Hello Broadway


Can * nois * eur ( Kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

"The most amazing property of cannabis is its ability to fog the minds of those who do not use it."

Heads Up: We dropped by Re-Leaf, 1284 Mission @ 9th for a quick survey of what's available and discovered a bona-fide bargain. Kongo Kush, a fluffy hybrid is available at $25 the eighth. While sceptical at first, a taste test proved most positive. Strong and mellow, this strain is Indica dominant and was quite effective in cooling out the side effects of a medical procedure--as well as grooving some relaxing TV time.
There is another strain, Grape Mendicino, available at the same righteous price but we have yet to taste.


Hello Broadway


As soon as i landed in New York i called the Twins. Annie invited me to crash in their West Side pad and i gratefully accepted. There was a lot happening and the Twins were at the hub. The night i arrived, i slipped away from the nightly party and went to bed, exhausted by the flight, and ready to tackle the next day's biz. About one in the a.m. i was awakened by Annie and a smiling young, black dude. This cat was an up and coming jazz pianist named Herbie Hancock.
They were all about to drop acid and invited me to join, but i knew i wasn't ready. Just off a plane, tired, wired and underfed, i said thanks Herbie, but Pasadena.
Now Lady M and i had a system. She would send me Baalbek's Best, care of American Express.
i would retrieve it, and send her a plane ticket to NYC. Before she left Rome, she would dispatch the rest. Meanwhile i hit the ground running trying to get work as an actor.
My lean, hungry, long-haired look got me a few interviews but i was still too rad for the room.
Life at the Twins place was a nightly cavalcade. One night it was acid, the next junk. But the junkies were far from enlightened. One morning a young guest who used a telephone cord to tie up, came into the bedroom to ask if i had stolen his wallet. There were also any number of loose ladies on the set but i was determined to stay faithful. Lady M and i had shared a great adventure, and i doubted if any of these NY dolls were up to the challenge. But it was tempting as hell.
Another of the Twins' guests at that time was Paul Krassner, editor of The Realist. i offered him a hit of my good hash, but at the time Krassner had yet to toke up. In fact he seemed rather
disapproving.
Anyway, the first batch arrived at the AMEX postal service, and was out the door by the next day. i wired Lady M her travel money and starting looking for an apartment.



Next: Man About Town



Reccomended Listening : Takin' Off by Herbie Hancock

Goodbye Haifa, Hello Broadway

Can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. One competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

"The most amazing property of cannabis is its ability to fog the minds of those who do not use it."



HEADS UP: Sparc, San Francisco's newest and brightest MM dispensary, located at 1256 Mission Street is holding a few dynamite outdoor strains at down to earth prices. Most notable is their Sour Diesel at $50 per quarter ( that's 1/4) or $175 the entire Z. Its slick package boasts
a 19.4 % THC content and it delivers as advertised. Sweet, well-cured, with a nice burn, this full-budded Sativa, starts building from jump street and keeps going skyward from there. Both active and contemplative, with a long, easy arc--it lingers for a while after gently depositing you back on the planet.
And the price is equally friendly.



Goodbye Haifa, Hello Broadway


Passover at our Tel Aviv hotel proved to be an eye-opener. The management assigned us to a dining table screened off from the rest of the room by potted palms on three sides. (One side open to allow the waiter to slip us some food.) All this was cool with us since we were trying to stay under the radar which was difficult, considering Lady M was a striking blond, and i was long haired and deeply tanned. Still, we managed to keep to ourselves until the second night. While we were taking a short walk, a white-haired woman literally popped out from behind a bush.
"Shhh," she said, "You're not Jewish, don't tell anybody, I'm not Jewish too."
Turns out the lady owned the hotel, having taken over when her Jewish husband died. But by law in Israel, (1965), a non Jewish person couldn't own own a hotel, and if the widow was found out, she would lose the property.
Why did she tell us? Ask Dostoevsky. Obviously she had a need to tell someone, and we were
far enough outside her circle to safely confess. However, as a naive American i assumed Israel was the land of freedom, justice, and we are all in this together, harvesting democracy. Travel is a great enlightener. ( As of this day, only 17% of Americans have passports)
Tel Aviv itself was a surprisingly bustling city, reminiscent of New York, with a constant hustle at its core. After months on an island, and touring mostly mellow, third world villages, the big city beat was both overwhelming and infectious. From there we went to Haifa to meet our ship, and we saw a kinder, gentler Israel. A seaside community with surrounding orchards, the pace was cool and groovy ( "in the parlance of the time") A few days on the beach and then aboard ship for a three-day cruise to Naples. Customs in Italy are always casual, and we were off to Roma on the rapidissimo. A quick cappucino in the Eternal City and i was flying to Manhattan, to take care of business, and begin my new life...

