DISASTER AS USUAL FOR THE CASEY AND ERIK DUO but VIETNAM DOESN'T DISAPPOINT

            I've never worried about countries, other people or wild animals getting Casey and me. I just worry about us getting us. And, as usual, it happened. We're in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). Just typing those words is, frankly, thrilling. The city is beautiful (far beyond what I expected). The hotel (Caravelle) is fabulous as I now suspect every hotel where we stay will be. The people have been absolutely wonderful once again. Philosophically, I know that stereotypes are wrong, period. They don't become right simply because they're positive. So, I won't say Asians are generally wonderful people, but....

            First, let me explain a bit more what this event is. I'm trying to do that piece by piece so I don't bore you with all the details in a single day's notes. Thirteen two-person teams from around the globe are competing for charity by conducting a number of magnificent scavenges in 11 countries over 23 days. The scavenges range from eating unique foods to visiting temples and museums to securing information from local people. Casey and I started this event looking to be in contention. Well, we learned from Leg 1 in Shanghai that such was not in the cards. The folks we're traveling with are serious about this stuff. Don't get me wrong. They're wonderful people who are not obnoxiously competitive. But they're out to win no matter what effort is required. One of the members of the team now in first place finished the first two days with feet so blistered, they were covered in bandages and slippers during our Wednesday morning meeting. Yet she was a raring to go again. Literally, this is like a season of "The Amazing Race." Casey and I were occasionally at each others' throats in Shanghai, pushing to get in as many scavenges as we could. Yet, we still wound up in the bottom half of the competitors. Bill and Pamela, the event directors, have said that each team has to decide for themselves whether to seek to win the whole thing or take a more relaxed approach to the event. I see advantages to both. The scavenges involve fun activities that teach you about the area. So, the more you do, the more eventful your trip will be. But Casey and I are on edge enough without the need for added stress. And frankly, Bill has planned such spectacular activities that a handful of "scavenges" provides reason enough to plan a return visit to each locale in the future.

            Plus, Casey and I got plenty of added stress last night (on the first day of our Vietnam leg) when we discovered that the plastic bag containing all of our medication (of which I have six prescriptions) and our camera charger had been pilfered and the important stuff removed. The culprits did leave us with the nasal spray and baby powder (thank god for small victories), but they took everything else. And when you weigh 800 pounds, you need your meds. I have no idea where the romp through our stuff occurred, but I now know the hard way not to leave anything valuable laying about your room or in checked luggage (which we had locked but was still accessible to airport security). Fortunately, what a friend we have in April who has helped me secure needed drugs elsewhere. And we have managed to have a great time in Ho Chi Minh City despite being unmedicated.

                                                                                   

The Vietnam "Conflict"

            For those of you old enough to remember, Congress never declared it a war. Make no mistake. It was a war, as horrific in its effects as war can be. Naturally, the Vietnamese don't call it "The Vietnam War" because they've been involved in multiple wars on their territory. Many of them call it The American War because this time the Americans were the aggressors whereas in the past, the aggressors were the French or the Chinese.

            America now has strong relations with Vietnam and businesses in the two nations are involved in many an enterprise. And everyone has treated us with nothing but respect during our brief jaunt here. But make no mistake: the Vietnamese have not forgotten The American War and they don't look kindly on our nation's involvement. A trip to the War Remnants Museum made that abundantly clear. Hundreds of photographs of battle atrocities adorn every wall of the structure -- children with missing limbs, women with the skin burned off their backs by Agent Orange or garden variety napalm and dead bodies littering the streets. Two photographs were especially disturbing to me. One was a photograph of a family -- husband, wife and children -- with looks of terror on their faces. The photographer's notes say the family was about to be killed by our troops. The photographer asked the soldiers to hold off on the assassination for a single picture. As the photographer was walking away, he heard rapid gunfire and never looked back. The other was of a child laughing and playing with his mother, enjoying life, despite his grossly contorted face, clearly the victim of chemical warfare with enormous caverns for eyes and an appearance that will forever receive stares of pity. There were also photos of American troops torturing locals and seeming to enjoy the experience -- an eerie reminder of Abu Ghraib.

            "War is hell," the saying goes, and the ground participants are merely pawns in a struggle manufactured by politicians and businessmen. I truly believe that, and more so, after visiting the Cu Chi tunnels. What could cause soldiers from our nation -- which for so long was the purportedly perennial liberator rather than aggressor -- to engage in such atrocities (pre-GW Bush, that is, before preemptive strike apparently became acceptable)? Granted, the museum we visited painted a partially perverted picture of propaganda as there were undoubtedly plenty of misdeeds by both sides. But horrific acts by American troops were not a rarity, and the visit to the jungles of Vietnam today provided some insight as to why. We took off early this morning by speed boat along the Saigon River for the Cu Chi district where much of The American War took place. The river and its banks resemble the setting of a '70s or '80s motion picture. (Sorry.) We arrived in the jungles by mid-morning when it was already so hot and humid that one has to wonder how anyone lived in this region, much less dodged bullets and booby traps for months on end. Not a Four Seasons in sight. (Sorry again.) The tour was awe-inspiring. Needless to say, it was biased. A preliminary 20-minute videotape described Americans in the worst possible light, praising the Viet Cong soldiers who received awards of valor based on the number of American soldiers they slaughtered. But while the video, tour guide and tunnels sought desperately to cast our troops in the most unfavorable light, and the Viet Cong as so valiant, they only confirmed for me that American troops were faced with unimaginable horrors that would cause anyone to lose his friggin' mind!

            During The French War, the Vietnamese built tunnels to hide and escape. During The American War, those tunnels became the key to battle -- and ultimately victory. North Vietnam and the Viet Cong were outgunned and outspent. They faced a technological force that couldn't be beaten on its own terms. So they played street ball. They expanded the tunnels to create an entire underground where the people literally lived -- cooked, ate, slept and fought. Children were conceived and born there. And our side never really knew what hit them. The tunnels were too small for most American soldiers to traverse. And they were booby trapped. Bamboo spears greeted those leaping into them. Our soldiers called this experience the "one-way ticket" because when one of their companions landed on the spears, he faced a slow, painful and certain death. The Viet Cong created numerous faux tunnels as well, with countless booby traps. Casey and I toured a seemingly unending stream of such devices. And we watched mannequins re-enact the Viet Cong's conversion of American bombs that never exploded into land mines that littered the jungle. It became clear that every step an American soldier took could not only be his last, but one that lingered with him during many hours of unenviable demise. This terror confronted our soldiers every day. And every Vietnamese person they confronted, including women and children, could be their assassin, wielding wooden spears or homemade bombs. Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe. The rules of warfare (what a joke -- as though acts of mass destruction can be governed by social mores) were nonexistent to the Viet Cong, who faced an enemy with technological superiority that was insurmountable unless they supposedly "fought dirty." And so every step, every hole, every piece of sod, every child, every mother -- everything our soldiers encountered on an hourly basis -- was fraught with potentially pernicious peril. They could trust no one -- not even Mother Nature. Is it any wonder they often reacted with gruesome retaliation? The question of "who started it" was meaningless to the pawns as the sniper fire and hidden land mine explosions rang through the air.

            What a shame it appears our politicians have forgotten this extraordinary misadventure and compelled us to revisit such unwinnable (and unjust) guerilla warfare in recent years. Where have all the flowers gone, indeed? Well, we're off to Cambodia tomorrow for two days. We won't know until Sunday where we travel after that. We're as blind as U.S. policymakers continue to be.