Cu Chi Tunnels, Saigon

I had read a lot about the Vietnam War when I was younger—mostly the appalling aftermath of a brutal conflict—but the Cu Chi tunnels were not a subject I knew much about. A trip out to them seemed a good idea. A quick look on Get Your Guide and we were booked on a minibus and on our way.

But what’s this? Our tour guide asked, “How many of you will be shooting today?”

We looked around, puzzled, and three hands shot up.

“Ok, three of you. We will arrive at the range in a few minutes. For those only watching, have your money ready—it is one dollar a bullet, minimum of six. OK?”

We jumped off the bus and were led into a very old military room. For some reason, it could only be a military room—with its brown walls and floors, hideous green doors, and cabinet edges. And in those cabinets: “Ammo.” Lots of it!

Through a second door was a small corridor clearly leading to a range. The noise of gunfire was extraordinary as it cracked through the air and bounced off the concrete walls. I quickly browsed around and was pleased to see among the list of rules above the cash desk: No firing while under the influence of alcohol. “Pissed with an AK-47 is never a good idea,” I thought.

Wendy and I are not great fans of guns, so we went back outside and stood on a bank beside the range, taking in the scene together as automatic and single-shot gunfire rang out in the quest to maim a glass bottle or target a paper baddie 100 metres away. I stood beside used ammunition boxes and soon worked out this was a great business to be in—each box held hundreds of $1 bullets, and there were an awful lot of them! On some steps leading to our vantage point was a small dog sleeping. I called him, whistled, even meowed at the little fellow to attract his attention as $6-a-second gunfire rang out. No—he was deaf as a post! I wonder why?

The Cu Chi tunnel complex is 250 km long. It was a massive network where Vietnamese fighters waged guerrilla war against the Americans. Some tunnels are deep underground, built on three levels. Ingenious systems for cooking without smoke detection are highlighted, along with elaborate camouflage ruses to escape detection. The resistance fighters fine-tuned every aspect of fighting over the years: tiny dress details to tell friend from foe, rubber sandals shaped back to front to leave backwards prints, and of course booby traps—some quite horrific.

We were shown an awful lot of unexplored ordinance which still plagues Vietnam today and of course we had some purpose made tunnel to go through for the experience.

“Vietnam blog, unexplored bombs Cu Chi tunnels”

But the biggest advantage the Vietnamese had was their size. After years of starvation diets, they averaged around 40 kg and were very slender. No American could enter the tunnels due to size, as we were about to find out.

The guide scrapped away some leaves to reveal a small wooden hatch. Once removed, it exposed the tiny entrance to a tunnel. There was no way any of our group could fit down that, so with another scrape of leaves and dirt, a slightly larger hatch was revealed—the equivalent of what was needed for US servicemen.

“Wendy Cu Chi Tunnels Vietnam escape hatch” “Vietnam blog Cu Chi Tunnels entry hatch with Wendy’ “Vietnam blog Cu Chi Tunnels entry hatch with Wendy’ “Vietnam blog Cu Chi Tunnels entry hatch with Wendy’

“Any of you willing to give it a go will place your feet into the hole, raise the wooden door above your head, and feel your way down with your feet. It is fifty metres long and you can crawl all the way through to the exit over there,” our guide said, pointing into the distance. He then added, “Do not—I repeat, do not—enter the tunnel if you have osteoporosis, heart conditions, muscular problems, or bad knees.”

All credit to our group—no one opted out. And guess which idiot went first?

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It was dark but dry, and the walls were sharp and unforgiving. I slid down a steep slope to a lower level and crawled along. Yes, it was agony on my knees, but I made it nearly to the end when… well, I got stuck.

I was crouched low, ready to stand for the exit, but my knees wouldn’t lift me. Someone behind asked if I was okay. I explained all was good and I was just making some adjustments to my exit strategy. Then I heard a familiar voice echoing down the tunnel: “Paul… Paul, are you ok… Paul?”

Calmly, slowly, I turned my body into a flat crawling position and forced my way up the steep rock steps into the light.

“Piece of cake,” I smiled nonchalantly, while Wendy rolled her eyes, smiling.

The tunnels were barbaric, insightful, a bloody reminder of war—but overall fun. The Vietnamese do not seem to dwell on the past or make these memories depressing. It’s more along the lines of: Do not forget, but always look forward. 

“Shot down US helicopter Vietnam cu che Tunnels”Photograph uS helicopter shot down in Vietnam”

Very unlike us. We even had our pictures taken in the downed helicopter and looked at the destroyed tank, seeing things in a slightly different light than usual.

On The Outskirts Of HCMC Saigon

“Just drop us off here. They have beer, that will do,” I gestured out of the side window toward locals eating and drinking at a sprawling collection of tables and chairs encroaching onto the pavement.

“Nice to meet you all and safe travels!” we shouted as we jumped out of the tour bus.

We stood waving for a few seconds as they drove off into the busy streets, then looked around to get our bearings. Right next to us were two small stools and a little table—it kind of had our name on it!

We literally took two steps, sat ourselves down, and had an ice-cold beer in minutes.

It was certainly an area of town where western faces still seemed to be a novelty. We were the center of attention—or maybe even the entertainment—for the evening. Some people stared, others came up to say hello, and the staff fought to sell us more beer. One girl was dressed in a “Tiger Chill” promotional dress and seemed keen on us choosing that as our beer of choice. She was so tiny and sweet, but held her own with the other rowdy guests who were going through can after can in rapid time. They would all cheer each other and then throw the empty cans under the table. For the life of me, I have no idea where they put it all, as none of them were very big!

