The Road from Vung Tau to Saigon
Below is a MRR and PLR article in category Travel Leisure -> subcategory Other.
The Journey from Vung Tau to Saigon
Summary
This article recounts one of my early road trips in Vietnam during the war. Having arrived in South Vietnam in 1965, I set out on a journey from Vung Tau to Saigon with an interpreter, PB.Keywords
Vietnam, Vietnam War, Vietnam travel, Vietnam trip, Asian holidayArticle Body
During my time in Vietnam, I needed to travel to Saigon for private matters. Many of my colleagues from Decca also had personal business interests, which I might discuss later. Accompanied by my interpreter, PB, I hired a car and a chauffeur for the journey.We departed Vung Tau early, smoothly passing through Baria until we were startled by an explosion up ahead. It was a beautiful day, and over the years, I had grown accustomed to the nightly sounds of artillery. One learns to distinguish between outgoing and incoming shells, mortars, and machine gun fire. These sounds became part of daily life. Coming home after the war, I would find myself jumping at loud noises, but that was yet to come. For now, we continued onward, maneuvering around a crater in the road. With no destroyed vehicles in sight, we weren't overly concerned, though traffic was nonexistent.
A few miles later, we reached a bustling village where traffic had come to a standstill in both directions. Village chatter revealed that a bridge ahead had been destroyed. In true British fashion, I decided it was time for a tea break. We found a tea house and deliberated on our next steps, much like deciding whether to continue a picnic on a cloudy day.
PB, a North Vietnamese, was remarkably composed. We chose to abandon the car and driver, as the bridge impeded our journey, and proceeded on foot hoping to find transportation later. Exiting the village, we ventured onto a road elevated above surrounding rice paddies. The day was clear and serene, as if made for a leisurely walk.
Upon reaching the destroyed bridge, a precarious three-foot-wide section remained, and we crossed cautiously. Surveying the scene, I noticed the twisted wreckage of a three-wheeled vehicle. The driver was absent, likely fallen below, but it wasn't the time for curious exploration. A nearby peasant woman lay in an odd position, prompting a moment of surreal detachment?"her posture a silent prayer to death. My instinctive reaction shielded me from the grim reality. Nearby, a young girl appeared to peacefully sleep, her innocence untouched by the horrors around her. But her torn stomach revealed the tragic truth?"she would sleep eternally.
The world around us was eerily silent and motionless, disturbed only by a distant spotter plane resembling a high-soaring eagle. PB remained calm, and silently, we moved forward. Her bravery was steadfast, and neither of us would show weakness. Perhaps we were both a bit mad; the Vietnamese term "dien cai dau" or "dinkydow" fittingly means crazy.
We continued past the devastation until movement caught my eye?"a patrol of Regional Force soldiers navigating a roadside ditch. The officer leading them was ashen-faced, his shaking hand gripping a Colt .45. His appearance mirrored my inner turmoil, yet he paid us no heed. Eventually, we encountered a lone three-wheeled taxi and, for an exorbitant fee, journeyed to a village where further transport took us to Saigon.
In Saigon, I attended to my business. However, the evening lacked the relaxation I'd anticipated, with dinner tasting bland. The return journey loomed the next day.
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