different flavors for us to sample. I was particularly interested in the young women who sat mainly in small groups sharing a common sundae. They all looked so familiar. The raspberry sorbet lit up my mouth with such a bright, smooth and cold flavor that I quickly admitted that it was the best I had ever had. I had never thought about what I would find when I came to Vietnam because I treated this trip as my mission – nothing more. But in the matter of a few short hours, I had met some of my best friends, sampled some of the best ribs, licked some of the smoothest ice cream, and watched some of the prettiest girls. As we left the ice cream shop, the lights in the trees and from the buildings danced on the water.
“How you like Hanoi the capital?” asked Tan.
“It’s amazing,” I concluded.
“Tomorrow, I take you to some places in Hanoi, so you can see more, okay?”
“Sure. Anything you like.”
I had one more day to experience everything my dad never did.
American Soldiers in the North
The policemen at the station in Thai Nguyen did not tell the precise truth. They laughed at the prospect of American troops in the north during the war, and I played the part of the ignoramus for even suggesting my dad had served around Thai Nguyen. However, I learned that there were some American soldiers in the north during the war, just not in the capacity that I had envisioned.
Early the next morning, Tan picked me up at Jason’s university to take me around Hanoi on my last day in Vietnam. We first stopped for some breakfast when I sheepishly reminded him that I still didn’t have any money. He ordered two large bowls of “pho” with that same raw beef that I stared in horror at the day before. But this time, the onions, spices, and subtle chili flavor brought my taste buds alive. I dunked the raw pieces of beef in the piping hot soup and managed to slurp down my noodles using the ceramic spoon with quite a bit of enthusiasm. Life was different now compared with yesterday and so were the noodles.
Our first stop after breakfast was the flower village, which he excitedly told me had the wreckage of a B52 bomber. Sure enough, as he pulled off to the side of a small square lake surrounded by typical two and three story Vietnamese homes, rising out of the water stood the metal wreckage of a B52.
“Everyone calls this B52 Lake. We shot down the Americans and the plane crashed here, but the pilots all survived. Parachuted out. All of them captured and taken to Hoa Lo prison. We go there later,” said Tan. “You have camera? I can take picture for you.”
I didn’t even have a camera. I came here in such a rush that I really hadn’t thought through anything. I only wanted to comfort dad, which I hadn’t. I still felt sick about the ashes under the wrong banana tree.
I walked around the small pond looking intently at the three airplane tires still halfway jutting out of the water. They must have been sitting that way for more than forty years. The irony of it all seemed palpable. A B52 bomber is swallowed up by a lake, yet all the airmen survive. A single soldier jumps into a rice paddy only to be drowned in a hole left by a B52. I wondered if Johnson floated to the top after a while; perhaps his backpack stuck straight out of the water like the B52 wreckage. Perhaps the sole of his boots glimpsed the light of day like the airplane’s tires sat suspended over the murky water. I envisioned my dad hanging on to the side of the rice paddy thinking about his dead friend just feet away.
“Lots of American pilots shot down around here,” Tan woke me out of my trance. “You don’t have a camera?”
“No.”
“That stolen too?”
“No.”
“How come you spend so much money to come to Vietnam but only spend two days and don’t bring a camera?”
“There was something I had to do.”
“I know. You had to find banana trees by a lake in Tay Nguyen,” Tan laughed. I didn’t think it was particularly funny.
“How you like Hanoi the capital?” asked Tan.
“It’s amazing,” I concluded.
“Tomorrow, I take you to some places in Hanoi, so you can see more, okay?”
“Sure. Anything you like.”
I had one more day to experience everything my dad never did.
American Soldiers in the North
The policemen at the station in Thai Nguyen did not tell the precise truth. They laughed at the prospect of American troops in the north during the war, and I played the part of the ignoramus for even suggesting my dad had served around Thai Nguyen. However, I learned that there were some American soldiers in the north during the war, just not in the capacity that I had envisioned.
Early the next morning, Tan picked me up at Jason’s university to take me around Hanoi on my last day in Vietnam. We first stopped for some breakfast when I sheepishly reminded him that I still didn’t have any money. He ordered two large bowls of “pho” with that same raw beef that I stared in horror at the day before. But this time, the onions, spices, and subtle chili flavor brought my taste buds alive. I dunked the raw pieces of beef in the piping hot soup and managed to slurp down my noodles using the ceramic spoon with quite a bit of enthusiasm. Life was different now compared with yesterday and so were the noodles.
Our first stop after breakfast was the flower village, which he excitedly told me had the wreckage of a B52 bomber. Sure enough, as he pulled off to the side of a small square lake surrounded by typical two and three story Vietnamese homes, rising out of the water stood the metal wreckage of a B52.
“Everyone calls this B52 Lake. We shot down the Americans and the plane crashed here, but the pilots all survived. Parachuted out. All of them captured and taken to Hoa Lo prison. We go there later,” said Tan. “You have camera? I can take picture for you.”
I didn’t even have a camera. I came here in such a rush that I really hadn’t thought through anything. I only wanted to comfort dad, which I hadn’t. I still felt sick about the ashes under the wrong banana tree.
I walked around the small pond looking intently at the three airplane tires still halfway jutting out of the water. They must have been sitting that way for more than forty years. The irony of it all seemed palpable. A B52 bomber is swallowed up by a lake, yet all the airmen survive. A single soldier jumps into a rice paddy only to be drowned in a hole left by a B52. I wondered if Johnson floated to the top after a while; perhaps his backpack stuck straight out of the water like the B52 wreckage. Perhaps the sole of his boots glimpsed the light of day like the airplane’s tires sat suspended over the murky water. I envisioned my dad hanging on to the side of the rice paddy thinking about his dead friend just feet away.
“Lots of American pilots shot down around here,” Tan woke me out of my trance. “You don’t have a camera?”
“No.”
“That stolen too?”
“No.”
“How come you spend so much money to come to Vietnam but only spend two days and don’t bring a camera?”
“There was something I had to do.”
“I know. You had to find banana trees by a lake in Tay Nguyen,” Tan laughed. I didn’t think it was particularly funny.
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