Drugs and Other Drugs: Mr. Clifford Goes to Colombia
Matt Clifford • July 12, 2016 • Lifestyle •
Drug tourism requires security because drugs induce paranoia. I smoked a joint behind a barbed wire fence and bought blow from the hostel receptionist. La Policia sat guard armed on the block all night long, vigilant like Ronald Reagan and just as good at playing ignorant. Are you sure it’s all right? Sure, I’ll have another. Welcome to Bogota, Colombia, thirsty US prick.
White residue on a makeshift rollup straw – your dollar has been here before. It purchased Panama and won the Drug War. It shot communists with an IMF loan, floated around the peso until they got lower, lower, sold. 20,000cop = 6usd = 1g. Yes, sir, so good to see you again.
Reputation precedes, narcos and knifepoint, the stereotype news feed. (We do meet somebody who served as an extra on the Netflix show) Implicitly commodified, the country has embraced aspects of this marketability to a surprisingly common scope, decriminalized districts carefully demarcated into cosmopolitan neighborhoods with Escobarian exotic petting zoos and a military presence. The warnings of local and tourist alike are more resolved than in any other city I’ve heard – beyond watch your back don’t be dumb it’s a firm certain borders are the razor’s edge and with a lack of time and spine we mostly oblige. There is still plenty to be had.
Unplanned action but not of a say-no disposition, the effects spread like a shot and are obvious to watch. I wish I was that enthusiastic about broquaintances and beer with breakfast in the same outfit as last evening. Four people from different big countries bent over the top of a dresser simultaneously discuss politics while waiting their turn in the mirror. How would you know who wrote Mein Kampf, that book is banned in your country demands the Iranian San Fran DUI lawyer of representative Germany while proclaiming the United States Greatest Empire and we apologize for Donald Trump, counter with a meek Bernie Sanders? accepting another swig of Aguardiente. It’s good to have a topic to focus on and culprits for blaming problems lest we remember the personal we are running from. Nobody enjoys their jobs, a worldwide situation, the license of this room is who’s allowed escape and where. Am I thinking too much?
Eventually, palms sweat, legs tremble, cigarettes, plans, movement. New vices. Stuffed pockets. The lady and I seek rock&roll while the boys red light toward a club or brothel. We find dancing, carousers shaking so much their feet and understanding are tired by closing. Swanky swarms fall from crowded hotspots and keep each other upright through bumps on the sidewalk. Bogota is the city that never sleeps more interesting than wall street and its everywhere fantasies nowhere dreamed.
We will hear stories through dorm walls upon our mates returning while trying to shake the crash and save a little sleep before morning sightseeing. I couldn’t even get off in the time seventeen american bought, I had done too much and had to wear a condom, barely felt anything. She said I only paid for suck and didn’t want to fuck, couldn’t even stay hard. Toss. Tough nibbles, bloke, we partied with two darlings for hours then this huge dude comes towering over demanding money. Next moment we are driving around a mini-mall searching for an ATM. He wanted three million but the limit was a hundred thousand so we settled. It happens, better than being arrested, ya get what ya deserve, you know? Turn. Snore. Sun.
I enjoy the occasional toot when it comes around, but am by no metrix an expert. I was unsure if my shit is being cut here or there because it smelled less like chemicals in Colombia. I did the obligatory awake and chatty. Tried it for the first time without alcohol, leftovers on a Monday morning packing, sweating on good pizza that appears disgusting at an Italian restaurant, wondering.
The grass was hard nugs, what would qualify as mids to a less Colorado smoker, requiring some effort to break up. It didn’t provide a headache and rescued my appetite. We got it from a backpacker who lived a block over in Denver who got it from a Chiclet salesman in the park, a buck a gram. I wound up with extra eaten before the airport, it hit way later than expected passing homeland customs; heheheheehe. (I caught the red eye!)
I guess I am getting old and a bit less gonzo that I chose to only greet the devil and not wrestle him. I have seen enough hangovers and not enough Bogota. I had my fun, took notes, went to museums, tried food, wrote poems. Kept my skull intact. It’s a funny day to say hey that’s all the drugs I did and mean it. It’s an unnecessary way to end an article.