BORN TO BE WILD: THE EASY RIDERS OF DALAT

by Ken Cameron There is something gratifying and enjoyably subversive in supporting an independent entrepreneur in one of the world’s last remaining communist countries.

And zipping along treacherous mountain roads securely seated behind a beaming Vietnamese war vet who has named his business after an iconic film of America’s hippie movement completes the experience.

The Easy Riders, named by a researcher for The Lonely Planet, are a tight-knit group of about 60 motorcycle guides based out of Dalat. They have never seen the film but have eagerly adopted the name, logo, and the freedom the movie made famous.  For $20-25 per person per day they will expertly zip you from site to site.  They will even arrange longer overnight excursions as far as the Mekong Delta, the DMZ or Hanoi (and have even been known to head into neighboring Lao and Cambodia) for $50 a day.

But, like everywhere else in the world when an entrepreneur has a good idea and builds a successful niche market, large numbers of imitators follow in their wake.  The Lonely Planet is keen to promote their discovery, but fail to warn of the imitations.  My wife and I found ourselves under the spell of a hard sell from a young guide named “High Sea” who claimed to be an “Easy Rider”. It was only after paying a small deposit that we discovered the real thing in an older, relaxed man named Hong hanging out at – of all places – The Easy Rider Café.  Hong’s salesmanship was so much more relaxed that we decided to compare faux rider with Easy Rider. We initially booked two days with High Sea but then cancelled the second day so we could try out the real Easy Riders.

High Sea showed up the next morning with his gentle uncle Canh and the four of us set out on two motorcycles and began the day with the summer palace of the deposed king.

Afterwards we wound our way down to the valley below, past the incongruity of European pines planted a century ago by the French and through vegetable farms where neat rows were tended between sturdy greenhouses full of exotic flowers.

Next came “The Chicken Village”, a small town that had erected an enormous rooster to attract tourists, reminiscent of those prairie villages with their giant perogies, starships or gopher museums.  There we met a Buddhist nun who provided the animistic villagers with basic health care.  In a small open air hut where her ancient mother patiently hand-rolled incense, the nun showed us how she had taught her small dog to hold a stick of incense aloft and patiently pose for photos. The time spent with her was the highlight of both days.

As the sun set over Dalat’s restored train station Cahn quietly confided to us that things are much better now, compared to the early 80’s when he had spent some time in a reeducation camp. Though reluctant to press for details, I could barely contain my fascination.  Cahn would only say “the past is the past”.

Cahn and High Sea took our decision to cancel our second day in stride, though High Sea later confessed that he was concerned about supporting his wife and child. Impressed with the tour and feeling guilty, we decided to treat everyone to dinner where Canh happened to casually mention that his sister wished High Sea would get settle down, get married and raise children.

That might be the essential difference between an Easy Rider and their imitators.  Hong and his band, having been made famous by the king of guidebooks, have no need to tug on your heartstrings to get at your wallet.

The next morning Hong and Duc, our official Easy Riders, were just as prompt.

As we rode the air was thick with the smell of coffee plantations, strawberries, avocados, manure, passion fruit and persimmon trees.  Coffee dried by the side of the road as rickety lorries roared by and diesel fumes wafted over the produce.  Greenhouses filled with roses gave way to magical silk factories.

At a hill overlooking a valley, Duc showed us where he lived until the Viet Cong began a guerrilla war against the nearby American radar installation, prompting the Americans to napalm his entire valley. Two of Duc’s uncle’s were killed.

We paused for lunch at a small restaurant that made a local rice wine underneath the building. Fermenting wine periodically wafted through the floorboards. The owners feed the leftover mash to the pigs, which leads to the unforgettable sight of enormous drunk pigs snoozing beside the still. 

There Duc revealed that he too had spent time in a reeducation camp.  When he was finally released he found himself unable to find meaningful work and resorted to smuggling the renowned local wine to the deprived masses in the city and returning with what few manufactured goods he could find.

Both sets of Riders provided stories, itineraries, security and safety in equal measure (except for the two white lies from High Sea). Hiring an Easy Rider or a faux rider is about more than support a budding entrepreneurial spirit; it is a rare glimpse into the real Viet Nam that lies gleaming beneath the surface.