War just f'ing sucks

How's that for a profound title? Thank you. I am a professional writer.

We've done a few tunnel trips in the last few days and they've left me chilled. Let me explain.

When we were in Hue, we took a day trip to the DMZ to see a series of tunnels that basically housed an entire village as well as fighters for years during the war. These tunnels had been carved by hand, handfuls of dirt at a time, over about 20 months. There were multiple entrances, some to the sea and others in the forest. Families had tiny carve outs, like caves, but teeny tiny caves where you barely fit even when sitting down. (We were imagining if we had to share a cave with another couple -- our thoughts went to the tallest couple we know, Chris and Don -- and we were like, "No way. We'd all be suffocated. Don's legs would take up most of our space.")

There was a maternity ward, and 17 babies were born there during the war. (16 survived and still live in the area.) There was a community gathering room and a cooking area. There were photos of kids having lessons and nurses at work. There were different levels, steps, and as I tried to get down one set without falling, I commented to Jordo, "They can build these complex tunnel system and no one thought to put in hand rails?"

The whole thing was a complex maze going off in all directions. Most of the time, I could walk upright. (So while my stature works against me when we play pool volleyball in Duck, it worked for me here. Except at one point I got too cocky and smacked my head.) Still, I felt like the walls were closing in.

And those, my friends, were the big tunnels.

Here in Saigon, we went to the Cu Chi tunnels. These are famous because the network is HUGE and were very effectively used by guerillas during the Vietnam/American War.

The first thing Sa, our rocking local guide, showed us was a piece of wood on the ground in a wooded area. I'd say it was smaller than a newspaper front page. That, he said, was one of the entrances. Jordo and I was dumbstruck. If I had to get down that tunnel, it would be like Winnie the Pooh in the honey tree and I'd just be stuck midway until I starved enough to fit in. One of Sa's pals showed us how to get down the tunnel, and when his hips and shoulders cleared the sides, I almost applauded. "Vietnamese people small," Sa said. (I wanted to say, "Um, we noticed." Lots of salespeople here seem to relish telling us how freakin' huge we are. "We have free size," they tell me when I'm looking at clothes. In one mall, this crazy woman kept rubbing Jordan's belly and calling him "Buddha." Meanwhile, her male compatriot was touching Jordan's arm hair and comparing his own hairless arm to Jordo's.)

Then we actually went down into the tunnels, which, we were told had been expanded by 40 percent to accomodate tourists. Oh my God. It was like being a giant in Liliput. I had to bend almost in half most of the time, and at one point found it easier to crawl. Sa told us that when the tunnels were in use, people learned to run without panting, communicate without speaking and cook without smoke. I don't know how they did the running/no panting thing. Negotiating those tunnels left me with a raised heart rate. (They did the communication thing with notes passed via children and the smokeless cooking by cooking around dawn when the air was heavy.)

Sa told us that during the start of the conflict, Americans soldiers were surprised because it seemed no one was in the area. When they figured out the tunnel system, they tried to get people out by doing things like 1) pouring water in or 2) pouring gasoline to set aflame or 3) using tear gas. Those things didn't work, Sa said. The people in the tunnels were actually thrilled by the fresh water, the gas was soaked up by the ground and didn't catch fire, and the tear gas was able to be isolated since the tunnels had different ventilation systems. (Please note: I have no idea how historically accurate any of this is. It's just what we were told that I'm retelling here.)

He told us how a group of men were specially trained as "tunnel rats." (I read something else that described these guys as "the smallest guys with the biggest cojones.") No way that's my job. The tunnels are creepy enough now and there's no one down there except guides and tourists; I can't imagine going into the darkness not knowing if someone was possibly waiting inside kill me by knife or gun, or if bamboo booby trap death was headed my way.

Because there were bamboo death traps, and Sa showed them to us. Some were formerly tiger traps, updated with spikes on the bottom to impale soldiers. He estimated that about 10 percent of American casualties were caused by this sort of warfare. Not that everyone of those people stepped on a spike or dropped in a spinning spike hole. Instead, one soldier would fall and the others would try to rescue him, leaving themselves open to ambush. We saw the many different bamboo spike based traps, including the ones that went into the water. A man in a military uniform demonstrated how each one worked - basically, someone would step on the trap and either fall into a hole or get caught by spinning sticks or something else horrible.

Horrifying. Simply horrifying. Someone, I think it was Sa, jokingly said to Jordo, "You want to try?" as we watched one trap and I was like, "Wow. That is so not funny and I have the most macabre sense of humor on earth." I didn't even like being near the traps.

On our way out, we heard an English language video playing in one of the huts and asked Sa if we should see it. He hesitated, saying, "Well, it's anti-American. Propaganda." That did not deter us. Indeed, the video spoke of the "American Imperialists" and the "brave (Vietnamese) martyrs, but it was to be expected. Still, I did find it It disturbing to see smiling women sharpen bamboo poles that would be used in one of those awful traps. (I understand the why, but I don't fully ever understand the internal 'how.' Sa had told us how women soldiers had so confused the Americans, making them extra lethal.) The video also had this boppy little song to accompany it, so you're seeing people hauling munitions and running and hiding underground with a merry tune playing.

After the video ended, Sa told us he normally doesn't recommend his tourists see it, particularly the older ones. "They start crying," he said. "They say, 'My son died here.'" Or, if they're younger, their friends or brothers or uncles or cousins.

I keep forgetting to bring my ipod on these long car trips so I'm stuck singing in my head while we cruise through the countryside. After this visit, stereotypically, I kept humming, "War! Good God, y'all. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again...." for about an hour. Which was better than the other day, when I couldn't get Ricky Martin's "Livin' la Vida Loca" out of my brain. (Other featured songs on "Natalie's head's Vietnam playlist": "The Consort" -- Rufus Wainwright, "Wherever whenever" -- Shakira and "Blasphemous Rumors" -- Depeche Mode. The last one isn't one of my fave DM songs, not even close, but I think it popped into my brain because of the lines, "And I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors/ But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor/And when I die/I expect to find him/Laughing.")

In our next installment of "Hammers and Scales" --- "Ho IS a 'ho: Natalie and Jordan's South Vietnamese guide tells it like it is...."　We gotta lighten this up a bit!