It’s so easy on the West Coast to forget how difficult scoring weed can be. Sometimes it’s not always as simple as walking into your local dispensary to pick and choose from various strains, or even going to see your “guy.” Sometimes you have to ask around, or wait for it to fall into your lap.
It’s not always easy finding green everywhere. While it’s out there, but is found in interesting ways at times. I experienced just that recently when I went outside of my happy little Vancouver bubble to Mexico. Air travel — international especially — doesn’t exactly lend itself to bringing your own stash; you need to find it on the other end.
In January, I had the pleasure of heading to Cancun with my friend, and Twelve High Chicks’ owner, Ajia Mae Moon, for a short but sweet vacation. Crossing international borders is always a little scary for cannabis advocates in general, and I was nervous after my last attempt didn’t go so well. So I jumped through the hoops needed to border cross — such as brand new wallet and factory-setting my phone so as to avoid any trace of anything pot related — and made it across with zero questions from the border guards about anything. Still, we didn’t know where to find weed on the other side.
Well, they don’t call me Lucky Penny for nothing, because the weed found us about twenty minutes after we left the resort for the first time. If you have never been to the tourist district in Cancun, you should know that you can’t take fifteen steps without being approached to buy something or another. While crossing the street on our way back from the corner store, a man selling tours approached us and commented on the pack of Lucky Strikes in my hand.
“You must like green smoke,” he suggested. He looks pointedly at my bangs, which are always a combo of green or teal; this trip they were green. It took me a second, because really, how does this happen so easily? After a confirming glance with Ajia, we let him know that yes, we were in the market. He told us he could help and took us to his hole-in-the-wall “office” for selling tours to the likes of us. He made a quick phone call and off we went to a tiny souvenir shop around the corner.
Amongst the ponchos and fridge magnets appeared a young woman in her twenties. She looked nervous, but after she and the man exchanged some Spanish, she opened a little refrigerator and pulled out a bag. $60 US later, we had purchased the shittiest and most expensive weed — quality considered — of either of our lives. Pretty remarkable as I grew up on the Prairies.
While possession of up to five grams of cannabis has been decriminalized for personal use in Mexico since 2009, the cartels still play a strong role in its trafficking, and people get killed for selling on the wrong turf. I have no idea which side of the fence these people were on, but things went pretty smoothly for us. I’m not terribly keen on buying pot in general, which probably stems, again, from living in Alberta and always having to watch over your shoulder, so I felt pretty great by the time we were out of there.
What felt tougher than getting it was finding places to smoke the damn ditch weed. We nearly set up joint-smoking camp near crocodile infested water. I’d already had a couple piña coladas by then (all-inclusive room service will do that) which might explain that oopsie. A very kind man saved us from ourselves by pointing out the signs posted every five feet that said it was not safe. Yes, they were in English. Our bad.
We found a safe patch of grass farther away, and rolled up some headache makers. The marijuana itself was compressed, full of seeds and stale. It barely got us high, but because it was so easy to come by we weren’t going to complain. We were also doubtful that with hunting we could have done any better.
There was a fair amount of tequila going down in the meantime to make up for it.
Drunken beach lounging ensued regardless. Because all inclusive. I blame Tina, our fine beach server, and accept zero responsibility. Did I mention tequila? And, I mean, they had a shot called the Scooby Snack. I had to represent the cannabis community. I am sure I was very graceful and ladylike. You’re welcome.
Would I have bought that ditch weed again? In a heartbeat. When it comes that easy to you, you don’t fight it. You buy off that weird dude on the street, hope like hell you aren’t walking into a trap, and cross your fingers that it at least resembles weed. Ours did. And they gave me enough seeds to start my own forest of pot plants.
So thanks for coming through, Mexico.
6/10. Would repeat.