Next: Man About Town

Recommended Viewing: Boardwalk Empire directed by Martin Scorcese HBOTV

(with a shout out to Spec4 James Butler US Infantry )

The Jerusalem Shuffle


Can * nois * suer ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis


"The most amazing property of cannabis is its ability to fog the minds of those who do not use it."
Heads Up: We were somewhat surprised to see an upscale cannabis club open its doors no more than fifty feet from one of our old favorites, Re-Leaf, 1284 Mission @9th, San Francisco, a small down home dispensary that has been serving the neighborhood for years.

Sparc, 1256 Mission Street, between 8th and 9th, is a full service patient resource center
that is to Re-Leaf, what Whole Foods is to your boutique grocer.
Riding the economic wave sweeping over from Oaksterdam, Sparc follows the Harborside, Medathrive model, in fashion with new clubs. One enters a two story building with an understated facade, registers at the front desk after showing ID at the door, and is issued a plastic club card. The main room is large, with high ceilings. The wall behind the counter area is made up of wooden drawers holding various buds, in the manner of Chinatown herbal shops.
There are three stations at the counter, displaying the strains available, as well as an overhead menu. (Their web page is especially well-done with a precise run down of what strains are available at what price. ) On the far side is a bank of vaporizers available for use. All in all, their operation is well planned, well executed and should serve the city well. Senior and veteran discounts are available. And their member handbook is an excellent patient guide.
A distinctive feature is their Strain-of-the-Day policy. Each day a different strain is offered @$28 (plus tax) the eighth. Our first in-store choice, Bubba Kush, proved to be an excellent buy at 30 bucks. However over the next couple of weeks the strain featured on Sparc's on-line menu was not available when we arrived. The first time we settled for a pricey gram of J-27.
But the second time it happened, we decided to wander over to Re-Leaf.

There we found a strain called Bio-Chem. This fragrant sativa comes with hashy underflavors and lights up the mind as it elevates, making it ideal for depression or lethargy. It generates a long, cosmic arc that ranges from spiritual to inspiring. Well cured, it has a nice burn, and at $50 an eighth, it is definitely the deal of the year.

We are grateful that San Francisco offers us a choice.

The Jerusalem Shuffle: 1965

The drive to Damascus was short and uneventful. However, on arrival it was clear that unlike Lebanon, the citizens were wary of strangers. The sense of repression was palpable as we walked the streets. We did some light shopping but the photo ops were few. Damascus was gloomy, and far from charming back then. Early the next morning I went out into the square in front of the hotel, which was piled high with tires, who knows why, and found a taxi driver who would take us to Jerusalem. The price was $15. On the way to Jordan, Lady M and myself were happy (to leave Damascus) and smooching in the back seat. Whereupon the driver sternly advised that it was against the law for couples to kiss in public. This advice served us in good stead. Lady M had the goods in her cosmetic and underwear bag, and when we reached the border the guard was reluctant to search a woman's personal belongings. It was considered unmanly in the mid-east macho bible. However he did ask her, "would you kiss him?" Lady M frowned, wagged her finger, and said "no, no, no," and he waved us through. Safely in Jordan the driver kindly took us to the site of the magnificent Roman ruins for snapshots, then on to Jerusalem. Now we were due to meet our ship in Haifa, Israel in a week, but the law required every traveler to remain in Jerusalem three days, before going to Israel. Of course three days weren't enough to take in the full impact of a city that has been so crucial to mankind for centuries. From the Wailing Wall to Via Dolorosa, to the Temple Mount on the Dome of the Rock, every alley was seething with history. On the third day we took a cab to the Mandlebaum Gate, which was the doorway to Israel. At the time i had joked that Mandlebaum was probably a tailor who's shop was in the wrong place, and later found out that was pretty much accurate. As it happened we we passing on the eve of Rosh Hashana, which meant that everybody needed to be off the street by sundown. The Jordanian cab driver contemptuously dumped our bags on the street and left us there. Because of the New Year, Israeli customs rushed us through, and we managed to find a Tel Aviv hotel that had a vacancy just as the sun hit the horizon...happy new year.
Next: A New York State of Mind

