Mike & H&S Companies 

Third Battalion, Fifth Marines

Veterans of the Vietnam War

Grady Rainbow's Memoirs,  (Continued), Page 4

The flora and fauna of South Vietnam was unusual to say the least, from my point of view anyway.  There were banana trees, palms, thorn bushes, rice paddies, and huge bayana trees.  The jungle canopy was often so thick that sunlight couldn't penetrate at all, making mid-day a deep twilight.  Even heavy air strikes couldn't damage the thickest canopy; the bombs would explode after piercing only two or three layers of branches and mulch.  The smell of a rice paddy is beyond description, suffice to say any form of waste was used as fertilizer, including water buffalo and human.  The stench was over powering.  Luckily Mother Nature provides for such emergencies, after a short time you just quit smelling these odors at all, they just weren't there.

     The animals were like touring an open zoo.  I saw cobras, wild pigs, water buffaloes, monkeys, and bamboo vipers, fruit bats and rock apes.  I never saw an elephant or tiger, but saw tracks of both.  Other Marines I knew had also seen the beasts with the tracks, I didn't.  The bamboo viper was especially feared, we called it the "three stepper".  Its venom was neurotoxic and extremely deadly, one bite and you would probably be dead within minutes. Neurotoxic meant it attacked your nervous system, all nerves stopped functioning.  You went into convulsions, your lungs and heart quit and you went blind before you died, a horrible death indeed.  There was an anti-venom, however it required refrigeration and so couldn't be carried in the field.  I never saw anyone bitten by this snake, but I saw many a column suddenly leap to one side and panic at the sight of just one of these little, (about 10" long), green monsters.

  And the cobras, forget the variety you've seen in movies, the little ones with a guy playing a flute.  We had King Cobras, they get 12 to 15 feet long, about 12 to 14 inches around and their head is larger than a man's fist.  When I went to Bangkok, Thailand for R & R I visited a snake farm.  They "milked" the venom from one King Cobra, it filled a coffee cup.  They told us it was the average amount injected in one bite!  It also was enough to kill about 10 to 12 adult elephants, one nasty snake.  Cobras are also aggressive and travel in mated pairs, where you find one there is always another.  Cobras are also neurotoxic.

     The leeches seemed to come it two basic types.  Long bright green ones from the rivers and paddies and small black ones from the jungles.  We were constantly getting eaten alive by these bloodsuckers, we got them off by sprinkling salt packets from our C-Rations on them, and it made them burst and shrink up.  We then picked the heads off each other.  If salt wasn't available we used the issue bug repellent "bug-juice", it would do about the same.  The Hollywood stunt of using a burning cigarette worked, but you generally got burned in the process, so forget it.

     Fruit bats became real annoying when we were close to the mountains.  As I said earlier we did radio checks by keying the mike on the radio.  This caused any bats in the area to start dive-bombing your position in hordes.  I guess the frequencies irritated the bats and they retaliated.  When this happened we had to give up on an ambush position and just call it quits, you can't hide if you've got a whole damn cloud of bats zinging back and forth.

     Rain; I've seen rain in Oklahoma that was hard, the difference was it stopped after awhile.  The monsoon never stops; it rains for days and weeks on end.  Hard cold driving rain, soft misty rain like a fog and rain like water poured from a bucket.  Mold starts to grow on everything, your boots turn green and begin to rot away.  Rust can't start because everything stays wet.  Your skin wrinkles like you have been immersed in a bath too long, then begins to peel off in layers.  You give up on trying to stay dry, you only pray that when you sleep, you won't drown.  The only thing you really care for in all the mud and rain is your rifle, it always stays clean no matter what, it and your ammo.  You learn to stand watch at night with no helmet, the sound of the rain drumming on it would cover up any other sounds, and at night your ears are your life.  You can't smell anything but the rain, and smoking a cigarette becomes a major ordeal, almost impossible...almost.

     When the sun finally breaks through the heat is oppressive, humidity is at 100% and casualties from heat exhaustion are common.  You can actually find units hidden in the brush by the steam rising from their wet gear and clothes.  And the smells rush back to assault your nasal membranes once again.

