china beach

danang, vietnam

you really don't have to ask. assuming you understand that there was a war here, you would probably recognize why this not-massive city has so many used and unused airstrips, roadways, and bridges. if that conclusion proves elusive, maybe the sporadic and ubiquitous concrete bunkers falling prey to the overgrowth would be a dead giveaway. but really, if i'm truly being honest, the past of this city would not be found in the infrastructure or patsying around on some guided audio tour; it's in the molecules.

the feeling of danang/china beach is a distant relative of that which i've experienced at dachau or tuol sleng. let me further emphasize distant. even if their roots are all of or pertaining to conflict, that is not the connection. they each exude a sixth sensual sonar with a general transmission that seems to poke you in the soul and say, "hey, you, something happened here." in dachau or tuol sleng, it's an awe-inducing silent roar that comes from all around. here, it's more like stepping into an old ballroom from the roaring '20s that has not seen a gatsby in decades but still holds the echoes of their voices.

danang saw a lot of death, but i don't get the sense of tragedy from it (again, this is all from my reading the proverbial tea leaves and not from anything resembling investigative journalism.) danang is where the first grunts washed ashore when some suits in d.c. decided our interests in this country were worth american blood. it's about 200 km south of the demilitarized zone and a great port, making it more than suitable as a base for forward operations. the navy could set up shop in the deep waters to shell away at distant enemy positions. the air force could set up landing strips to launch bombing and recon missions (danang international (dad) was the busiest airport in the world from '67-'69 with aircraft taking off every twenty seconds.) the army could set up mess halls and barracks for young men recently returning from or soon slated to go into "the shit" to the north. i have no confirmation, but it's plausible that forrest gump was eating ice cream and learning ping pong here.

there were firefights and conflagrations here, though more of the insurgent variety. while it would be fair to label the whole city as a battle zone for historic purposes, it's not entirely accurate. in my few days here i've had the pleasure to look through old photos and hear a couple stories about the good ol' days. from vietnamese. i know that this outlook is not universal, but i have already met a few who formed genuine, long-lasting friendships with the american servicemen and-women here. i'm certain there are many more. the locals provided translation, the americans brought doctors and medicine to the countryside. they taught kids baseball and swear words. they behaved with that eye-rollingly inappropriate-yet-endearing charm with which americans seem to be uniquely graced.

in those photos, danang is portrayed not without its share of black smoke from anonymous vietcong explosions, though more present are smiling north american kids. smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. standing proud beside the entrance to their base. holding their rifles at the same temple on marble mountain where i was two days ago. lying shirtless on the beach and trying to forget the hell they inflicted and/or saw. north of here will be a different story. something just tells me that for this one place, those days or terror were not entirely bad. or so it reminds me.


if you're keeping score at home
you know a good book? like, a really good book? you know when you get to that point about a quarter of the way through when you just want to keep reading and immersing yourself in this fascinating world and dying to see how it all unfolds while, at the same time, the last thing you want is for that story to end? that's basically how i feel about this trip