Another highlight of February was the visit of a good friend from the US. A retired Marine colonel (and Vietnam veteran), he now frequently visits Asia as part of his work. Our family is always delighted to see him! On this brief visit, we took a couple days to visit some of the places he knew as a soldier. One of those places was Quang Tri. As the northern most province controlled by the Republic of Vietnam (the South Vietnamese) during the Vietnam war, Quang Tri was the location of brutal battles as both sides fought for control.
We traveled northwest of Danang to Quang Tri Province. We spent a little time in Hue (pronounced “whay”), where emperors ruled for centuries. The palace is now a tourist site, offering elephant rides, gardens, and ornate gold covered thrones. It is reminiscent of The Forbidden City in China: expansive grounds with many buildings. Some housed the emperor’s wives. Linh told me how favored wives were in danger for their lives, especially if they became pregnant. If the child was a boy, there was added jeopardy to both their lives. Women taken to be the wife of the emperor never again left the grounds. I could not help but think of women of poor means whose selection to that elite group meant trading the freedom from poverty to having no freedom at all. What a choice.
The battle site of Quang Tri is now also a tourist area. There is a small museum, largely intact bunkers, and a US helicopter and plane. I tried to imagine how it might have been for the brave men stationed there. I thought of my own brother, a Vietnam vet (now deceased). Wish I could ask him if he had been there.
A few people wandered the grounds, selling dog tags from American and South Vietnamese soldiers. I held them in my hand, but they held my heart. Names after name, home states, religious beliefs, blood types…I was keenly aware that each of the cold metal rectangles stood for a living, breathing human being. Part of me wanted to buy all the dog tags, and part of me wanted to make them stop selling them. It seemed profane to me, to sell the dog tags in the face of the sacrifices made on that hill.
Any way, if you are veteran—or if you love someone who is, I just wanted to say thank you. I appreciate your service. I wish my own brother were living so I could tell him.
With Good Friday nearly here, I am thinking about another sacrifice willingly made. I am thankful for that one, too. May we all live lives worthy of what has been given to us and for us.
Grace and peace,
Cindy
We traveled northwest of Danang to Quang Tri Province. We spent a little time in Hue (pronounced “whay”), where emperors ruled for centuries. The palace is now a tourist site, offering elephant rides, gardens, and ornate gold covered thrones. It is reminiscent of The Forbidden City in China: expansive grounds with many buildings. Some housed the emperor’s wives. Linh told me how favored wives were in danger for their lives, especially if they became pregnant. If the child was a boy, there was added jeopardy to both their lives. Women taken to be the wife of the emperor never again left the grounds. I could not help but think of women of poor means whose selection to that elite group meant trading the freedom from poverty to having no freedom at all. What a choice.
The battle site of Quang Tri is now also a tourist area. There is a small museum, largely intact bunkers, and a US helicopter and plane. I tried to imagine how it might have been for the brave men stationed there. I thought of my own brother, a Vietnam vet (now deceased). Wish I could ask him if he had been there.
A few people wandered the grounds, selling dog tags from American and South Vietnamese soldiers. I held them in my hand, but they held my heart. Names after name, home states, religious beliefs, blood types…I was keenly aware that each of the cold metal rectangles stood for a living, breathing human being. Part of me wanted to buy all the dog tags, and part of me wanted to make them stop selling them. It seemed profane to me, to sell the dog tags in the face of the sacrifices made on that hill.
Any way, if you are veteran—or if you love someone who is, I just wanted to say thank you. I appreciate your service. I wish my own brother were living so I could tell him.
With Good Friday nearly here, I am thinking about another sacrifice willingly made. I am thankful for that one, too. May we all live lives worthy of what has been given to us and for us.
Grace and peace,
Cindy