     I mentioned "bug-juice" before, let me explain.  The issue repellent was a clear thick liquid that came in small plastic bottles.  You rubbed it liberally over your skin and it spread pretty well as it was very oily.  I guess it would keep bugs away, but I'm not sure, see it had a problem.  The repellent would close up the pores in your skin and in the heat it made you sweat twice as much.  So, you started to sweat the repellent right back off as soon as you put the damn stuff on, it did kill leeches though.  The other problem was it smelled, I don't mean stank, it just had an odor.  We didn't wear anything that had an odor, not deodorant, aftershave, powder, hair oil, nothing.  In the dark jungle your nose was as important as your eyes and ears.  We often found the enemy by smelling the fish oil they ate, or smelling their body odor.  They did the same to us.  Needless to say if it smelled you didn't wear it, eat it and tried not to shit it.

Mike Company, the Captain called it “Mighty Mike”, the Marines in it called it “Med-Evac Mike”.  In a way it was both, mighty and bloody at the same time.  The company area was at the base of a large tower in the camp. The tower was used for look a out post, watching for the tell tale flash of incoming rockets and mortars.  It made a nice aiming stake for the enemy. The company office was underground in a bunker, covered with sandbags.  I wondered how they got all those sandbags flown out here, I found out real quick.  The 1^st Sergeant took my orders, told me I had to go to Indoc school before joining a platoon.  Then he said he didn’t have time to mess with me just then.  Turn in my seabag to the Company Supply tent outside and go to Battalion S-4 for a work detail.  In other words, get the hell out and be useful.

The Company Police Sergeant was a little more helpful and even slightly friendly.  He took my seabag and stored it, then filled me in on the scoop.  The company had just finished Operation Taylor Common and had been cut up pretty bad.  They had kicked some NVA ass, but had taken some pretty mean hits themselves.  He then explained the pecking order; “You’re a cherry, you know, new guy.  No one wants to know your name or be friends just yet.  Odds are you won’t make it past the first few days alive, you’ll get blown away.  “IF” you make it past the first month, then you have a chance, until then keep your mouth shut and don’t fuck with the guys in the company. You’re just a warm body replacing the friends they lost on this Op”.  He didn’t say this with any malice, just as a matter of fact, like it was the most normal greeting you could receive.  Welcome to reality again.  He then gave me an E-Tool and pointed the way to a working party over by a 6 x 6 truck.  “Report to the Corporal over there, he’ll work your ass off today.”   I then got to find out how all those sandbags got there, you made them on the spot.  I worked in the sun the rest of the day filling bag after bag and throwing them on the truck.

  The Corporal was a nice enough fellow, but he kept us busy filling and tying bags.  He saw me staring at a long, swollen mass of scar tissue on his biceps and grinned to explain.  “Got that about two weeks ago, shrapnel, it’s my second Heart.  Got me this job in the rear instead of the bush.  If you get three you can go home, but two is enough for me.”

 We had a few breaks for water and cigarettes then finished the coolie work for the day.  I asked the Corporal why were all the guys on the working party grunts, where were the support personnel?  He laughed and explained.  “The pouges in the rear don’t bust their humps on this crap.  We snuffies hump the bush and come back here to this crap all day and bunker watch all night.  What did you expect?  This ain’t “John Wayne” day.”

Welcome to war.  I was still wearing filthy stateside utilities and dusty leather boots; still no weapon just an e-tool to dig with.  When the working party ended I asked about a shower and got a big laugh, seems the shower facility was only turned on at certain times and this wasn’t one of them.  I had to learn to live dirty and ignore it.  I was shown to the company office where the 1^st Sergeant told me to report to 1^st Platoon.  I met the Lieutenant, Tom Mahlum and the Platoon Sergeant Staff Sergeant Wagner.  They explained I would have to go through at least five to six days indoc training, then I would be assigned to 2^nd Squad; callsign “Mike 1 Bravo”.  Home at last.  I was given a cot in a hardback tent and was told I would be issued gear and a weapon the next day.

                During my first few days in An Hoa with the 5^th, came the night the VC blew the ammo dump.  I had been there about 4 to 5 hours and had checked into Mike Company, but hadn't been assigned anything to do just a platoon to report to. The tent only had a few guys in it and as usual they didn’t seem very interested in me.  One or two were playing “Back Alley Bridge” or “Spades”.  One guy Murphey tried to say hi and ask about where I was from, then he just drifted off on his own.  Later everyone picked up their weapons and walked away, when I asked where they were going someone said bunker watch.

