Ron Chambers is sitting in the rooftop bar of the Caravelle Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, the same hangout where decades ago war reporters congregated to drink Scotch and swap stories. Below him the city is humming. It's a Sunday evening but the streets are clogged with cars and mopeds, all weaving between gleaming office towers and low-rent outdoor markets where street vendors hawk pork-stuffed baguettes, dried squid and cigarettes.
A storm has been brewing. Thunder cracks — a startling, rattle-your-teeth crack! Chambers' eyes widen and his head darts back and forth. In an instant the composed, gray-haired, 65-year-old book publisher has again become that 25-year-old Marine lieutenant who led convoys through North Vietnamese fire. As the skies settle, Chambers takes a swig of his Tiger beer. "It used to be a lot worse," he says of his jitters. Like that time a cab backfired near him on a New York City sidewalk. "I did what you do under fire," he says. "I was in my blue suit and tie, and carrying a briefcase, and I dove right into a little doorway off the street. Everyone was looking at me."
This is Chambers' first trip back to Vietnam since he left in December 1968, a year when more than 16,000 American troops died here. His reasons for returning are the same as those of many veterans who have made the pilgrimage — to pay respects to fallen comrades, to make peace with the past. But Chambers has packed something that he wouldn't have needed in 1968: golf clubs. Vietnam, once synonymous with bloodshed, is remaking itself as a golf destination, complete with luxury hotels, A-list course designers, and a marketable name with a whiff of danger: the Ho Chi Minh Golf Trail.
Seven courses make up the trail, which runs from Hanoi in the north to Ho Chi Minh City, about 700 miles to the south. All told, Vietnam has 18 courses, up from four just 12 years ago. Another 60 courses are either under construction or in planning, a by-product of the economic boom that began when the United States lifted its trade embargo in 1994.
"The hotel market in Vietnam is crazy," says Hal Phillips, who markets vacation spots here. "Every major hotelier is in the country with a project."
Call it the New 'Nam.
How today's Vietnamese feel about the influx of American tourists tends to be a generational issue, says Matt Steinglass, a Vietnam-based reporter for the German press agency DPA. "Most people don't have a sense of connection with the war," he explains. "Still, there are powerful and complicated attitudes about the United States, largely formed from what happened in the war. Lots of people have a sense of suspicion about the U.S., but at the same time people were overjoyed when the U.S. restored relations with Vietnam, and that's largely seen as the keystone of the country's economic revival. It's really a love-hate relationship."
Veterans of the war tend to have equally mixed feelings about returning to Vietnam, with or without their golf clubs. "I know some guys who are going back," says Gene DiGiacomo, who organizes golf outings around New York City to raise money for veterans' causes. "But I also know a lot of guys who would never go back."
Ed Dougherty, a former PGA Tour pro and decorated Vietnam veteran, doesn't mind talking about the war, but, he says, "I hope you're not asking me to go back there — because the answer's no."
Chambers had his own reservations, fearing a return trip might reawaken his demons. Not that his kind eyes and easy humor fit any Hollywood stereotype of a troubled Vietnam vet. He wasn't wracked with guilt from his actions in the war, and he resented those assumptions when he got out of the Marines. "You came back and by 1970 everyone thought you were a Calley," he says, referring to the notorious Army lieutenant responsible for the My Lai massacre of Vietnamese civilians. "Well, my guys didn't do anything like that and I didn't know any other officers who would allow it, either."
