4 minute read
Where in the World
Exploring the grittier, more rewarding side of cannabis tourism.
BY RICARDO BACA
Want to know how spoiled we are in Free America?
Here’s how spoiled: When we think of cannabis tourism, we think of bud-and-breakfasts in century-old Victorian homes, guided garden tours via swank limo buses, and Friday nights spent learning the intricacies of rolling both sushi and joints—before consuming said sushi and joints.
Not a bad vacation. But as many of us know, marijuana tourism throughout most of the world is less glam and more glum. Sometimes we need to check our state-legal privilege at the door and remind ourselves how lucky we are to be alive right now in these sky-high times (Hamilton reference intended, weed pun definitely not).
Most of the world still lacks access to safe cannabis products, a regulated retail environment, and sensible drug laws, and so the concept of cannabis tourism takes on an entirely different meaning in Morocco, India, and even the Netherlands—all legitimate cannabis heritage communities.
Though let me tell you: This grittier, more dangerous side of cannabis tourism is infinitely more rewarding than its counterparts in Free America, hot-boxed limo bus be damned.
Imagine with me: You’re in a trendy Mumbai bar chatting up some locals over chais when one of them asks, “Would you like some charas?” You recognize the word as the local handle for hash and nod yeah, and a few minutes later you’re passed a hand-rolled cigarette with the waxy charas spread generously throughout.
The familiar sting immediately hits the back of your throat upon your first inhale, but the aftertaste is as unique as the subcontinent itself. Your new friends tell you about the Himalayan tradition of charas, and you rub your hands together as they make a similar hand gesture, mimicking the ancient hash-making technique. The modified cigarette makes one more round before you and your new friends head back inside for more tea, maybe a few beers and a more elevated conversation. Not a bad vacation, right?
Or maybe you’re reading a book inside a canal-side coffeeshop in Amsterdam when a young couple asks if they can share your table. They’re sharing their stash from home, a far superior product to the dried-out garbage you just bought from the counter, and an hour later you’re following them back to their flat, which is home to a surprisingly sophisticated 10-plant grow.
They pour you a glass of wine before the tour, and when they open the door you squint your eyes to let them adjust. When you ask them why their flower is so much better than the coffeeshop’s, they tell you that, while the Dutch government tolerates limited retail sales and permitted use, it is still illegal to cultivate cannabis in the Netherlands, a policy regulators are contemplating changing. An intense chicken-and-egg conversation follows before they bid you a lovely evening by pointing out the nearest tram line and sending you on your way with a week’s worth of homegrown herb. Totally not a bad vacation.
As someone who loves to travel I must add: I am not recommending you break local laws while traveling. Many of us have seen Brokedown Palace and read Midnight Express, and we all know how this scenario sometimes tragically ends.
But I am telling you to live a little—and if your partner were to ever forward you an article about hiking among
The Chefchaouen medina built into the side of the Rif Mountains
massive valleys of cannabis plants in the Rif Mountains above Chefchaouen, Morocco, a month before you’re actually traveling to Chefchaouen, Morocco, then you pack your boots and start doing your research immediately.
And this is where the story gets personal. While friends of mine had these experiences in Mumbai and Amsterdam, my real-world cannabis tourism experience came in Chefchaouen, when I approached the hotel desk after a big rush of check-ins and carefully introduced myself to the clerk:
“I’m a journalist. I am not looking to buy drugs. I am looking to see these fields of cannabis and talk to a local villager about the hash-making process and the importance of the cannabis trade for he and his family.”
The desk clerk, who appeared to be no older than 14, looked at me assuredly and said, “Yes, sir. So you want to hike to the waterfall. I would be happy to arrange a guide for you and your wife, sir.”
I was mystified. Did he understand what I said? Surely he did. I said the word cannabis like three times, and I pointed up the mountainside while making hand motions that somehow were meant to convey entire vistas of African-grown cannabis.
“You do understand what I’m hoping to see?” I asked.
“I do, sir,” he said sweetly. “And I think you will like this hike to the waterfall very much.”
I will never forget what happened that next day. Be tween the tiresome, 8.5-mile hike and our indefatigable guide, the unsinkable people we met along the way, and the humble family we drank tea and made hash with at our destination, the unparalleled views and the compelling cultural and political discussions, that special day lives on in technicolor in my memory.
As for the rest of that magical Moroccan day? I’m saving it for my memoir. Though I will add that that remarkable waterfall-less hike told me I was on the right life path.
This was exactly what I was supposed to be doing with my life. Writing about cannabis, about drug policy. Traveling to foreign lands and incorporating my passion for this substance into my itinerary. Cherishing that off-the-beaten-path experience over the out-of-the-box commodities of the 420-legal world. Recognizing that we still have a long way to go before this plant is fully understood the world over.
RICARDO BACA is a veteran journalist, thought leader, and founder of The Cannabist. His content agency Grasslands works primarily with businesses and individuals in the cannabis and hemp industries on thought leadership, publicity, and marketing projects via thoughtful, personalized content campaigns
