The underground tunnel village where Vietnamese people lived for years to hide from war
By Pavlo Fedykovych, CNN
(CNN) — On the outskirts of Vịnh Mốc, bamboo trees sway in the wind above a line of streetfood shacks. Red plastic chairs on the sidewalk serve as the dining hall, while patrons prepare grilled rice and noodle dishes. It’s a typical Vietnamese sight — as are the Coca-Cola fridges for the cold drinks. Things have clearly changed — since six decades ago this village in central Vietnam was heavily bombed by American forces, who dropped an estimated 9,000 tons of explosives over eight years.
Beside the streetfood stalls lies an entrance to a second Vịnh Mốc: an underground complex of tunnels constructed to protect the residents during the Vietnam War.
Going underground to survive
Before 1965, Vịnh Mốc was a tranquil fishing village, one of many similar settlements along the coast of Quảng Trị province in central Vietnam. The setting was a lush landscape of rice paddies, red basalt soil, the golden sands of the South China Sea beaches and bamboo thickets.
Then everything changed. The Geneva Accords of 1954, the international agreements that ended the First Indochina War, divided Vietnam by establishing the Vietnamese Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), running north of the Bến Hải River. The following year saw the start of the Vietnam War.
Vịnh Mốc was located next to the DMZ, putting it near key supply routes for North Vietnamese Army forces trying to advance to the south — and making the area an important target for US and South Vietnamese forces throughout the war.
To find refuge from the overwhelming American firepower, the people of Vịnh Mốc decided it was time to move — beneath their village.
“Relocation was not a viable option due to constant bombardment and the risk of losing land and life,” says Văn Ngọc Vũ, a tour guide and director of Annam Tour. “Digging underground was both a practical and strategic choice.”
Hundreds of residents would spend six years beneath the under-fire village.
Tunnels built for living
At the onsite museum, visitors are told that it was Trần Nam Trung, a high-ranking official of the Communist Party in South Vietnam, who had the idea of digging underground during a 1963 visit to the area.
Assuming the fighting would move north, he mooted a subterranean residential and supply system inspired by Củ Chi, another tunnel complex near Ho Chi Minh City (then Saigon) in the country’s south.
Củ Chi comprised interconnected narrow crawl tunnels that were linked to wider rooms; Vịnh Mốc, by contrast, was designed as a self-sustained underground village, where the main connecting tunnels were tall enough to stand in and spacious enough to house living spaces for individual families, dug out from the tunnel “walls.”
“People here already knew how to dig small shelters. The soil around Vịnh Mốc was hard enough not to collapse easily and soft enough to dig with simple tools,” says Tran My Hoa, a guide from Connect Travel.
The construction of the tunnel village started in 1965 and lasted two years. Lê Xuân Vy, a border police commander oversaw the works, according to an interview he gave to Vietnamese media.
The complex was impressive and ingenious feat of engineering. The tunnels span over a mile and and every tiny part of the complex was made for survival. Subterranean pathways were carved in zigzags so they would absorb blast waves, which travel in straight lines; different sections have arched ceilings and thick walls to better adapt to bombings.
“Tunnel exits were essential to the system’s functionality,” says Văn Ngọc Vũ.. “They provided ventilation, emergency escape routes, and access to external resources.” Thirteen of them linked the complex to farmland and the sea. “Coastal exits enabled discreet supply operations to Cồn Cỏ Island, facilitating the logistics,” he adds. Wells were dug to provide fresh water, and exits on opposite sides provided cross-ventilation.
Years in the darkness
Trading the tropical sun and heat for the darkness and dampness underground is unsettling, and a visit to Vịnh Mốc offers a brief glimpse of the claustrophobic conditions. The fact that people spent more than half a decade in these conditions under frequent bombardment makes it even more unnerving.
The complex is laid out in three levels, from 50 feet below ground to 75 feet, with narrow and low tunnels widening out into larger communal rooms. Niches in the walls acted as sleeping spaces for individual families.
Compared to the Củ Chi complex, Vịnh Mốc is more spacious and features wider corridors — but low ceilings mean many visitors today have to bend down to pass through them. Dim electric lamps serve as the source of light these days; back then, only oil lamps were available. The villagers often had to move in the dark to avoid being detected.
It’s estimated that around 400 people called the tunnels home from 1965 to 1972, and today’s tours show visitors their everyday life. “Daily routines were structured around survival,” says Văn Ngọc Vũ. “People remained underground during the day and emerged at night to farm, fish, and gather supplies.”
The most haunting part of the visit is seeing the “family spaces:” individual mini chambers around three feet high and six feet deep, dug into the sides of the tunnels where people used to sleep. Spending one night in such conditions is already a horrifying thought, but spending several years is an unthinkable ordeal.
Surviving the horrors
While death was stalking the surface, new life cut through the darkness underground. Tours visit one chamber which became the village’s maternity ward. Guides say that at least 17 children were born in Vịnh Mốc.
“The umbilical cord was cut with a simple knife, and the newborn was wrapped in old clothes,” explains Văn Ngọc Vũ. “Infants were first breastfed, then gradually fed mashed cassava or sweet potatoes.”
Villagers had to cook, too, but the challenge was preventing smoke from appearing on the surface. The solution was the Hoàng Cầm stove system, named after the North Vietnamese soldier who invented it.
“Kitchens were placed on level one so that smoke would not affect the living space on the second level,” explains Văn Ngọc Vũ. “Small fires using dry fuel reduced smoke, while long underground channels allowed smoke to cool and disperse before exiting through camouflaged vents.” A similar system existed in Củ Chi.
The engineering of Vịnh Mốc proved durable. According to the information in the Vịnh Mốc museum, there were no casualties underground during all the years of bombing. While the US military knew of the subterranean passages in the area, it wasn’t able to destroy the complex.
A modern idyll
The tunnel tour culminates in a steep climb up stairs carved into rock, ending at one of the seven sea-facing exits. Visitors emerge on a hillside above the shoreline, camouflaged by coastal vegetation. The breeze off the South China Sea hits with freshness, and the sound of the waves is thunderous after the dull silence of the underground.
The tunnel system is among the most popular day trips from Huế, a UNESCO-protected imperial city famous for its palaces, shrines and tombs. Vịnh Mốc can also be visited as part of a DMZ tour, which includes stops at the Khe Sanh Combat Base, a US Marine base that endured a 77-day siege in 1968; the ruins of Long Hung church, destroyed in a 1972 battle; and Hiền Lương Bridge at the 17th parallel that divided North and South Vietnam.
Traveling through tranquil Quảng Trị province today, it’s hard to believe it was once one of the most bombarded places on the planet. A stop to savor phở bò soup on a plastic chair at the stalls next to the entrance to the tunnels offers a chance to process the tunnel experience — and share in the hope that no one will ever have to live like that again.
War leads people to extremes to survive. Vịnh Mốc complex may be one of the world’s eeriest examples of this.
The-CNN-Wire
™ & © 2026 Cable News Network, Inc., a Warner Bros. Discovery Company. All rights reserved.
