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Unexpected adventure

Five o'clock in the morning and I'd just missed the only bus for two days from Son La down to Hoa Binh. After a four-day journey through Vietnam's rugged northwest from Sa Pa to Dien Bien Phu and finally here to Son La, it appeared as though I'd be staying for a while. I felt pretty stupid - and angry. Not a perfect start to the day. But this twist of fate would soon prove to be the beginning of the most interesting leg of my journey.

By the time I'd wandered back to my hotel, it was all of 6.30 am. There was already one other person up and about, munching a breakfast baguette, a Western man with a blue shirt and a "don't talk to me in the mornings" face. To cut a long story short, I eventually plucked up courage, found he was heading to Hanoi by Land Cruiser and, yes, I'd be welcome to ride along. The day suddenly perked up.

A Belgian in his early sixties, "Philippe" is very tall, very distinguished - in a sort of General de Gaulle way - and soft spoken. We set out in glorious sunshine and a stony silence. OK, so I'll just sit back and enjoy the passing scene. It isn't till we stop for lunch at Moc Chau, some 100 kilometres later, that my mysterious benefactor strikes up conversation. Then, for the next four hours his fascinating tale unfolds.

Talk about bad timing, Philippe's first visit to this mountainous region was Spring, 1954. At the age of eighteen he'd had an argument with his parents and run away from home. Nothing unusual in that. He'd then headed south down through France and ended up in Marseilles, where he joined the French Foreign Legion - you don't have to be French. He thought he'd be sent over to Canada or perhaps North Africa for a spot of basic training. But this was 1954 and next thing he knew he was parachuting down into an unknown valley in the middle of Indochina.

By the time Philippe landed in Dien Bien Phu things were already pretty bad. The road had long been cut and the airstrip was bombed to bits. Food, medical supplies, reinforcements, even bulldozers and tanks had to be dropped in by parachute; each bulldozer came down on seven chutes, while the tanks were dismantled and sent in installments. But far worse - there was no way out.

Inch by inch, the Viet Minh closed in on the beleaguered garrison. Since there weren't enough bunkers to go round, Philippe and his comrades took turns sleeping in the trenches. At night they could hear the chilling sound of Viet Minh soldiers digging their tunnels ever closer. Then, on May 1, the final assault began. Waves of Viet Minh pushed forward until their flag flew above General de Castries' bunker on the afternoon of May 7. The following day the last position surrendered and the valley fell silent.

An estimated 20,000 Viet Minh died at Dien Bien Phu, while on the French side some 6,500 were killed and 10,000 taken prisoner. One of those survivors, obviously, was Philippe. After a few days they were all lined up and ordered to start walking. And they carried on walking for weeks. Philippe was lucky. One night he slipped quietly away - one of only a handful who managed to escape from what became a death march. He had the good fortune to walk into a H'mong village (the H'mong in this region were anti-Viet Minh) where he hid until the coast was clear. The family then led him to a Thai village and, with their help, he made his way over the border into Laos, from where he walked down to Bangkok. A few months later Philippe was back in Belgium.

And that's where he remained for the next forty-odd years, glad to be alive but never forgetting the people who'd saved his life. So, when Vietnam opened its borders he started to think about coming back to Dien Bien, partly to visit the graves of his friends, but mostly to say thank you. Philippe was now returning from an emotional week during which he'd tracked down the village and found the family that had rescued him. Sadly, the parents had died some years back, but their children still remembered the tall foreigner.

Now that's an adventure! Having laid a few ghosts to rest, Philippe dropped me at the Mai Chau turning, before continuing on toward Hanoi and home. As I watch the Land Cruiser grow smaller, I realize missing the bus wasn't such a big deal after all.