The Cu Chi Tunnels

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
"I’m headin’ into Nam." I said. The bathroom was right in front of me and the sign above it said Nam the Vietnamese word for men.

That was the only slightly amusing (and slightly disrespectful) portion of our half-day trip to the Cu Chi Tunnels outside of Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Vietnam.

Dodging traffic from absolutely every direction, we made it from our hotel to the place where we had booked the tour to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Brad and I were the only Americans along with an Aussie, four Brits, the Vietnamese driver, and the former South Vietnamese Army Veteran turned tour guide who gave us a brief history of the tunnels as we plodded along. He had lived in the US for some time, so his English was good. Though it is only 60km away, it took an hour and a half to get there due to the hectic streets and heavy traffic that was congested mostly by the immense amount of motorcycles carrying goods like huge blocks of ice, small trees, lumber, whole families, and I’m pretty sure I saw a guy carrying a box that held a large refrigerator that was attached to his back.

At the city of Cu Chi, I entered Nam and later I was transported to ‘Nam.

In a room with a glass case that depicted the tunnels, much like one of those ant farms, a video from the early ’60s was presented to a full audience. It showed how peaceful life was in the small rural community of Cu Chi before the war. Our guide had explained to us that the North Vietnamese had come to the village to seek support and help with the Communist movement. Essentially these country-folk became guerilla warriors also known as the Viet Cong. The north supplied them with weapons and ammunition in exchange for knowledge and secrets. During the war, the video showed how all the people fought for their home against “Washington’s bombs” and some were awarded a medal for being an “American Killer.” It was interesting to see things from another perspective. As a side note, in Vietnam, the country, the war is called The American War. I thought that was interesting.

Next, we headed to the actual tunnels which were an intricate labyrinth of over 250km of underground tunnels around the city, stretching to the border of Cambodia and the Mekong River. They had three levels. The first was three meters down and was where most of the traveling took place. The next was a couple more meters down and held living rooms and kitchens. The last was nine or 10 meters down and was the last defense when the B-52 bombs were dropped. There were secret passages every 30 meters or so. The entrances were so small. A Korean tourist was able to fit it, but the American got stuck at the waist. Walking above ground along a trail, we were showed a US Army tank that had been abandoned with bullet holes in the side. We were showed how the VC turned “dud” US bombs into weapons that blew up tanks. Booby traps were set and we got to see how they worked. Mostly the traps were metal rods attached to bamboo with small hooks on them. They were placed on the ground and covered with leaves so when someone stepped on them, that person would receive metal stakes in various parts of the body depending on the different trap. We were given the opportunity to fire a shotgun, AK-47, or an M-16. Brad and I passed, but some Brits took up the offer.

Later we were given a snack of green tea and some type of root that had been boiled for a few hours and were shown how they got rid of the smoke from the stoves through a 100 meter chimney that vented above ground. We were led through a display of sandals, called Ho Chi Minhs. They were the official sandal of the North Vietnamese Army and were made from the rubber of old tires. Our guide said they could last forever. Finally, the conclusion was to actually go into a tunnel. The opening had been enlarged to accommodate the western tourists. It was only large enough for me to walk with my knees completely bent so that I was sitting on my calves as I crouched through. After 30 meters of walking, I called it good and resurfaced, sweating from the heat below. They told us that people lived in the tunnels for years.

On the mini-bus ride home, I watched the rice paddies go by and spotted a few older men with missing limbs. I thought about what life had been like here over 30 years ago. The book I’m reading, Up Country, is about a Vet coming back to Vietnam to investigate a 30 year old murder. He is reminded by a younger friend that to her generation, Vietnam is a country—not a war. I can’t even imagine what it would have been like. But to help with my imagination, we were dropped off at the War Remnants Museum, formerly known as the Museum of American War Crimes. The courtyard was filled with American tanks, planes, and bombs and in addition there were eight rooms that held photos and memorabilia from the war along with quotes in several languages for description. As the former name of the museum alluded, many of the quotes had an anti-American feel to them.

Who’s to say who was right or wrong or if the Americans should have been there or not or stayed too long or not long enough. It seems wherever I go, I get to hear a lecture on America’s foreign policy. If we’ve entered a country, we should get out. If we’re not in a country, then we should be there. Again, it’s a question that has no right answer. But the consequence, either way, is lost lives.

The bus passed a cemetery where all the headstones were red with yellow stars on them.