The bus hits what feels like an iceberg and I’m knocked out of my deep slumber. I pry my eyes open only to realize that I’m face down in a boy’s crotch, Dominick’s crotch, and his new navy shorts are covered with my glorious morning breath spit up. I try to wipe it off before he can notice but I’m way too late he’s already seen the damage.

“Jesus, your like a baby! You’ll be buying me new shorts Jess”

“I’m sorry I was tired and your crotch is just so…” I’m too tired to think of a witty ending to the sentence so I just close my eyes and put my head on his shoulder. But his shoulder is not nearly as comfortable as his crotch.

“Your shoulder’s so boney Dom!” I say in a whiney accent, loud enough for the rest of the bus to hear. But he isn’t listening. He’s already un-paused his Ipod and one of Springsteen’s cheesiest songs blasts from his headphones. He’s off in his own little world leaving me to fend for myself on this never-ending bus ride.

We sit in the very back, our seats a bit higher than everyone else’s, which makes it easy to scope out the rest of the group and I’m able to pick my nose without anyone besides Dominick seeing. Let’s see; you’ve got the three dumb as dirt Australian guys (that’s just a given-in any kind of tour situation you can bet on three dumb as dirt Australian guys), the ridiculously attractive guy with his mediocre-looking-but-probably-has-a-wonderful-personality girlfriend, the ridiculously hot girl with her mediocre-looking-but-probably-has-a-wonderful-personality boyfriend, and the British looking mother and daughter who took this trip to really bond with each other (but both secretly wish they’d made this trip with their lovers that they haven’t found yet). These people fascinate me, and I want to know why. Why did they come to Vietnam? What were they hoping to find? How does their Vietnam compare to mine? And why the hell are they spending 16 hours on a sorry excuse for a bus and 300,000 Dong to go look at some land that was the demilitarized zone during America’s ruthless attack on Vietnam?

“I’m going to kill Brian!” I shout to Dom. I don’t care if he can’t hear sometimes it feels good just to shout.

He puts Springsteen on pause “Would you expect anything less? He sticks us on this tour and we cover the DMZ and some old war tunnels while he gets to sit at the bar for 14 hours”.

“Uh, I’m like looking forward to writing my professor evaluation, I’m gonna rip him a new asshole!” I’m really screaming at this point and look down to see the entire bus, tour guide included, starring blankly at me. At least I get a laugh from one of the dumb Australians. I lay back on Dominick’s shoulder and I don’t care how boney it is because I can’t face this crowd anymore.

“Please bring your camera’s!” The tour guide says over the muffled microphone. I’ve fallen asleep yet again and the I feel like last thing in the world I can do right now is get up.

“Get up girl…. it’s DMZ time!” Dominick says like a game show host announcing the latest microwave up for grabs. I look out the window at the main attraction of the day. There she is. Gloomy, dank, and cold. Exactly the way she’s supposed to be.

We file slowly off the bus as our tour guide gathers everyone around the enormous Ho Chi Minh cutout. “Welcome everyone to the demilitarized zone!” Camera’s – video and digital – and clip clip, flash flash, everyone takes there turn posing with Uncle Ho. I make my way towards the river. I need air, lots of air.

So this is it? This is where the battles began. At this very spot people all different people where mutilated without justice. There was no protection, and morality was long gone. Kill. Kill. Thirty years, just thirty years ago. You could kill or been killed and that’s that. This can’t be real…I can’t think like this.

“Alright everyone! Let us return to the bus! Lots more to see today!” the tour guide shouts. I take a deep breath and say my farewell to the river. I snap some pictures. Not because I want to, but because I feel like I should. Disposable, they’re so disposable anyway.

“Do you want to split half a Dramamine?” I ask Dom as the bus zooms down the newly renovated Ho Chi Minh Trail.

“I’m good. And didn’t you just take one an hour ago? Please, I don’t have the energy for you to go all Valley of the Dolls on me” he says.

“Shut-up! You know how car sick I get!” I take another half a pill. The road seems to be getting bumpier and my usual breakfast bowl of Pho isn’t sitting right.

“Cammmmm-unnnn, Rat Vuuc Dat Gappp,” Sue’s a seat in front of me and as usual she is taking every opportunity to practice her Vietnamese as loudly as possible. I squeeze Dominick’s shoulder. I can’t take this right now. Not today. He lifts his eyebrows and points to his blasting IPod, which serves as Dominick’s instant escape from, well, just about everything. I reach down into my bag to grab my Ipod that’s been dead for about a week. I press all the buttons and pray for a miracle.

“Sin choaaa!!!!” she’s really at it now. If I threw her out the window could I claim temporary insanity to the courts? I put on my headphones. Maybe if I wish hard enough a song will start playing.

