Vinh Moc Tunnels, Vietnam's DMZ

2 of Hong's cousins and a neighbor took me by motorbike to see the Vinh Moc tunnel system about 8km north of her village, Tung Luat. Broken concrete levee tops; rutted, pot-holed, slippery clay dirt tracks; gravel strewn corners; and some stretches of good pavement made up our path to the caves. I was a bit nervous, as I did not know my driver and had never been 80 kmph (50mph) on a motorbike (100cc scooter) with no helmet before.

I paid $3.50 for 3 locals and one tourist (my ticket was double their price) and we met with another group of americans on a charity cycle-tour from Hanoi to Doi An to tour the caves. The tunnel museaum exhibited photos of life in the tunnels; a map of the complete tunnel system (1300km at its peak); the rusty, broken, simple farm tools they used to dig the tunnels out; and an anti-aircraft gun. 17 babies were born in this tunnel and lived there for 10 years. 13 are still alive today. I ask our guide if anyone has talked to the people that dug these tunnels and lived in this underground vilage to share their stories? Many are still alive, and I don't think they have talked about their experience. I wonder what it would take to find an interpreter, and if a history-ignorant American is the best person to go about documenting this dormant piece of world history. Many Vietnamese people want to move on and forget the war, but many of the older generation, espeically those whose relatives and children are violently disabled or dead, are still consumed by anger. These people's stories must be amazing.

We followed our english-speaking guide down into the maze, ducking added wooden support beams the first 100' or so. We walk only 500 m of the tunnel system; much of the rest has collapsed from bombs and rains in the last 30 years. Many of us westerners hunch down, as the tunnels are only 1.8 m tall. The soil had to be carried out and dumped in the river or the ocean so the Americans wouldn't see where they were being dug, so the dimentions were exact--no extraneous space. My shoulders brush the clay walls on either side walking through the dim labyrinth. The tiny living spaces each family called home were smaller than a twin bed: around 3' wide by 6' deep by 4' tall. They had weapons storage rooms, a toilet system (a 4' diameter woven basket that was emptied into the ocean every night), a kitchen we didn't see, a maternity room, a meeting room 7' wide by 6.5' tall by 30-40' long (70 person capacity), a bomb shelter we didn't see, guard cubbyholes near the entrances to make sure enemies weren't getting in, and two wells. The entrances and exits served as air holes and allowed some light to enter. The ingenuity and intelligence of the design and layout were amazing.

There was one place where the tour turned left and down stairs and the tunnel also continued straight on. I used this opportunity to pull out my flashlight and sneak a peak off the beaten track. The energy in the tunnel sections on tour felt cleansed and healed to me. Nothing like the energy at Auchwitz...though I guess Vin Moc was a stronghold and a refuge rather than a torture camp. But the energy in the tunnel section I snuck a peek at was pretty dark and empty and tortured--residual feelings from 200+ people living in darkness for 10 years. I wonder how long it would take you to get found if you got lost down there?

At the end of the tour, I asked if it would be possible to see the kitchen, but our guide said it was far away and would be difficult to find from the surface (brush was used to cover the chimney and filter the smoke). I did not press the issue. I did try to peek down another entrance that was not on the tour. Climbing down the concrete steps to the opening, I looked in and noticed a large number of flies. And they seemed to be increasing in number...A closer look revealed striped black and yellow bodies and the insistant buzzing told me those were not flies at all. I have been stung only twice in my life, but that was more than enough and the swarm of bees sent me back to the surface in a hurry.

On the road home, I asked my driver to stop at the beach and baptized myself in the waters of the China Sea. So this is Vietnam...wow.