Word of mouth took me to The Hemp Center ( also listed as The Patients Place ) at 4811 Geary Boulevard, San Francisco. The recommendation was well deserved. Arriving at THC, i was photographed, signed in and given a numbered card for future visits. This took less than five minutes. Inside is a large, very comfortable, room with a sofa lounge on one side, and a wood bar with stools where one can roll, or smoke. There is also a large screen TV, music, and a stage set-up for occasional performances. In the far corner stands a glass counter with an eclectic selection of strains and prices. i actually went back for their Jack Herer the next day but it had already vanished. However the other strain i test-purchased, Queen Dream, is definitely of royal lineage. The high-end hybrid unfurls like a lush magic carpet that transports one to higher realms of consciousness, while soothing the soul. Reflective and graceful, this lady will anoint your mind and body. A friendly club with very knowledgeable staff, THC has been in operation for over ten years. As we say in Italian, Centanni, a hundred years.
On The High Seas
Freighters like The Tuhobic have no fixed timetable. The ship follows the cargo. So it was at least 36 hours after i boarded that the ship was ready to depart. For some months i had been focusing on meditation and maintaining silence. Not total, but down to a minimum of functional phrases, under the belief that all extraneous conversation is ego. So i took the time to get acquainted with my strange, new surroundings. From the deck i observed the polyglot mix of people boarding, including a tall, blond lady with a Great Dane, the cargo being loaded, the Yugoslavian crew scurrying back and forth; all of it grist for a novel. My second-class cabin was clean, and quite comfortable, with shower and bathroom, and my roommate proved to be an amiable, plump cat from Czechoslovakia who was driving to Hungary in the new Chrysler Imperial i had seen being loaded onto the deck. He also had a dog on board, a Wolfhound. ( the dogs were housed elsewhere) His name was Mickey and he confided that one of the passengers was being deported to Yugoslavia. He seemed to have a pipeline to the ship's gossip. He also told me the blond lady with the Great Dane had gone to the showers in her bra and the Captain ordered her back to her cabin, the crew had stopped working.
My daily meditation and awareness of silence (perhaps the other way around ) made me a good listener, a handy trait aboard a ship bound on a twelve day crossing. The other passengers seemed to have better intelligence concerning departure time, so they straggled on board the next day.
During my first lunch on board, there were three other passengers, including Mickey. At dinner the dining room was almost full. Then, at about 9 that night, The Tuhobic lifted anchor and began edging into The Narrows, a tricky tidal current between Brooklyn and Staten Island that leads to open sea.
i rolled a j and headed for the upper deck where i could get a view of our departure from New York, and our dive into the great unknown. There was a mist on the water but a bright moon shone through torn patches of clouds. i paused at the railing to light up before proceeding. As i turned to go up the stairs i saw a young cat standing in a corner, eyes closed and both hands crossed over his chest. My first thought was that he was nervous. i was a bit jumpy myself, a combination of anticipation and apprehension. i was reminded of my first day in the Army, on the bus to Fort Dix with forty strangers. Except this time there was no official safety net.
When i got to the upper deck i saw that a few others were up there. Two young American girls, the tall blond with the Great Dane, a pair of Latino cats, and an older dude who sat at my dining table.
Everyone stood in silence as the ship passed under the Brooklyn Bridge and the lights of the city began to recede. Soon the deck's roll became more pronounced and the land lights were swallowed by darkness. i went back down to my cabin to write a bit in my diary. Much of it was impressionistic, accompanied by drawings of passengers and crew. Re: the lady with the Dane; "she ( long frosted mind you waist length hair with boots legs and ass but not-) can't or won't communicate to the seventy-five year old widow who is her roommate--imagine."
This all of course, related to me by Mickey, my source for ship's secrets. i then went to the communal lounge with a couple of my albums. Earlier i found one could use the turntable behind the bar. Very civilized. Mickey was there having a drink (they cost 25 cents at sea--duty free ) however i did not do alcohol. Strictly cannabis and meditation for me at that point. After a listening to Thelonious Monk and reading a bit i decided to go back to my cabin. On the way i paused to light up and watch the ship cut through the sea. The sky was blazing with stars and the ship's lights reflected off the foam-speckled water giving it the look of green marble. That night, slowly rocked by the Atlantic, i fell instantly asleep...
Next: The Boat Is Full Of Spies
Recommended Reading: The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles
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