Flashback to South Vietnam, 1967-1968

This particular flashback is a little more positive in nature.

While on convoy to Poli Klang, to be air lifted up to another L Z (landing zone), we stopped to rest at this wide spot in the road where the river went east to the sea. After our rest, we would continue west into the highlands. During this stop I noticed a tribe of Montagnards and their village.

The bamboo huts were incredibly strong and sturdy, and about five or so off the ground, to allow for high water during monsoon. In the middle of this village was a larger hut, probably a community center.

As I gazed around toward the river, I saw the women and children in the river bathing and playing. It was a beautiful day, sun shining, very few clouds, no rain.

Gazing around some more I saw three men squatted down by this old tree. Bananas trees were all around. Short, fat bananas, the best I had ever eaten so far in my short life. One of the men was smoking a pipe, and the others were smoking what appeared to be tobacco leaves rolled into cigars.

I wandered over to get a closer look and smiled at the three men. Their skin brown and thick from the elements, and their feet padded like wolves or dogs. Hardly a stitch of clothing except for a fig leaf. As I wondered what they might be thinking of, I went up to the man smoking the pipe. In my primitive sign language I asked if he had made the pipe himself. He nodded yes. Then I asked to see it. He handed it to me; it was carved from some local hardwood.

Anyway I liked it so much I signed again if he would sell or trade it. Again he nodded yes, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out some local currency, piasters I think they were called, and signed again to trade two piasters. His eyes lit up like a hundred candles; probably more money than he had seen. I gave him the cash, he gave me the pipe. We both smiled.

As I looked around, it was a startling culture shock to realize that people still lived so primitive. I reached over and patted him on the shoulder and he looked at me with a tear in his eye. Trucks were starting, it was time to head into the jungle again.

50 years later, I still think of that peaceful few moments when two souls were touched by a new friendship.

— James Louis of Bruneau, ID

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