B52 Wreckage

We’d finished a nightmare train ride, and arrived in Hanoi determined to do something other than hide in airconditioned luxury, so a trip to the Hanoi Hilton was in order. This is a prison built by the French a hundred years ago, and used to ‘cruely hold political heroes striving for a free country’. ‘Evil French Secret Police would torture and kill these prisoners’, the propoganda told us. And in the American/Vietnam war, it housed ‘American pilots shot down by the brave Vietnamese who served Vietnam well’.

After getting bored of the propoganda – photos of healthy Americans playing cards, and opening gift wrapped boxes they had been given, we stodd outside the prison, wondering what to do. Motorbikes arrived to ferry us off – they suggested to see the B52 wreckage at the Aircraft Museum. We agreed to this destination, B52s being a bit of a signature drink for us. We got taken anywhere but a museum, instead pulling up at numerous pieces of scrap metal around Hanoi, with small signs telling us how the heroic forces, blah blah blah, shot down cruel Americans blah blah blah. Also a few captured vehicles of the ‘American puppets’. Taking a photo of the the twisted remains of a B52, I remarked to Joe that it would make a good photostory – showing us outside some B52 wreckage, followed by a shot of us drinking B52 cocktails, followed by a shot of us looking hungover with a caption saying ‘B52 wreckage – 30 years on’. Well it was hot, and it seemed funny at the time.

Apocalypse Now. I’ve never seen the movie all of the way through, but I’ve always wanted to. But when I found out there was a club in Hanoi named after the film, I was keen to go. The guide said it was decked out in movie paraphernalia, and sleazy, so we agreed to go there after a skinful of Tiger, despite having to set off kayaking the following day at 4:30am. We got to Apocalypse Now after the real treat of hearing the Vietnamese try to pronounce it, before promptly cycling us there in the rain. We drank them out of B52 ingredients by about 11:30pm. Not that impressive as we only had one each. Then we discovered that we could buy a bottle of Smirnoff, and we’d get a free plate of fruit. Well, I was really in the mood for fruit, and things proceeded downhill from there. The place started to get busy with its Sunday clientele at about midnight – us, some hookers and a few expats. There’s not much to say about the rest of the night, save for being pestered by an insistant lady of the night who had probably met a fair few Americans several decades before, having to carry Joe to a taxi, and a small one-sided fruit war waged by Joe against the rest of the night club.

We missed the tour departure. Joe realised he had vomit on his sleeve, and threw away his T-shirt on his way to the travel agent at about 6:30am. Casting it into the street, I forgot to take the photograph – ‘B52 Wreckage – 30 years on’.