carries around ready to point at the maps on the walls in museums. He's got the sort of voice that doesn't need a microphone, but he uses one anyway (turning up the volume to 11) and drills the facts into us as we speed through the countryside. He's from the north, and his family's village was completely obliterated, but he gives a really balanced and interesting view - referring to the US army as the 'occupying force', but at the same time speaking warmly of reunions he'd help organise for US veterans, and
Going underground...
The Vinh Moc tunnels. always referring to the sadness the war brought to all involved.
The 'highlights' were the US air strip at Khe Sanh (a few captured helicopters), a VC war cemetery, and the Vinh Moc tunnels. The tunnels meant a whole village could move underground to escape the heavy US bombing of the area, and were on 3 levels, the deepest going to about 30m. At one point, 17 families lived down there. They were carved out of the clay soil, and quite cramped. I practically on all fours as we went around. Paula didn't have to duck once.
Other than this, we didn't see much to show there'd been a quite horrific and intense war only 40 years before. We saw a scrap-metal yard full of US bombs and rockets, a few piles of rocks on a hill ('The Rockpile'), and mountains still scarred by napalm and defoiliants, but not much else. There's plenty of mines still about, especially in this area.
A tyre explodes on our bus on the way back. Luckily we're not far from a roadside repair shop. A bloke fixes it in less than ten minutes, wearing just his underpants. Paula suggests I try
Inside the tunnels II
Paula looking beheaded. that next time I get a puncture on the way to work.
Get back to the hotel shattered and pack up ready to leave the next day...
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