Buddhas&Bonsais

The lines on his face were definite, like roadways on a map – purposeful and true. His voice cracked with emotion, as he spoke about the last time he set foot on this land.

Scooters whizzed by in typical Vietnamese fashion and smog hung over the roadway in the late afternoon sun.

“When the boys returned from WWII, they were heroes,” he said. “We returned baby killers, who fought farmers in their fields.”

We had met abruptly and over a few beers on a busy Hu? patio his tale immerged. Horrific loses, a traumatized generation of boys, and he was back – returning to face a lifetime of pain.

“Clicking purchase for the ticket to Hanoi may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he said.

Stories of bloodshed, tears and stolen youth painted a much different image than the Vietnam in front of me.

The man sipped his beer and spoke earnestly about trying to move on. To forget the sound of helicopters and mortar fire, the sight of tearful men returning from bombing runs. Life after war is never the same.

“To this day when I hear a helicopter, my head wheels around instantly,” he said. “That’s something that never leaves you.”

Cigarette smoke drifted over us, mixing with car exhaust as our group ordered another round of cold Huda Beer.

His journey for closure led him back. He met old enemies, a former NVA solider shared a cabin with him on an overnight train and the two cried together – leaving new friends.

Rusted relics of war liter Vietnam, abandoned along roadways and beaches and deep in the jungle – silent reminders of the fight to prevent the spread of communism. The man’s story was anything but silent or passive.

The major attraction I felt to Vietnam was the draw of history and the war that defined it. The man’s stories put the beautiful sights and western-bred misconceptions into their rightful place; the kind of on-the-ground education no textbook can provide.

“Being back here, although difficult, is exactly what I needed – for closure,” he said candidly. “I can definitely see myself coming back again.”

If the jungle covered hills of central Vietnam could speak, they would have many tales to tell; but on my journey through the region it was the words of one man that resonated most deeply.