Hi guys, you may wonder why this is the first post of this blog. Well, I've deleted all my past blogs cuz all the conclusions I presented in the past turned out to be bullshit and as a responsible pseudo scientist I try to be helpful with what I utter. Fortunately no one reads my blog. Maybe this time, I can give you something solid...
So, just to introduce myself, I am not a regular pot smoker, I am generally anti-420, but pro decrimininalisation, I sometimes try to convince regulars that they should give up smoking and instead search for purpose in life. Maybe, throughout my quality time writing, I can tell you why I think and act that way. As I never made it a secret, except always when I talk to the underaged (-then I usually preach ascethicism),... when I go on vacation I usually venture out for places where I can get decent kush. This time I eventually made it to Amsterdam, Netherlands, where I'd spend a fortune on regular doses of strongest sativa* weed strains and finest hash chunks from all over the world. If you're a pro drug person but still haven't fucked up your life with something addictive so far or if you're fed up with alcohol in your home country, you're best having a coffeeshop tour through Amsterdam that, I promise, you'll truly enjoy. However, I am not sure if this is a happy or sad story....
* Before I continue, let's get one thing straight: when I talk about sativa and indica strains I just do it to explain what I am after. In the view of most 420 preachers a sativa provides a head-held-high feeling throughout the day and an indica brings about a couchlock feeling. Most kids in Austria still believe in this more or less unscientific taxonomy. We now know that the relation of THC, CBD and the dominant terps in your weed decide what effect you have. There are about 420 cannabinoids and over 500 terps about which we know very very little. When you order a sativa, hybrid or indica in a legally established club, the dealers there usually know what you're actually looking for - a bombastic high. So, don't go there if you want to cure or mitigate a mental disease such ADHS or depressions. That's your doctors business; he knows best.
Lately I spent my vacations in Malaga, Spain. Malaga is not necessarily a hotspot for Cannabis Social Clubs (the Spanish quasi-equivalent to Coffeeshops); in fact, the single one I've been to is already closed and it was the only one that existed in Málaga. In other words, if you search for weed in Málaga today, you have to buy smuggled, often dirty, Marrrocan hash on the beach from the dealers. However, there, in this CSC you used to get a cosy selection of fair-priced weed strains, four or five of them Cali weed, and at least three or four choices of hash that were good enough to compete with the illegal Marrocan hash that you may get offered on the beaches. Most of the time, the Social Club was almost empty. A couple of kids sat on the couch and zocked on the PlayStation, but most of the time no client was in there. In other words, not a place to meet kind pot-smoking chics.
Why is that important, you ask; well, for me, pot is a social drug. I enjoy it so much more in company and always am eager to find a tender soul I can share my time and drug with. The pot-smoking chics I got to know throughout my journey were always extraordinarily nice girls, open-minded and warm-hearted to a certain extent...and those chics clearly differ from this great deal of arrogant hotties on Mediterranian beaches that would treat you like an old perv when you ask them help you cream your back. Pot chics on the other hand are sociable and if you get lucky they come to you first. Usually they are laid-back and talk very little. They always have a little bit of sunshine and time left for you and even bring plenty of their own pot when they hang out with you. In places where there are no spots were you can smoke pot legally, those sweet creatures are so fucking hard to find.
In Malaga it took me over a week until finally two German girls crossed my ways in the hostel where I stood for the rest of my vacations. Of course, then, I would spend most nights accompanied by the girls. We would spend the evenings together and walk through the city whenever possible, and we would smoke buttery Marrocan hash the two brought from the beaches; every situation embedded in good mood, everything ending in constant laughter. But all good things appear to come to an end: One of the girls gave me her phone number and so I continued chatting with her for a few weeks--in order to stay in touch and maybe meet her again. But when I saw her cuddling and kissing her dog on her WhatsApp status one day, then telling her that I'd love to be in the dog's place, she would block me immediately and I would never hear from her ever again. Happens a lot everytime I confude friendlyness with sexual interest. In a nutshell, nice girl, delightful smile, awesome boobs, but what I missed where deep conversations that would bring me any closer to her. On top of that, I didn't do her a single time; briefly, nothing happened, so it's not supposed to hurt--and it didn't. In fact, the time I spent with the girls was awesome and I kept only the good memories of them. Free from any hurts or pains I would be ready to love and live again. Head held high with a clearly fostered ego I'd simply move on.
Yeah,... and then there was Amsterdam the other day. I spent only two nights up in the North before heading back to Vienna, so, two and a half days to come to grips with Amsterdam's coffee shops. From all the museums in Amsterdam I had only scheduled the Van Gogh museum and the street art museum STRAAT. The rest of the time I kept for my goal to try at least five sativa strains each day, try edibles at least once, and find my favorite hash variant.
Pretty soon, I found the shop where I'd get my favorite sativa strain. This time it was a simple Strawberry Haze from a coffeehop named Vondel, a footstep away from Vondelpark, in the West. The shop was recommended on YouTube and it seemed as if they found a professional way to sell high quality throughout the year. The weed had a fruity smell, and when you broke the buds in half you saw the hellishly toxic cristals sparkling fiery in the inside; just as much it had a slightly fruity taste, and when the joint was lit you saw a film of oil moistening the cigarette paper right below the ember; that's what you're after. I came back for more the next day and combined a Lemon Haze weed with an Amnesia Hash -- just as good, just as effective. But my favorite hash variant I would get somewhere else...
After Vondel I went for the city center and tried a few coffeeshops, with my choices still focusing on sativa strains in order to stay motivated and level-headed throughout the tour. In one of the shops I perched next to an old pot lady. She was nice and talked far above average for a pothead. So I got to hear her story of current events. It was much. She was very concerned about the wars going on at the moment and the crisis we're in. When she explained how things could come to a better ending I often had to ask for clarification, but if I got her right then only the aliens that are watching us can save us from a near nuclear catastrophe. I would definitely read her book, cuz while explaining her theories she never blamed the Jews for anything bad in the world. Too loving was her soul and too kind her thoughts... but she was about 20 years older than me and wore so many clothes, I couldn't imagine her performing well in a granny porn. The little bit of love I actually had left for her I invested in the joint I rolled for her: I put in a small butt of Lemon Haze, a bit of tobacco she asked for, and a few flakes of Strawberry Banana Kush Hash that I think I bought at the Get Down Coffeeshop hours ago. Since she coughed a lot, I added a Jilter on top of the filter. I thought she enjoyed the creation and so I left with a smile, also knowing that three days are not enough time to find a love interest. Wasn't the plan anyway.
I would then go further north, closer to the Red Light District of Amsterdam to find one of the highly recommended coffeeshops from the Green House chain. One of them I found by chance [won't tell you which for a reason...]. The selection there was very wide and their menu had plenty of strains I had never heard of. So I went with the safe award-winning Super Lemon Haze, short SLH, and it was worth the about fifteen bugs per gram. The shop was quite busy, but you'll find an empty seat if you get lucky.
And so it happened. I sat next to an awesome looking, blonde curly-haired girl in my age. The skin on her face was shiny from the sweat she carried with her and she was visibly marked from a hard day's work. But hell, totally my type, maybe just cuz of that. I started the conversation by apologizing for sitting to her table; told her that I simply didn't want to sit alone, and that seemed to have aroused sympathy in her and so we chatted a bit. Unfortunately, that didn't make her less attractive. After she rolled her second joint, she put on her clothes, gave me her card, told me that she would be free the next day at nine pm, then vanished. I rolled myself a primavera for the go and left for the hostel, in order to get a long-lasting power nap there, cuz next day would be King'sDay--the biggest Dutch holiday all year...
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