Hoi An is a river town. It's situated in the delta of the Thu Bon river, not far from the coast. The river is the centre of life here, and there's an endless procession of ferries, barges, fishing boats of all sizes, and brightly painted tourist craft, notable for their shaded benches and obligatory flags of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. Almost all are powered by putt-putting Chinese diesel engines, which provide a backdrop less annoying than one might imagine.
The tourist staple consists of pottering around the Hoi An river environs for an hour or two, and there are worse ways to spend a few dollars. My friends Simon and Jenny had greater ambitions however, and we set about negotiating a day's excursion up river. This caused consternation amongst the boatmen, but some assistance from Mrs Quyen, a generous restauranteur who has taken us under her wing, meant this dangerous deviation could be arranged after much map viewing, sucking of breath through the teeth, and face-saving. I was happy to play zeta-male throughout, as Simon is blessed with the ability to command any circumstance involving gesticulating mariners, cartography and currency exchange.
Thus it was at 5.30 the next morning, we clambered aboard said tourist skiff (launch would be too generous a description) and putt-putted for three hours against the current. The voyage was exquisite, as once away from Hoi An, we could soak in the comings and goings of sand barges, tiny fishing punts, bird life, and the oriental bucolic ashore. The river meanders through rice paddies, villages and plantations, and after the obligatory grounding on a sandbank, we reached our destination.
Mỹ Sơn is at the base of a range of low mountains. It's a complex of Hindu temples dating to the 8th Century, and whilst it is (I'm reliably informed) more ruined and less substantial than Angkor Wat, it fully deserves its world heritage listing.
Once ashore, we had a 10 kilometre ride as pillion passengers on motorcycles, pre-arranged as part of our "package deal". I found myself sitting behind a slip of a a girl, desperately trying to grasp the seat strap without appearing to make meaningful contact with her bottom. I make no comment on the quality of her bottom, but my self-appointed status, albeit delusional, of gentleman-of-a-certain-age was fastidiously preserved.
Now, I should mention, lest you have images of pith-helmets and elephant guns, Mỹ Sơn is a very popular tourist draw card amongst Vietnamese and foreigners alike. Most arrive on air conditioned coaches, so the real adventure in our visit was the way we got there. And I'll admit to a healthy fantasy involving Joseph Conrad, a machete and a sextant for several hours.
The temples are ornate and mysterious, echoing a sophisticated culture, long disappeared, The complex covers several hectares, with paths winding through thin jungle. This status of "recent regrowth" is, apparently, a function of our American friends, who applied skills with chemistry in reducing the pesky trees hiding the Viet Cong during what the locals call the American War.
Mỹ Sơn was identified as a hideout for the forces opposing the good ol' yew-ess-of-ay. Which explains why some of the oldest temples are a little the worse for wear. Alright, let's be blunt here. The Yanks bombed the shit out of the place. A 28-metre temple tower, one of the oldest and most striking, is now a collection of intricately carved rubble. Others in the same group are very large piles of bricks. Deep bomb-craters are plentiful, and there's a few intact bombs on display, right next to the alters, columns, inscribed tablets, and carvings that I can't describe, except to say that they look like penises.
Note that there's no great propaganda effort here. The signs and information panels make slight mention of who fucked over this treasure - the devastation speaks for itself. The Vietnamese have put a lot of effort into preservation and a little into restoration. The place seems carefully managed, and Disneyland it ain't.
So why was Mỹ Sơn bombed? I guess the American thinking (no mention of oxymorons from me) was that these substantial structures were the perfect place for the resistance to - er - resist. A pity they didn't refer to the body of writings by the French archeologists who uncovered the place early in the 20th Century. The interiors of the extant temples are tiny, and some are just solid edifices. This is a place of monuments, and all the action, ritually speaking, was on the exteriors. Shivas, Ganeshas, friezes, inscriptions... you get the idea. Digging a hole would provide a much better place to store your AK-47's, and nobody would run into one of these places to hide. They made perfect targets.
Which leaves, to my amateur military tactician's mind, several possibilities.
The tourist staple consists of pottering around the Hoi An river environs for an hour or two, and there are worse ways to spend a few dollars. My friends Simon and Jenny had greater ambitions however, and we set about negotiating a day's excursion up river. This caused consternation amongst the boatmen, but some assistance from Mrs Quyen, a generous restauranteur who has taken us under her wing, meant this dangerous deviation could be arranged after much map viewing, sucking of breath through the teeth, and face-saving. I was happy to play zeta-male throughout, as Simon is blessed with the ability to command any circumstance involving gesticulating mariners, cartography and currency exchange.
Mỹ Sơn is at the base of a range of low mountains. It's a complex of Hindu temples dating to the 8th Century, and whilst it is (I'm reliably informed) more ruined and less substantial than Angkor Wat, it fully deserves its world heritage listing.
Once ashore, we had a 10 kilometre ride as pillion passengers on motorcycles, pre-arranged as part of our "package deal". I found myself sitting behind a slip of a a girl, desperately trying to grasp the seat strap without appearing to make meaningful contact with her bottom. I make no comment on the quality of her bottom, but my self-appointed status, albeit delusional, of gentleman-of-a-certain-age was fastidiously preserved.
Now, I should mention, lest you have images of pith-helmets and elephant guns, Mỹ Sơn is a very popular tourist draw card amongst Vietnamese and foreigners alike. Most arrive on air conditioned coaches, so the real adventure in our visit was the way we got there. And I'll admit to a healthy fantasy involving Joseph Conrad, a machete and a sextant for several hours.
The temples are ornate and mysterious, echoing a sophisticated culture, long disappeared, The complex covers several hectares, with paths winding through thin jungle. This status of "recent regrowth" is, apparently, a function of our American friends, who applied skills with chemistry in reducing the pesky trees hiding the Viet Cong during what the locals call the American War.
Mỹ Sơn was identified as a hideout for the forces opposing the good ol' yew-ess-of-ay. Which explains why some of the oldest temples are a little the worse for wear. Alright, let's be blunt here. The Yanks bombed the shit out of the place. A 28-metre temple tower, one of the oldest and most striking, is now a collection of intricately carved rubble. Others in the same group are very large piles of bricks. Deep bomb-craters are plentiful, and there's a few intact bombs on display, right next to the alters, columns, inscribed tablets, and carvings that I can't describe, except to say that they look like penises.
Note that there's no great propaganda effort here. The signs and information panels make slight mention of who fucked over this treasure - the devastation speaks for itself. The Vietnamese have put a lot of effort into preservation and a little into restoration. The place seems carefully managed, and Disneyland it ain't.
So why was Mỹ Sơn bombed? I guess the American thinking (no mention of oxymorons from me) was that these substantial structures were the perfect place for the resistance to - er - resist. A pity they didn't refer to the body of writings by the French archeologists who uncovered the place early in the 20th Century. The interiors of the extant temples are tiny, and some are just solid edifices. This is a place of monuments, and all the action, ritually speaking, was on the exteriors. Shivas, Ganeshas, friezes, inscriptions... you get the idea. Digging a hole would provide a much better place to store your AK-47's, and nobody would run into one of these places to hide. They made perfect targets.
Which leaves, to my amateur military tactician's mind, several possibilities.
- They really were convinced this was some sort of fortress. Hey, the buildings are solid and impressive (each approximating a smallish brick house in floor area) and they're not made of bamboo.
- They could see them, so it was the only thing they could hit.
- A 28 metre tower is decidedly phallic, and the Americans just wanted to make sure the locals knew who had the biggest dicks.