HEART OF DANKNESS
A Pot Crop Lives Now
by Dr. Dalat
Thu, Jun 16, 2005 12:23 pm
more: grow articles, vietnam, old school weed, dalat, august 2005
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The story of a war-veteran helicopter pilot who never got higher than when he smoked the fabled Vietnamese strains while “in country.” Decades later, he seeks out these same plants to grow for himself at home and to smoke through his retirement.
Story & photos by Dr. Dalat
Thirty-two years ago, I was a 20-year-old fresh-faced and very naive young man sent to Southeast Asia by the US government—caught up, like so many of my generation, in the wide, sweeping net of the final military draft of the last century and sent to fight the war in Vietnam. As a helicopter pilot, I flew all over the central highlands of that country, circa 1969-71, and experienced much of the worst that man has to offer his fellow man, but also plenty of the best. One of my most remarkable memories was discovering a plantation of 30-foot-tall cannabis sativa trees in a very isolated province called Dalat.
Dalat at that time was way off the beaten path. Nestled between two mountain ranges at an altitude of around 4,500 feet and really only accessible from the air (I had a distinct advantage because of my air mobility), the region was rumored amongst the grunts to be the birthplace of Ho Chi Minh, North Vietnam’s spiritual and political leader, and therefore off limits to the enemy Viet Cong. The truth of the matter was, of course, quite different. In reality, the VC used Dalat for R&R (rest and relaxation) for their troops and therefore, quite wisely, refrained from initiating any action in and around the province. In effect, both sides considered it an unofficial “no-fire zone.”
While on one of my many fly-ins to Dalat City, I met the owner of the cannabis plantation—a wonderful older French gentleman who was always more than kind when it came to sharing his bounty. For our part, those of us in the helicopter crews kept him well stocked with much-needed and hard-to-get staples and supplies that we would scavenge from the various US base mess halls and supply depots that we visited regularly.
The best of the sativas came from the highland areas of Vietnam, places like Ban Me Thuot and Pleiku, and were similar to the highland Thai sativas in almost all respects. The very best of all were grown in the province of Dalat—cultivated for centuries by the indigenous tribes of mountain people known as Montagnards (although in their language, they refer to themselves as “Human Beings”), these crops produced without a doubt the most remarkable and mind-expanding herb I’ve ever experienced.
Keep in mind that the Montagnard people are an ancient culture, with no real written record—only stories passed down from generation to generation. I recall most vividly sitting amongst the tribal chieftains and listening to them chant stories about “the beginnings of time” and how cannabis had been with them forever to guide them on their spiritual journey of pantheism. They have two words in their language for cannabis. The first translates loosely as “Path to the Gods.” The second is used only if you smoke too much of this fine herb, and it describes the state of mind of someone who has done just that. It translates simply as “The Mind of God.”
For many of us who served the “Masters of War” in those days, Vietnamese pot became our path to sanity, our lifeline. It was a simple yet very effective way of maintaining peace of mind amidst the chaos of the conflict—an escape from the horrendous reality of our daily lives. From 1964 to 1974, thousands of US soldiers came home from the war carrying as much of this “boo” with them as possible—introducing the exotic smokes of Southeast Asia to the world at large, the seeds of which would provide the main genetic building blocks for many modern strains of cannabis. Ask anyone who came of age during that time, and you’ll notice a quick flash of the eyes as their mind recalls the experience of smoking “the jungle kind.” Though often ridiculed by younger generations as the quaint musings of aging hippies, the sad fact remains that most folks younger than 45 simply have never experienced the mind-bending high of the pure land-race sativa strains of Southeast Asia.
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