 Just as it got dark I was standing by the tent I had been assigned to sleep in when the sky lit up and the ground started to shake and heave.  I looked toward the runway area and massive explosions were ripping part of the compound apart, men were running around like ants and small arms fire was starting to cover the whole camp.  I ran for the safety of a bunker when a 1st Sergeant grabbed me and handed me a Smith and Wesson .38 with a box of shells, all he said was "Shoot! Damnit they’re in the Fucking wire!!  I'm going for a '60", (He meant an M-60 machine gun).  I jumped into a fighting hole by the company area next to the Mo-Mat runway.  It was shallow and ringed with sandbags, leaking sand and mud.  The hole had more than a few inches of water in it and was littered with C-Rat cans, ammo stripper clips and other trash.  I didn’t know what to do so I opened the cylinder of the .38 and crammed shells into it.  I started to fire at figures moving across the runway.  I remembered thinking I was going to die right then and there, only one day in country and I was going to die.

  All the training I had received; all the brave talk we had spouted as recruits vanished. I was scared and totally confused, I don't know if I ever hit a damn thing I shot at, I'm really not sure if I was even shooting at the enemy or at other Marines.  Across the runway to my direct front the ammo dump was burning fiercely and exploding rounds kept cooking off every few seconds.  In the center of the dump was a smaller version of the tower by Mike Company, I watched in horror as it began to topple, covered in flames.  I could hear men in the tower screaming for help, crying in rage as it collapsed into the raging inferno of the exploding ammunition.  The Regiment closed ranks and drove the sapper attack off and secured the perimeter again.  Some how in all that chaos, someone took control and the Marines functioned as a unit, I felt alone and helpless.

  After the attack had faded, my Company 1st Sergeant took the pistol I had and said he would turn in, I never saw the 1st Sgt. that gave it to me again.  Someone walking by said a Sergeant Major or 1^st Sergeant had been killed a few yards down, a flying piece of shrapnel had severed his head. I don’t know how long the fight lasted, it could have been hours or minutes.  It seemed forever, panic and terror; frozen in time.  I sort of just wandered around afterward in a type of shock, ignored by all.  Then one of the Marines in the company, Lance Corporal Main moved me into an underground bunker where some of the men in the company were sitting, holding weapons and talking quietly.  Main told me to ask to come to Weapons Platoon, the mortar section, he said I would survive better there and no ambushes to put up with. I spent the rest of the night there, listening to men talking themselves through shock.  The next morning my request to go to weapons was refused.  1^st Platoon needed grunts more; they had received heavy casualities on Taylor Common.

This first night of combat let me know the nature of war.  There weren't any long lines of charging men with bayonets, the sweeping assaults from the air didn't happen.  It was a close, dirty, terrifying mass of confusion.  You fought to preserve your life and your buddy’s life. Guns, knives, 2x4's, dirt and your bare hands were used, anything to stay alive.  Glory and medals were for the people back stateside or Hollywood bullshit, survival was for Vietnam. And at that point my survival seemed very remote, I had thirteen more months of this hell.  I wondered if every night was like that one, what was I going to find ahead of me?

  In the morning we started the clean-up operation of the base.  The VC had entered the wire and thrown charges into the ammo dump, blowing away tons of artillery rounds, explosives, and small arms ammo.  Some men working and standing watch in the area had been killed and wounded, I never knew how many. I only remember the screams of the Marines trapped in the burning dump.

The 1^st Sergeant sent me to S-3 at Battalion to start my indoctrination training. We, myself and some other cherries, were straggled to supply to draw gear and weapons.  We were issued jungle utilities, jungle boots, 782 gear, helmets and some really strange equipment I had never seen before.  I got a pouch that had several pockets that snapped closed and folded back on itself, a hood of very tight netting to go over my helmet and some kind of suspender rig.

  I returned to the company area and tried to figure this mess out.  One of the guys sat by me, I think again it was Main.  He laughed and told me to throw away that crap we would never use it.  The pouch was a carrier for grenades and you couldn’t get them in or out worth a damn.  The netting was to keep msyquetoes off your face, but you couldn’t breathe through it and the suspender rig just didn’t work.  Some of this gear was left over from World War II. When I asked if I wouldn’t get into trouble for tossing it, he laughed and said “Don’t sweat it, we shitcan stuff all the time”. “If you can’t really use it, dump it.”  “Never hump anything that can’t be eaten, drank or used as ammo.”  “They gave you two canteens, check at company supply and get some more; you need at least four, if you can hump the weight.”  Someone was finally taking the time to make sure I knew what to do, maybe I could make it.  I did as I was told and threw the useless items away.