Drinking beer is HCMC Vietnam”

Anyway, Wendy and I had to put them in their place when something bizarre happened—as usual. We had only had two cans each and thought a third was a brilliant idea, so we ushered over our new favorite girl. She carefully placed the can down, used a special opener on the ring pull, and inspected the lid before opening. We found this quite odd, as we were sure opening and pouring a can of beer was easy—even for an idiot like me!

Then all was revealed. A massive grin spread across her face as she announced to us and everyone in the bar: “You have won!” she cried, literally jumping up and down on the spot.

Can of Tiger Beer Saigon Vietnam

Gasps of joy filtered through the whole place as she told us the prize: “20,000 Dong! Cash!”

“Well, that’s fantastic,” I thought, trying desperately to do the maths in my head. “The same price as the can of beer—about 55 pence.”

Despite the fact the bar had gone through about 200 cans with no winners, everyone seemed delighted for us. And yes, of course, the pretty little barmaid got the cash!

We both felt a fourth beer was not such a good idea, as we had not eaten all day. So we said our goodbyes and moved on.

We only made it about 200 meters along the street before finding ourselves outside a giant glass-fronted restaurant. Before we could even look at the outside menu, two young girls dragged us inside.

Honestly, the wall of sound as we entered was incredible. We were expertly handed over to a young man who swiftly ushered us upstairs to a corner table overlooking the crowd below. We sat opposite each other and couldn’t hear a word we were saying.

It went something like this:

• “What are you doing?”

• “Are we staying?”

• “This is mad!”

• “Oh my god, we have beers!”

• “Shit, I think I’ve ordered chicken sinew!”

Serious faces quickly turned to outright laughter as we realised we were stuck in one of the craziest places we had ever seen or experienced.

“Massive Vietnamese beer hall with DJ and long banquet tables.”

From above, the massive venue was lined with rows of long tables, very much in the style of a German beer hall. It seemed that parties of ten or twelve had booked each table, arriving dressed to impress. Copious amounts of food and alcohol were spread before them like a medieval banquet. At one end of the hall, a DJ belted out Vietnamese favorites, interjecting with shouts that whipped the revelers into action—all at incredible decibel levels. And boy, did they love it. “Letting your hair down” was an understatement; they would have ripped it out if given the chance.

You couldn’t help but smile and laugh as they jumped on tables, screamed, and toasted each other—without a hint of malice in the air.

After a little while, we caught the eye of a few revelers and were dragged into group photos, plied with beer, and welcomed to Vietnam! Maybe it was reverence for us being at least twice the age of everyone else.

I paid the bill, and on our way out Wendy needed the loo. She joined a long queue, which gave the skinny young girls a chance to grill the giant among them. She was treated like a princess—they even had the loo specially cleaned for her. When she came out, she was a celebrity and even got hit on by a boy dressed as the Christmas Bunny, who was delighted when Wendy told him, “You’re beautiful.”

Christmas Bunny Who Fell In Love With Wendy

Meanwhile, I was talking to one of the waitresses, unashamedly dressed in a bizarre pinny with Union Jack boxers emblazoned on it. Like everyone else, she asked the same question: “Where are you from?” followed by a puzzled, “What are you doing in here?”

“Waitress in Union Jack pinny serving drinks at Vietnamese beer hall.”

Reunited at the bottom of the stairs, we were escorted out in the fashion of stars. Before we knew it, we were back on the street.

“What the hell just happened there?” we laughed as we skipped off up the street

MORE DELAYS

“I know we need to get back, but would you mind if we just stopped at one of these street places and had one cool beer before we go back? My head is still ringing from the noise and I could do with a moment to just chill and enjoy a beer,” I asked.

“Where do you want to go?” Wendy replied as we walked back toward the hotel.

“Just up here looks good, if they’ll let us have a beer as everyone seems to be eating.”

They didn’t mind, and soon we were seated at another table on another pavement—and, would you believe it, causing a stir! Almost as soon as we sat down with a cold beer, a woman’s voice from behind asked, “My father would like to know where you are from.”

I leaned around and replied with a smile, “UK.”

He immediately got up, raised his glass, and clinked it with ours in a cheerful toast.

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You just couldn’t make it up—it was a family of four with a best friend out for a meal. After about a dozen rounds of cheers, the old man walked over to our table and declared us guests, moving our table to join theirs. Fortunately, the daughter was a high school teacher who had learned English but had never had the chance to speak to anyone from our country. Her best friend was in the same class. I’m pretty sure the old man spoke a little, but he wasn’t letting on.

Drinking with new friends on the streets of Saigon Drinking with new friends on the streets of Saigon Drinking with new friends on the streets of Saigon 20251121_234033

Oh my goodness, we had a whale of a time—laughing, joking, and drinking rounds of beer. They even purchased us the Vietnamese specialty Bánh mì pastry rolls with spicy meat inside, and we cheered them as well. We watched videos of the school prom, talked about our hometowns, and generally made friends with the loveliest family.

After at least an hour and a half, they bid us farewell, hopped onto three Grab scooters, and whizzed off—never to be seen again.

We looked at each other in disbelief, finished our drinks, and requested the bill.

“All paid.”

I just couldn’t believe it—they had paid our bill before leaving, and a significant one at that in Vietnam!

We had ventured out where there wasn’t another western face to be seen, and it had paid off in the most marvellous memories of a very special place.

Photo gallery Below:

Cu Chi Cu Chi Cu Chi Cu Chi Cu Chi Cu Chi IMG-20251123-WA0024 20251121_163905 20251121_163857 Cu Chi

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