Cu Chi Cu Chi Cu

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No, the title of today's entry doesn't designate the fruitful procreation of our dedicated band of bachelors, in fact Stace bemoaned the lack of sex in a colorful lunchtime rant. What can one expect when sharing a room with 2 other chaps? We're too old to tie a hanky to the door handle.

No, the title alludes to our insertion into the narrow confines of the Cu Chi tunnels today, a boggling experience illustrative of Charlie's diminuitive stature and guerilla prowess. The tour was narrated by the colorful veteran "Mr Bean" and his unique perspective on service with the South Vietnamese / Americans during the war, which among other corrections he asserted lasted 125 years. To Mr Bean's point of view was added a propaganda ridden archive movie demonising the American (pronounced here to rhyme with "Hun") - but then again, I suspect Western history is biased in its own way too. Certainly Mr Bean didn't want us believing any of the "bullshee" Hollywood portrayals of the conflict, although he did make exception for Apocalypse Now. Verbose and passionate, our Guide enhanced a tour of inconceivably snug snipper holes, booby traps and B52 bomb craters. The highlight was a squeeze through the pitch black tunnels themselves; sinking as deep as 9m underground and measuring 70x about 110cm, they're not for the claustrophobic.

By our 3pm return to HCMC we were famished. Two meals and another visit to Delta Adverture Tours set us up for an 8pm bus to chill out at Mui Ne.

Staring out the bus window at Ho Chi Minh City's friendly neon, I had what alcoholics would call a "moment of clarity" - I've never been happier.

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