“I hope everyone is very hungry! We will be having authentic Vietnamese food so bring your empty bellies!” The tour guide spits over the microphone. The bus stretches to a halt in front of a small restaurant/grocery store which, like most Vietnamese eateries, favors an open-air storefront instead of a door. The shopkeeper’s play cards and smoke cigarettes as they sip their coffee. They spot us entering and immediately get up – like they’ve been expecting us. They wipe off the tables and bring out the larger plastic chairs to accommodate our big fat western asses. The group spreads throughout the tables. The dumb Aussies sit with the gorgeous girl and her good-personality boyfriend and the mother/daughter duo sit with the tour guide. Dominique and I choose the front table halfway outside so that I can smoke. He hates when I smoke, but he’ll hate me more if I don’t get my lunchtime cigarette.

“Can I sit here?!” Sue asks, though I don’t know why she even bothers to ask as she’s already seated by the time she asks the question.

She takes off her khaki Panama hat and removes her camera case, passport holder, Vitamin pack, and mini-first aid kit from around her neck and places everything on the table. She’s thought of everything; I can’t even remember to bring my lighter.

“Chi Oi!” She shouts to the waitress.

She leans in, “I’ve got to get a menu… I’m just starving!”

I try to be accepting of Sue mostly because I know she means well, and at the very least will provide Dominick with some great material for tonight. She knows her stuff and I need a break from Dominick’s bitching. Time to get positive! It’s Sue time! One question, all I need is one question, to set her off for the rest of the meal.

“ Sue, when was the DMZ constructed?”

The waitress approaches looking blankly at us. She’s not going to pretend like she cares or that she likes her job. Suddenly I’m transported into a deli in NYC, dealing with one of those no-nonsense tough-as-nail’s city waitresses, and I’m grateful (so grateful) that this woman’s not pretending. Sue gets some Pho and Dominick orders every deep fried dish on the menu. My post-Dramamine haze has left me spacey and nauseous and I can’t bring myself to eat anything knowing that I’ll have to get right back on that bus.

“Tra?” I mutter in my weak Vietnamese accent. Surely she’ll recognize my attempt to say tea.

She stares at me. Clueless.

“Lipton?” I give up. She nods and moves to the next table.

“Well, originally the Vietnamese government created the DMZ in an effort to block the French.” Sue’s ready. The next twenty minutes will be hers.

“I hope you’ve all eaten well. It will be another couple of hours until we reach the tunnels,” the tour guide states as we pull back onto the dirt road. He’s a stocky fellow with a sweet face that makes you want to trust him no matter what. The perfect tour guide. Dumb Aussie #2 raises his ridiculously toned and muscular arm. This should be good.

“So what actually ended the American war?” Semi-good question and I’m realizing how snobby I’ve become. It’s pretty disgusting.

“Well the real end of the war was due to anti-war movements in America. The youth especially were so strongly against the war that they pressured the American government to pull out of Vietnam”

Dominick leans and whispers “Oh yea, because you’re parents dropped acid, got naked, shouted “Revolution!” and the war ended.” I halfway smile and roll my eyes, which remain fixed on the outside scenery. Like always, Dominick is being way too cynical, and like always, his cynicism is rooted in truth. I take the other half of the Dramamine tablet and stretch my way back into Dominick’s lap. It’s safe and warm and I’m not leaving no matter how much he complains. He wraps his arms around my lower back and moments later I hear the remixed version of “American Pie” by Madonna blasting from his headphones. The remix is so dreadful I’m almost offended. I’m about to start yelling at him for exposing his tacky musical taste to the rest of the bus but I’m too sleepy to bother.

“Come on Jessie! Get up!” Dominick shouts standing above me. He’s poking me in the hips, as I lay sprawled out in the back row of bus seats. He’s the biggest pebble in my shoe.

“Shut up!” I scream back like a Diva that’s on her way downhill. Thankfully Dominick’s used to ignoring my behavior the first ten minutes after I’m awakened.

“ Don’t you want to go sit in an underground tunnel for an hour and listen to how we drove thousands of innocent Vietnamese people to spend years of there lives in barren darkness and silence?” His sarcasm doesn’t even surprise me anymore.

Yeah, actually I really do.

“Shit! I’m so claustrophobic I don’t know if I can handle this,” I moan as we make our way off the bus in search of the rest of the group. We follow the only thing that slightly resembles a path down to where the tunnels should be. The afternoon rain begins, soft as always at first. I hold out my hands to feel the water on my arms as we continue on the dirt path. We have stopped running when the rain comes. I have stopped caring about getting wet.

The entrance to the tunnel is unmarked but we can hear the delicate voice of our tour guide coming from somewhere inside. A narrow hole covered beneath grass and mud opens into an endless sea of darkness. It’s not real. This belongs in the movies.

