Have you ever taken a shower in a shower?

Vietnam

SIBERIA IS THE largest land mass in the world where the tempering effects of water are absent. Without a large ocean nearby to ameliorate temperature changes, the thermometer descends well below zero and warm air from the Southern Hemisphere is drawn towards it. This latter air mass is super-saturated with water evaporated from the surface of the Indian Ocean. Massive clouds carrying untold amounts of water migrate northward until they collide with the Himalayan Mountain Range. As they push up the sides of this natural barrier, formed some 8 million years ago when the Indian continent ran into Asia, the air cools, water condenses, and rain begins to fall in torrents, and we stood naked with bars of soap in hand, taking warm showers unless, of course, we were unfortunate enough to be on a combat patrol. 

Flooded 9th Infantry Division Base Camp

We built showers in our base camps. They were simple wooden frames with corrugated tin or canvas sides for modesty. Some mounted barrels atop them. We bartered for wingtip fuel tanks from the Air Force, using cases of C-Rations for trade goods, and painted them black to adsorb the sun's warmth during the day. A cooperative family member mailed us some shower heads and we were in business just as soon as the engineers came around with our daily ration of potable water.

We were fortunate in the Mekong Delta. Although the land was built up from deposits of silt carried down from the Himalayan Plateau, wells only twenty-five feet deep provided plenty of sweet, clear water.

When I first arrived in Vietnam, we lived and worked in wabtoks; wood-frames lifted off the ground atop used artillery shell shipping containers, covered in screening and topped by canvas tents. Unfortunately, the canvas had rotted by the time the monsoons arrived and they easily tore open wherever the tents sagged and water pooled. We used to send a man around with a broom to push up from inside to spill the water off. However, one young genius used the handle end of the brook and popped the sagging tent like a water balloon. He got very wet and we had a good laugh.

The first time I experienced a monsoon I was walking towards my hootch (the wabtok where I lived) as a wall of rainwater approached. I was fascinated by the sight and neglected to pick up my pace. Although I was able to reach the screen door before the rain arrived, I stepped inside thoroughly soaked.

The engineers had prepared for the monsoon season by digging a network of deep, wide trenches throughout our base camp and leading away from it. It was a good idea but hardly adequate. They quickly filled with each storm and we found ourselves walking on a thin lake with hidden pitfalls. Using the radio tower as a reference point, we learned to navigate between the mess hall, our workplaces, and our living quarters while avoiding the ditches. Someone had laid down pallets like sidewalks in preparation for the coming of the rains, but these drifted with the winds and the currents and often led over the abysmal depths of the drainage system.

Keeping the weapons dry while crossing a swollen stream

Another pet project of the engineers was digging trenches to be used as "bomb shelters." Covered with metal culvert halves and then topped with sandbags, they looked like a good idea. Unfortunately, they quickly filled with seepage from ground water or rainwater. They made nice little lap pools but little else.

Our roads were compacted laterite, a clay-like material, that became as slick as oil in the rain. All vehicles, especially jeeps, slid across roads as though driving on black ice. One day as we were sliding sideways past a colonel on foot, I saluted, and he stepped into a ditch as we passed. I hope that he survived. We could not stop to help him, and I was still laughing much further down the road.