The supposed most dangerous roads in the world.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdoAFK3FD1Y
Two are in Norway, so don’t go there.
One in Brazil has bad maintenance, missing pavement, big potholes, bandits and a prostitution ring. So, don’t go there.
Link at http://maggiesfarm.anotherdotcom.com/
Could be more dangerous roads in, say, Africa have worse landslides, more attacks by bandits, and wild animals. But that is only a guess.
In 1968, one of the most dangerous roads in the world ran south from Xuan Loc, RVN, to Vung Tau. A 9th Infantry Division 3rd Squadron 5th Cavalry platoon was ambushed just south of Blackhorse Base Camp, with every one of the platoon's seven organic ACAVs, mortar track and both supporting M48 tanks hit by RPG and/or recoilless rifles.
Of course, Vietnam at that time probably would have scored 10 of 10 on most dangerous roads.
Showing posts with label Vung Tau. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vung Tau. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Hey, there was a war going on
In the summer of 1967 the flight operations officer one day said, “Sgt. Merriman, a helicopter is going to Vung Tau today at 1400 and I don’t want to see you for three days.” Vung Tau was a former French resort city at Cape St. Jacque.
I spent my two-plus days enjoying the sight of the ocean, meals in a real restaurant and the low cost of beer.
On the third day I went to the airstrip and asked to use a phone to call base camp to find out when my ride would arrive. A Vietnamese woman showed me to an office.
Now, at base camp we were in the partly Stone Age in telephoning. A caller picked up the phone and waited and after a while someone at the main switchboard would plug in and say “Long Gaio” and the caller would say “Blackhorse Three-Zero,” or whatever.
So I was in the office at the airstrip. I picked up the phone. I waited for an operator. And waited. And waited.
The woman in the office walked over and gave me a “You dumba$$ Americans” look, stuck a finger in the O and slowwwly turned the dial, all the time giving me that look.
I felt like a dumba$$ American.
I mean, I had traveled all the way across the Pacific to save the Vietnamese from the perils of Communism, but I didn’t know how to dial a freaking telephone.
I spent my two-plus days enjoying the sight of the ocean, meals in a real restaurant and the low cost of beer.
On the third day I went to the airstrip and asked to use a phone to call base camp to find out when my ride would arrive. A Vietnamese woman showed me to an office.
Now, at base camp we were in the partly Stone Age in telephoning. A caller picked up the phone and waited and after a while someone at the main switchboard would plug in and say “Long Gaio” and the caller would say “Blackhorse Three-Zero,” or whatever.
So I was in the office at the airstrip. I picked up the phone. I waited for an operator. And waited. And waited.
The woman in the office walked over and gave me a “You dumba$$ Americans” look, stuck a finger in the O and slowwwly turned the dial, all the time giving me that look.
I felt like a dumba$$ American.
I mean, I had traveled all the way across the Pacific to save the Vietnamese from the perils of Communism, but I didn’t know how to dial a freaking telephone.
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