can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur'), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis
Heads Up: Run don't walk to Re Leaf at 1284 Mission Street @ 9th in San Francisco for a taste of Ed's Big Bud. This nicely cured strain slowly lights up all the rooms in the brain, then opens the windows wide to let in a fresh breeze of optimism. A classic sativa from savvy grower Ed Rosenthal, at a most friendly price of $45 the eighth.
The Alexandrian Trio-1965
When i boarded the Turkish Freighter in Piraeus, it was clear that i was entering deeper, more serious waters. Make no mistake, the ship was comfortable, and the crew polite, if not exactly as fun-loving as my Yugoslavian mates. The second class deck was well appointed and had a thatched straw sun roof not unlike Bogie's African Queen. My shipmates were more austere than those on the Tuhobic, save for a trio of dudes traveling steerage. Two were the pair i had pointed out as fellow heads, at the American Express Cafe. One was called Benny, a stocky dude with freckles and a frizzy red 'fro, the other, a tall, good-looking cat with green eyes named Joe. Turned out Joe was the scion of a congressman. The third was a young traveler named Bob. The three were on their way to Egypt, via Alexandria. The reason for their trip was unclear. They hung out on the lower deck keeping mainly to themselves, always a bad sign. Benny seemed to be the alpha in the group. He had an arrogant attitude, and a cold vibe i recognized from encounters with violent criminals. Joe was cool, but friendly, especially out of sight of the others. Bob took his cues from Benny. The scene reminded me of another Bogie movie written by Truman Capote and John Huston, called Beat The Devil. After a brief conversation with Joe where he mentioned he met Jerry Cole in Paris, i decided to avoid those boys and hang with the upper deck crowd. Among those were an English brother/sister team who were traveling the routes mentioned in the Bible. In fact the boy, Derek, read the Old Testament every day. His sister was a fresh-faced girl called Susan who regarded me with a certain amount of suspicion. There was a stately brunette named Betsy, on her way to teach at the American University in Beirut, an older English couple who acted as if they were really first-class passengers relegated to second by some confounded wog error, and my roommate, a surly Italian from Rome, named Maurizio, who, with his lady friend Giana, was squiring a troupe of nightclub dancers to God knows where. After lunch and before dinner, the girls would rehearse their moves on deck. The sole downside was seeing their lonesome, sad, leotards. Otherwise the ladies, some from Denmark, others from France and Hungary, were a welcome addition to what was otherwise a stodgy group. It was all fine with me, still practicing a good amount of silence and meditation.On the third day we reached Alexandria.
There she was, the ancient hub of civilization hundreds of years before Christ, and site of one of the seven wonders of the world. It was immediately clear that Tangier was a hick town in comparison, although there were similarities, albeit on a much smaller scale. Tangier was nestled around a bay, Alexandria loomed over it. The golden domes of mosques, and tall minarets, floated high behind terraced, beachfront apartments. Waiting below, were horse drawn carriages. Before we could debark there was passport check in the lounge. Benny and his boys were ahead of me. i saw Benny uncharacteristically smiling...for the benefit of the customs officer. i also saw that his passport, which the officer was examining, had an accordion-like appendage- basically extra pages--to accommodate the many visas he had already accumulated. Obviously, Benny liked to keep moving. This time he had to step aside and wait while the others, including myself, were stamped good to go. i left the trio behind and stepped into the Alexandrian sun.
But i would see them again...
i decided to take a carriage into town. Some notes from my diary: "I saw the horse and carriage as I was walking towards the gate. He yelled softly and I answered yes and we began...the sights were impressive and Jimi's questions ranged from did I drink whiskey to did I want to fucky fuck...Mohammed's mosque, shoes off at the entrance, put them in compartments...the mosque intricate and cool inside, small boys with books, cats just laying about...a washroom...a coin for Mohammed's tomb...'How much?' a boy asked, pointing to my sneakers as I put them on (all kids in Egypt into sneakers)...The bazaar set up like a gated Kasbah...the fortress, the aquarium, finally after much bandying on my part, the question...then Jimi asked me to sit back in the cab...along an old neighborhood section, all around people waving...we park by what turns out to be a stable...the children come to dig...I sit and drink a coke provided by my host...Jimi comes back, we smoke, he introduces me to the connection, Brahmin, who rolls my count. All the kids digging me, I finish my coke...the world has indeed changed Mr Bowles...20 people walk us out of the stable. Biggest send-off yet. 'Wish me luck' asks Brahmin. Something stays behind. Jimi and I joke on the leisurely ride back--I salute a coal black man striding tall towards some destiny..."
And so went my afternoon in Alexandria.
Back on the ship i felt cool and covered for the rest of the voyage, my stash of Acapulco Gold having run out in Athens. i still had a couple of pieces of Morroccan Majoun and a bit of kif. The joints of Egyptian hash would carry me to Beirut and beyond. A couple of the dancers hit on me lightly that evening, but there was a language barrier ( Danish ), and the fact that the chorus girls were watched closely by Giana, and managed by my roommate Maurizio, who was a churlish sort, took a sleeping pill every night, and seemed perpetually pissed off. Instead, i drifted into a flirtation with Betsy. Again some entries from that period: "Betsy, tall and American, M.A. in genetics, on her way to the University at Beirut. 6 feet and I knew when I saw her the sounds she would make when we made love..." The arrogance of the young artist, or the sensitivity of the young psychic? Whichever, my observations happily proved correct.
Next: The Sleek Tigress
Suggested Viewing: The Ghost Writer directed by Roman Polanski