 Dressed in my new green skivvies and jungle gear I reported to the armory to draw my weapon.  I drew an M-16, magazines and finally live ammo.  Then it was down to S-3 for Indoc training.  All Indoc consisted of was acclimation to the climate, an overview of the An Hoa area and the strangest training with small arms I ever got.  We were directed to lay down behind a stack of timbers and sandbags. After being told not to raise up under any circumstances, the NCO in charge began firing several different weapons over our heads.  We were told to listen to the different sounds the types of weapons made; M-16’s, M-14’s, M-1 carbines and AK-47’s.  Each did and does make a unique sound as it passes over your head.  Some are real sharp cracks; some are duller sounding; after awhile in the bush you can learn to tell the difference.  Indoc was to last a minimum of five days, mine lasted one.  I was ordered to report back to the company for assignment, Mike Company needed replacements now.

Mike Company was not a happy unit on that day; there were too many things in the air.  On Operation Taylor Common the company had lost some good Marines, that would have been bad enough.  But, on the 3^rd of March while moving north from Fire Support Base Tomahawk they came under heavy fire.  Three Marines died instantly; their bodies became the battlefield.  For two days the Marines of Mike Company fought trying to recover the bodies of their dead, more Marines were lost in the ensuing firefights.  In the end on the 6^th of March they withdrew on the orders of the Company Commander.  The bodies of three of their comrades were left, unrecovered.  This was a bitter pill for the men to swallow, Marines don’t leave their dead or wounded, but Mike Company had done so, friends’ left to rot in the jungle, alone.

When I joined the company the CO wasn’t in the area, he and the Company Gunny had been ordered to return, with Force Recon, to the scene of the battle and retrieve those bodies.  They were in fact recovered by this effort, but the damage was done.  The Marines in the unit were furious, their fellow Marines had been abandoned, and they had left their dead on the field.  There was hate and shame in the air of Mike Company; the Skipper had lost respect in a big way.  And here I was a replacement for one of the lost Marines, a visible symbol they didn’t need.

I can’t begin to put myself in the CO’s mind. Captain Burns’, the Company Commander, had done what he thought was right.  He didn’t want to lose any more Marines in a futile effort to recover the bodies.  But, he had misjudged the mindset of Marine training, you never, never leave your dead; everybody comes home.  There were Marines in that company who would never forgive that decision; they saw the act as cowardice.  They wondered if they too might be left wounded or dead to the enemy someday.  Trust in the company was a slim commodity. This wasn’t the first or the last decision that would be questioned by the Marines of Mike Company.  Operation Taylor Common resulted in 500 NVA dead and huge quantities of captured arms and stores.  The Marines lost 183 killed in action and another 1,487 wounded. They had driven the NVA out of the area, for now.  As soon as the operation ended, the NVA returned in force once again.

I reported to 1^st Platoon and was given the assignment of going on a Listening Post out by the village that night.  I was teamed with PFC’s Smith and Murphey and we were briefed on where to go and where to set in.  We drew a radio, PRC-25, extra ammo and grenades and proceeded to the wire by bunker 26 to head out at dark.  I was both excited and scared at the same time.  We moved out just at dark and humped about one kilometer toward the village and the river, there in a bomb crater we set in for the night.

 I don’t know what I expected, but I sure as hell didn’t expect what I got.  Murphey told me I had first watch, then he and Smith covered up with poncho liners and bedded down for the night.  I had no idea what to do other than answer the frequent radio checks.  When two hours had passed I woke up Smith and he stood watch.  Eventually I too fell asleep, waking about every two minutes it seemed.  This wasn’t what I had been trained to do at all, this seemed sloppy and dangerous.  As luck would have it nothing happened, we had no contact.  In the dawn we moved back to An Hoa and the company area.

In the company area I reported to my new squad leader, Lance Corporal Dewey.  When I was asked about how the night had gone I told him, he was furious.  As I thought that wasn’t the way to do things, he tore Smith and Murphey up and put them both on a shit detail for the day.  Me, I drew a patrol outside the wire sweeping for any sign of attempted entry.  LCpl Dewey figured I fit in or I got wasted quickly, it wasn’t a slow learning curve in the squad.

