At the oh-so-wise age of 25, I decided the time, place and company were right to smoke marijuana for the first time. Up until the evening of May 5th, I guarded my pot virginity with the same zeal as a Christian who pledges abstinence before marriage. In addition to never consuming an illegal substance, I hadn’t tried a cigarette, either. My decision to abstain from pot was one of practicality mixed with frugality: Most corporations perform drug tests as part of the employment process, and I also viewed pot as an expensive indulgence in the event it was habit-forming. I can’t even say I was pressured to smoke. Just one blasé suggestion from a temporary travel fling was the only thing necessary for me to hunt down the substance. Though I knew procuring marijuana was a crime here in Nepal, I’m grateful I only learned about the whole, “maximum 20 years in jail” consequence after my transaction was complete.
So let me back track to how I scored the goods: on the nightly walk back to my cheap hotel located in the congested touristy area of Thamel, I’d often get solicited for pot from seedy characters and would always say no. This time, however, I slowed my gait and looked every Nepali in the eye, awaiting the proposition. The first came from 70-yr-old barefoot man in an olive-green “Faded Glory” shirt perched atop his bike and carriage. He smiled, flashing his yellow crooked teeth at me.
“Rickshaw, madame?”
I smiled in return and gave a polite no. The next question was from a 20-something Nepali standing with one foot rested against the wall of the alley.
In a low, slurred voice he asked, “Would you like some hash?”
Without hesitation, I gave a firm, “Yes. Yes, I would.”
