Children evacuated during Vietnam War's Operation Babylift are on a quest to find their families
Elizabeth Wray was 18 months old when she arrived in Australia in a cardboard box.
She was one of thousands of children evacuated from Vietnam at the fall of Saigon 50 years ago as part of Operation Babylift.
"We were, I'm told, almost in shoe boxes, strapped down … to hold us all in and to make sure there was as many babies jammed into that plane as possible," she said.
The quiet toddler was adopted by a family in the rural New South Wales town of Gunnedah.
She was the only non-white child in the area, and was raised with the understanding her birth parents were dead.
"There was no one for me to look for, so suck it up. Move along. You're an Australian."
Now in her early 50s and with four daughters of her own, Ms Wray is not so convinced.
"Surely I would have grandparents, maybe brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles.
"I still have hope, and I think that's what we have to hold on to."
Five decades since the end of the Vietnam War, the children of Operation Babylift have embarked on a quest to find their biological families.
Last month, Ms Wray joined a group of 13 adoptees who cycled almost 300 kilometres from Ho Chi Minh City to Sóc Trăng over four days.
They heard stories of mothers returning to orphanages after the war, asking for their children back.
In return, they distributed food packages and 100 DNA kits.
The trip was spearheaded by Viet Nam Family Search, a group founded by fellow Vietnamese-Australian adoptee Sue-Yen Luiten.
"We laughed, we cried, we experienced the cathartic journey of riding … as well as going on an emotional journey," Ms Luiten said.
Thirty women who had given up their children during the war came forward to request more information about the DNA process.
It is a complex job that requires sensitivity and care, but there is a feeling among the adoptees of racing against the clock.
Rohan Samara also took part in the ride.
He was just two months old when he was scooped up from a Vietnamese orphanage and brought to Australia during Operation Babylift.
Malnourished, he spent a month in a Sydney hospital before being adopted by a family in Canberra, where he has lived ever since.
His birth certificate lists both his mother and father as "unknown".
He suspects he may have been born in Cambodia but brought across the border.
When he turned 39, Mr Samara decided to return to Vietnam for the first time to visit the orphanage he came from.
"We were very blessed to have met a nun who was there during Operational Babylift.
"When we were leaving she said, 'I held you on my breast as a baby, I hold you in my heart forever. It doesn't matter where you are in the world, come back here and you'll have a home'."
On last month's pilgrimage, he found himself scanning the faces of women he passed, searching for recognisable features.
His biggest desire is to let his mother know he turned out fine in Australia.
"The decision my mother made at the time, she can go to her deathbed in peace, knowing it was a really good decision," he said.
Regardless of whether he is successful in tracking down blood relatives, Mr Samara said he had found an "instant connection of brotherhood and sisterhood" with the other adoptees.
"Throughout our lives, our story had been quite rare, but when we were all together, it was absolutely beautiful," he said.
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A monument that grows with the passage of time reflects well on those who toiled to create it.