               Just some memories about terms we used.  Whoever reads this, if anyone ever does, may need some terms explained.  Military maps are measured in metric terms.  Each map is divided into a set of grids by lines running east to west and north to south.  Where the grid lines intersect they for a square, this was called a grid-square.  Each square was 1000 meters by 1000 meters or a square kilometer.  We referred to a kilometer as a "Klick"; marches were measured by how many klicks we moved.  Humping or to hump meant to march a distance, i.e. "We humped six klicks today".  The weather in Vietnam was not temperate; it was generally very hot, and humid.  Heat stroke and heat exhaustion were common problems.  The biggest problem was a long hump in full gear; we carried every thing we owned on our backs, food, water, clothes, ammo, weapons, flak gear and helmets.

Flak jackets were the body armor we worn, it was a kind of vest lined with ballistic cloth and armored plates.  They were heavy, hot and uncomfortable.  They also were Korean War vintage gear.  We had little or no new style gear unless we stole it from the Army units.  The Marine Corps budget was filtered through the Navy Department and gear for infantry troops was generally an after thought.  The exception to this was the jungle boot and jungle utilities (jacket and trousers); these were fine pieces of equipment.  In fact we fought for over 10 years, after the war, to make these the standard field uniforms worn by Marines.  We finally won this fight too.  By the way, the flak jacket was designed to stop small pieces of hand grenade shrapnel, they don't stop bullets or anything else (in fact we used to joke they couldn't ever stop the damn bugs flying around.).  Against regulations we often decorated our helmets and flak jackets with sayings and pictures painted on with black magic-markers.  Popular signs were peace symbols, state flags and bulls-eyes (gallows humor ran high).  Sayings were things like "Short-timer" (someone who was almost ready to leave country and go home), "Shoot here" (more humor), nicknames and state or ethnic slang terms and names.

     The primary weapon in use by the infantry was the M-16, despite the rumors it was a good weapon for close combat.  My only gripe was that everyone could fire full automatic, which cost us a lot of fire-discipline and ammo.

Eventually I carried an M-14, a thirty caliber or 7.62-mm (actually a Winchester .308).  I did this because I filled two rolls as the platoon sniper, and also an automatic rifleman for suppression fire.  My weapon had a Redfield 3x9-power scope for sniper use in daylight, and a starlight scope for night use.  The starlight scope amplified the existing light at night and allowed you to see an eerie green picture of the surrounding area, it had no crosshairs to aim by and I thought it was generally a waste of time except as a night vision device, it was lousy as a scope.  I carried 12 magazines of 20 rounds per each for my weapon.  The ammo I used (thanks to a friend in Scout-Sniper Platoon), was 165 grain National Match, very reliable and accurate.  I also had three magazines loaded with M-60 Machinegun ammo (same caliber) with four regular rounds then one tracer round in sequence.  By firing full-auto I could deceive the enemy into thinking I was the machinegun position and draw fire from them.  The logic was I could move faster that the gun team could, and they were generally a prime enemy target during a firefight.

     I guess I need to get to explaining terms, I already explained Hump, klick, grid-square, match ammo and

Blooper - An M-79 grenade launcher, really a short barreled, single shot shotgun.  Bore size was 40mm (about a 4 gauge).  It was break breech loaded and had a healthy kick.  Accurate to about 300 meters.  Used high explosive, buckshot, flechette, and bouncing-betty rounds.

Flechette - a round for M-79's, shotguns and artillery pieces.  It contained 1-inch steel "darts" instead of pellets.  A 12-gauge shotgun round contained about 312 such darts, very effective ammo.  Very horrible results when used.  This was experimental in Vietnam, also called a "Beehive" round because of the sound the darts made while in the air (they sounded like thousands of bees humming).

K-Bar - The fighting knife issued, had a Bowie style blade about 10 inches long.  Handle was black leather.  Used since WWII by Marines, very prized item among us.

E-Tool - Our folding shovel.  Like Roman Legionnaires we dug in each time we stopped, and in the rear were constantly rebuilding bunkers of sandbags.  Had a shovel blade and a pick point that folded up when not used.  Excellent close-combat weapon.

Walk-in-the-sun - Term meaning a patrol that had no contact.

Contact - Engagement with the enemy.

NVA - North Vietnamese Army, regular soldiers not Viet Cong guerrillas.  Excellent fighting men (and women) trained, drilled and tough.  Well armed and well lead.  Slang "Mr. Nguyen" with emphasis on "MISTER".  These were professional soldiers, probably the best jungle fighters in the world.

