I boarded the plane in Paris on Thursday, unloaded my things for the flight to Vietnam, it takes 12 hours to get to Saigon, and at the the last minute an older man, older than me that is arrived and took the window seat. We exchanged pleasantries, the plane took off and we started talking. I asked if this was his first visit to Vietnam. No he replied I first arrived in early 1951 as a nineteen year paratrooper in the French Marine Commando Brigade. I did the mental calculation and naturally continued with the conversation.
He told me they used to jump from Dakota aircraft but it took time to get the 12 man “stick” out of a Dakota so he preferred a German WWII plane I think he said a Dornier where they could jump more quickly from the rear. He said there were quite a few Germans, excellent soldiers in his opinion, some from the Russian front, some former SS, serving in the French Foreign Legion. His “stick” would land bury the parachutes and patrol looking for the enemy and set up ambushes. Late in 1952 it was their turn in the barrel and his group was ambushed and he was shot in the leg. He was evacuated, first by friends carrying him and then by vehicle to Danang, where I lived for 5 years from 1966 when the Americans were trying the same futile thing as the French.
After that he couldn’t jump, he said parachutes were more basic then, but was still a commando so they would go on mission, inserted to set up landing zones for big groups to jump in or on other special operations. He was finally transferred back to France with his unit in 1956.
He had remained in the navy long enough to get a pension but said he did not like it much, there was no real esprit or camaraderie compared to life with the commando brigade. He kept touch with surviving old comrades talking to and exchanging emails a couple of times a year. He had been elected twice to some local political office but believed politicians, nearly all of them, were duplicitous, untrustworthy and interested only in themselves. He preferred the people he had previously fought against in Vietnam and met subsequently on his travels.
He had decided to visit Vietnam 30 years later, first in 1986 when he figured enough time had passed since the Americans had departed and things should have stabilized. He had visited nearly every year since. I asked if at 87 he was not worried about health problems on his travels. He told me that a couple of years ago he had a heart attack in Phan Thiet, but the local Vietnamese doctor was good, injected him with something to ease the situation and externally massaged his heart until he stabilised. He was flown back to France and now has a pacemaker. He showed me the little health card he needs to get through airport security.
He had suffered a couple of strokes but that was in France so no crisis. He was pretty phlegmatic or even fatalistic about death and dying, maybe due to his earlier youthful career of jumping from aeroplanes, looking for armed people defending their country to attack. Never a winning idea unless you are in the business of war.
But he mentioned how touched he was at the reaction of his 5 daughters, he had been married I think three times, now to a Vietnamese lady he met in Paris, when they thought he was dying. He showed me two photos of him with the two daughters with the Vietnamese wife. One did her doctorate in the university of Saigon, lives in Paris and translates books between French and Vietnamese, the other is working in Japan.
It became a little difficult to hear him clearly after lunch, oddly enough after he put his hearing aids back in place. But in the time we were both awake I continued talking to him, I found him fascinating.
I asked where he was staying in Saigon, thinking maybe we could meet and he told me he never made reservations. He would take the number 8 bus to the downtown bus depot and then ask around until he found the next bus to Cu Chi where some friends from previous visits owned a small hotel. How long was he staying in Cu Chi ?, no idea but when he was bored he would take another bus or taxi to the next place. How about his suitcase ? he didn’t have one, only the small, very small carry on bag in the overhead, I saw it, and a small shoulder bag with his passport and papers. Did he get his spending money from ATMs ? no he was seldom in a big city, he had €4,000 in a money belt and would keep on travelling until he had a reason to return to France. He had bought his airline ticket at his local LeClerc supermarket with a one month return date but for €60 he could change the date once he had decided. I told him the last time I changed my return date from Vietnam they charged me €300, he showed me his receipt including the €60 LeClerc option. So much for the advantages of the Internet.
I asked him what he loved about Vietnam ? Answer, the people, the way families stay together, the climate, the food, how safe it was, yes there was crime but not much, and for him it was very inexpensive, he would buy a pair of shorts and trousers and a pair of sandals at his first stop and leave them behind when he left. How long did he plan to continue visiting ? currently he thought until he was 90 but he would see after that.
We landed, I handed him his bag from the overhead, we deplaned and walked, slowly to the immigration counters. He went first. The immigration officer spent a while flipping back and forth looking at all his many visa entries for Vietnam, he had also made it to Cambodia, not really too far by bus he said. Finally stamped it, handed it back and he strolled away, looked back and waved, and turned away heading for the next number 8 bus.
I went downstairs and waited forever and impatiently with the other 300 plus people for our suitcases and our “stuff” while Loisel was flying down the road again to Cu Chi and …….
I have the phone number of his daughter in Paris
My next stop is Bangsaphan in southern Thailand on the Burmese border to meet a French couple, her parents are from Laos, who spend a month every year at the Coral Hotel a small resort on the Burmese border.
I went shopping for TET the lunar new year in Saigon this morning with my goddaughter Chau and her mother Yen. Who frequent a small popular shop specializing in things from North Vietnam. A customer pulls up on a motor bike, shops and the owner’s son boxes it up and tapes it down, about a metre high on the back of the bike and the customer wobbles off among thousands of other motor bikes