“Here we go!” I try to push Dominick in front of me. The tunnel’s dark and I’m way too much of a scaredy cat to go in first. We step into the pitch black hole and I grab the back of Dominick’s arm.

“I can’t see a fucking thing!” he whispers. I nod taking baby steps behind him, steps into darkness.

“Just follow the guides voice,” I say as we move down the path, which seems to be going uphill.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” Dominick says as he pulls his arm out from the desperate grasp of my left hand and runs his hands along the walls to find balance for the uphill stretch. It’s every man for himself.

The path begins to level and we see a small light coming from the side left wall up ahead. We pick up speed approaching the light only to find what appears to be two mannequin like figures of a mother and daughter face down on top of a stone slab. A sign bellow them reads BED.

We keep walking faster.

“Creepy” is all I can think of the scene.

“…Vinh Moc village. Over 300 families lived here during the American War” we hear our tour guides voice getting louder and louder. We turn a corner to find the entire group hunched around another manger type creation this one is labeled TOILET.

“Where have you guys been?!” Sue shouts like a high school gym teacher who is trying to enforce the ridiculous importance of running the mile. “Be careful.” She holds up her cell phone, which she’s converted into a flashlight, “The path is really dark!”

We emerge from the tunnel in what feels like hours later. The warm sunlight feels good. It feels beyond good. It feels like freedom. The tour guide leads us back to the bus “What were the exact dates these villagers lived in the tunnel?” Hottie with the good-personality girlfriend asks.

“They hid from April 66-67, during Rolling Thunder I, and then went back down 68-73 for rolling thunder II….during Mr. McNamara’s plan.” I feel a pang in my stomach and am instantly nauseous again. The group walks back to the bus in an almost single file line in silence. We are speechless and freaked out. Officially freaked out by this day.

I’m the last one to get on the bus and as I move back to my usual seat I see that Dominick is already there sprawled out along the entire back row. He looks so comfortable, I figure I should give his lap a rest. I gaze around looking for an open seat like the most unpopular 5^th grader on the school bus. I spot the only seat left at the front of the bus right next to our tour guide. He looks up at me standing awkwardly in front of the open seat.

“Please, please sit” he says with sincerity as he moves closer to the window to give me more room.

The bus takes off, rolling jerkily out of the dirt parking lot and causing me to trip and fall into the seat. Our eyes meet and we both unleash our smiles; big and relaxed. His smile, uninhibited and kind, shows off his yellow crooked teeth. What a great smile. The bus gets back on the highway; it’s been a long day and everyone’s ready to sleep. It’s time to make a decision. Do I want to be the quiet girl who rests peacefully for the ride home or do I start unloading the questions on him? These endless questions I don’t even know how to ask. Either way I’ll be happy, either way I’ll loose something. I close my eyes only to realize how sick of sleeping I am.

“So how long have you been giving these tours?” It’s time to start chatting.

“About two years, I really wanted to be a teacher, but this pays more.” We’ve got a talker, a definite talker.

“So where are you from?”

“Quang Trang. Not far at all from here.” He keeps going. “My whole family is from this area. Lots of families are moving to bigger cities lately but this is a good area. Nice and quiet.” His English is proper yet relaxed. I wish I spoke English as well as him.

“My father, well he was placed in the army. The Southern Army. And he fought in much of the central countryside. Lots of the land was destroyed but everything is growing again. It is all returning….after it all ended he came right back here. He likes it best here. So do I.”

“So he fought around here. In this area?”

“Yes. Yes, right around here”

What! You’re father was forced to kill on the same land that you are now a tour guide for. What is this place? How does this happen? Don’t you see how fucked up this all is?

“Oh yes, it is very beautiful. Very green, ” is all I can say. I’ve got to keep this guy talking.

“Yes, I want to have my family here but first I need a wife”

“Ah…how old are you?”

“29 – getting too old but I want a wife. I need one”

“Well I’m sure she’s out there for you. There are so many beautiful women here, they’re all so beautiful. When I got off the plane in Saigon the first time I was blown away”

“Yes but you see I do not want a city girl. I want a good girl. A girl who doesn’t drink or smoke or disobey. A virginal girl”

Good luck buddy

“Oh, yes I see. Are women very different in the country?” I ask.

“The women, yes. The women here work very hard. They clean and cook and the men come home from drinking all day and beat them,” he says with a smirk.

Why are you smiling? Is it a joke? Am I supposed to be in on it? You? You don’t want that. No not you Mr. nice tour guide. Not you. Do you?

“Oh time for announcements,” he says, “Excuse me.” He scoots beside me and stands in the front of the bus turning on the microphone.

I open my bag and pop another Dramamine. I’m feeling sick again.