VC - Viet Cong irregulars, hard fighters, poorly equipped guerrilla tactics.  Also called Mr. Charles, Luke the Gook, or Victor Charlie.  We didn't fight them much up north; we generally faced NVA regulars.

I Corps - Vietnam was divided into four military zones 1 through 4.  Number 1 zone (Roman numeral I) was the furthest north from the DMZ to south of Da Nang.  1st and 3rd Marine Divisions worked in I Corps (Eye-corps).  We were the closest to North Vietnam, so we got more NVA in our area.

The World - Home, the USA.

Snuffy - A junior enlisted man below rank of Corporal.

Lifer - Anyone who was a career Marine, or acted like one.

Pouges - The rear echelon; clerks, truck drivers, cooks etc.  Anyone not infantry.

Zoomies - Air Wing Personnel, also wingwipers, Airedales.

Grunts - Infantrymen, ground pounders.  Frontline infantry Marines, includes all riflemen, machine gunners, motormen, flame & Rocket men anyone serving in the field in MOS 0300.

Wasted, Blown away, cooked, canceled ticket-punched - Getting Killed.

"Three Hearts" - Marine Corps policy, receipt of a third Purple Heart Medal and your tour was considered completed, regardless of how long you had really been there.  1st Division policy was that upon award of your second "Heart" you were transferred from a field unit to a job in the rear.  This was to try to delay or prevent that 3rd heart.  (The reason I was transferred from 5th Marines to Division HQ).

M-14 - Infantry rifle first adopted during the Korean War in the 1950's.  It was magazine loaded with a steel magazine containing 20 rounds of caliber .308 (7.62mm) ammunition.  The weapon could be either semi-automatic, (one shot each time you pulled the trigger), or if fitted with a selector full-auto firing like a machine-gun.  The weapon weighed about 7 1/2 pounds fully loaded with bayonet.  A properly tuned M-14 was accurate at ranges over 600 meters with iron sights, and further with a scope.  We qualified at 500 meters, normally.

M-16 - The newest infantry rifle.  Meant to replace the M-14 throughout the Corps.  Was capable of full-auto fire in all versions.  The rifle had a very high rate of fire and used caliber .223 (5.56mm) ammo.  The major flaw we had during 1969 with the weapon was a weak magazine catch spring.  This caused the magazine to not seat fully and rounds to misfeed if you loaded over 16 rounds.  This was repaired in later models.  The stocks were plastic and black, we often called it a "Mattie- Mattel" claiming it was made by the toy manufacturer.  We qualified at 500 meters with this weapon also, but it lacked the accuracy of the M-14 for long distance.  In the 1980's the weapon was modified for the Marine Corps and now achieves ranges up to 800 meters quite well.

Skipper - A Captain, USMC.  The Company Commander.

Six (6) - The "Actual", the actual commander of a unit.  Comes from the radio callsign, i.e. "Mike 1, 6" Platoon Commander, 1st Platoon, Mike Company.  Also used to denote your position if you wanted to be exact, i.e. "Actual position" "My six is coordinates..."  Also defines to your rear.  Position was determined by clock references, i.e. Enemy at three O’clock.  Six was to the rear of your position.

These are some Vietnamese phrases we used a lot.  I'm very unsure of their actual spelling, so I've spelled them phonetically:

Bac See - Doctor or Corpsman.  Medic.

Boo Coo - Very much, very many.  From the French Beau Coup.

Tee Tee - Very little.  Again from French.

A Dow - Where is it, where are they?  i.e. "VC A Dow?"  Where are the VC?

Cock a Dow - Kill

Comm Beck - "I don't understand" or "I don't know".

Chow - Hello, a greeting.  Chow-Um (Man), Chow-Ba (Married woman), Chow-Co (Unmarried woman), Chow-Em (Child).

Die Wee - Captain

Honcho - Leader.  The one in charge

Dinky Dow - Crazy, nuts.  Not in your right mind.

Number 1 - Very good the best.

Number 10 - The worst.  Very, very bad.

Bom ne Bom - 33, a local beer.  Name probably French.

Nuc Mam - A local fish sauce, fermented in the sun.  Very smelly and very strong.  Good source of protein for the locals.

Dee Dee - Get out of here.  Run away fast.

Mau Lynn - Very fast, hurry.

Next Page

Previous Page