Cleaning Dishes

Cleaning Dishes

Mekong River

Viet Nam

June 2005

I am making a huge effort to do everything I can to avoid any water contamination illnesses.  I am taking malaria medication.  I am brushing my teeth with bottled water only.  I am only eating fruits that are peeled so I don't have to worry washing them before I eat them.  I have water pills and a water purifier with me, tucked away in my back pack.  I think I am keeping on top of this potential difficult situation. Then I leave a restaurant after a particularly delicious meal.  We board a small boat and our waitress waves to us.  She is on the dock, cleaning our dishes in the filthy water of the Mekong River. 

To read more stories, check out:   bkmemoirs.blogspot.com

 or  bkmemoirs.wordpress.com

Water Village- Viet Nam

Water Village
Viet Nam
Summer 2005

I've traveled so much that I often begin a trip wondering if I will see anything new.  And then I do and a usual, I am taken by surprise.  This time, I am in Viet Nam and we visit a village that is constantly floating.  The boats float with the tide and the necessity to be relocated to keep from crashing each other.  So a man could leave for work in the morning and come home and spend some time finding the current location of his boathouse.

While so much of the day surprised me, I couldn't get comfortable with the children's oblivious regard for the dangers of the water. Small children were left unattended and roamed the boats without life jackets or supervision.  Little babies fell overboard and some ten year old neighbor would scoop him up and put back on board before a parent ever knew a trauma had just been avoided.

This little boy followed our boat for much of the afternoon.  I tried to encourage him to leave us as I worried that he would never find his family's boat again.  But we couldn't shake him. He had never seen such funny looking people and he was not going to pass up this opportunity to stare at us to his heart's content.

I Ate This Tarantula

Viet Nam- June 2005

No matter how many spices you add or how many beers  you drink afterwards, tarantula is not tasty.  I ate half of this gross bug. They are fussy, gritty and most unsatisfying.

To read more stories, check out:   bkmemoirs.blogspot.com

 or  bkmemoirs.wordpress.com

The American War Museum- Viet Nam

The American War Museum

July, 2005
Ho Chi Min City, Viet Nam

I am in Viet Nam, visiting the American War Museum. The country is celebrating 30 years since the end of this war.  I have always been drawn to this war.  Why were we ever there? What did we hope to accomplish? Would I ever fight in a war? What great atrocity would have to be committed to motivate me to take up arms against another human being?

The last soldiers sent over there would be my age now.  They would be men who have had their children and are now slipping into the role of grandparents.

I notice a photo of an American taken in 1970; he looks to be about 18 but must be my age now, maybe even older.  He is bare chested, smoking a cigarette and he is holding something with one hand. He is grinning, ear-to-ear.  I look closer and he is holding the head and upper torso of a Vietnamese man. The rest of this body been blown away. Our soldier holds this head like a trophy, like a hunter who has just snagged a buck.  Of all the destruction I see today, this photo haunts me the most and I wonder what this man would think of his photo now, 30 years later.

Viet Nam and Cambodia- June 2005

Viet Nam and Cambodia 

June 2005

I have always been very interested in Viet Nam and the war and all of the mess that went with this war.  For years, I wanted to travel to this country but didn't because of some misguided respect for my uncle who fought in this ugly war.  I didn't want to insult him and so I thought I would wait until he died before I would step on these sad grounds. 

But in March 2005, my dad died suddenly and I just felt as if time was running out and now is the time to go.  So I booked a tour for June, 2005.  I traveled for three weeks thought Viet Nam and Cambodia.  There were five other people traveling with me: two sisters form England, a married couple for Australia and a woman from New Zealand who was recently widowed.

I left on June 23rd, the day after my dad's memorial service in Philadelphia.  We had a funeral in March.  But now, judges from the the federal courthouse, where he was a judge, decided to hold a memorial service in his honor.  The entire court house was shut down for the day and judges, lawyers, politician, friends and family paid tribute to my dad.  The end of the day culminated with the unveiling of a life size portrait of him which now hangs in his courtroom.  The day was magnificent and truly an honor to him and an undeserved honor for us, his children.  

I left my family and headed to the airport for my flight to Ho Chi Ming City, a bustling metropolis of taxis, motorcycles and bicycles.  I met lots of people during this three weeks, all of whom were willing to share their stories of survival after the war. And what amazed me was the fact that so many of these people did not have fathers.  They either never knew their fathers because he was an American soldier just passing through.  Or he had been killed by us or them or someone unknown.  Or, as I heard most often, "I don't know. They come and got him one night."

It was hard to soak in the joy of my father's tribute as I wandered around an entire country of fatherless adults who had no closure on the death of their fathers.