Recommended Reading: Citizen Zero by William Gibson

Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained

Can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

We headed past the Mission to the Bernal Heights Collective, 33, 29th street (off Valencia) for a test run. The dispensary is colorfully decorated outside, and after passing through ID check and the inner door, one enters a small but comfortable room, with table areas for smoking and vaporizers available, much like the Vapor Room in the Haight. The budtenders are extremely friendly, not pushy, giving one time to make a selection. The menu is quite varied with many hard-to-find strains. We chose God's Gift and were not disappointed. This hybrid is a full-bodied mind enhancer, with the easy liftoff of a condor spreading its wings and soaring above the California Coast on a sunny day, watching the colorful parasurfers, hang gliders, and skydivers below. A sweet taste of the West Coast groove...
While BHC consistently offers excellent versions of excellent strains, their discount policy varies
with the mood of the day. A bit pricey, but make no mistake, the Bernal Heights Collective is a first-rate joint.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained

Mid September '65, the Mediterranean was clear green glass, but a chill hovered in the late afternoon breeze. The season was dwindling on Ischia, the islanders preparing to hunker down
for the winter. i took a morning swim, diving underwater to follow a long ray of sunlight that shimmered like a gold carpet on the bottom of the sea. In the afternoon we boarded our weekly ferry to Naples, to check American Express. Lo and behold two letters containing money orders had arrived from New York. This meant we could A) go back to New York right away or B) go back to Baalbek and arrive in New York with seed money. We chose the latter. We found a travel agent in Naples who hooked us up with a freighter that went from Piraeus, Greece, to Beirut. Eight days later we would meet a freighter in Haifa, Israel, that would take us back to Naples.
So off we went on the now familiar overnight train to Brindisi Italy, and car ferry to Greece.
Lady M's seven bags presented logistic problems until we reached Piraeus and boarded our Turkish freighter to Beirut. The second night at sea, i woke up after midnight and saw a strong light coming through the porthole. It was the full moon, hanging low in the sky, the size and shade of an apple. Stars the size of dimes and quarters blazed like torches in the sky. i awakened Lady M and we went out on deck. As we watched, a shower of meteors rained down. We made a wish on every one, and they all came true. Be careful what you wish for....
During that time, traveling by cab in Lebanon was relatively cheap, and advisable, since between us we had a total of nine bags. The cab went up the same winding mountain road to the Bekka Valley, as had the bus, and left us at the same hotel i stayed at a few months earlier. We went to the ruins ( by now i knew as much as the tour guides), had tea at an outdoor cafe, wandered around the tiny market, and there i spotted my old pal Tom. He was happy to see me, and thanked me for sending Eddie A and Gerry his way. And yes, he could deliver what i needed that very night.
That evening, after dinner at the hotel, we went out for a walk to our prearranged meeting. Sure enough Tom arrived with four robed cohorts, and took us for a short ride near the ruins. There we exchanged the cash for the keys. We were good to go.
The next morning i booked a cab ride to Damascus, Syria. From there it was on to Jerusalem
with two and 1/2 keys of Baalbek's finest.

Next: The Jerusalem Shuffle

Recommended Reading: Finn by Jon Clinch

Islands in The Sun


Can * nois * seur ( Kan ' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis


Heads Up: We fell by Grass Roots @ 1077 Post Street, San Francisco, and browsed a full menu that included a number of new sativas. Our choice, Kanaga, reputedly of African origin, is a dusty green bud with reddish leaves, and bright, shiny crystals, that lifts off quickly, then unfurls like a global satellite, picking up cosmic vibrations as it orbits earth. Its long arc has a soft splashdown, and allows time for meditation on the beach. A high-end item at $60 the eighth, but definitely budworthy.



Another worthy stop, Re-Leaf, 1284 Mission street @ 9th, is holding a superior version of SnoCap. This deep green and orange flower has thick mature leaves, sprayed with white crystals, and slowly expands as it elevates, like a majestic zeppelin on a round-the-world flight. Afterwards this billowy hybrid deposits the traveler in a first-class hotel for a soothing nap.
A bargain at $55 an eighth. Check their liberal discount policy.


Islands in the Sun: Rome '65


What could be bad? A leggy Swedish model, a summer in Rome. Magi met me for coffee the next morning and for two days we were inseperable. She spoke Italian (as do i ) French (un peu) , Spanish ( si ) and a smattering of German (nein ). So were were able to communicate, pun, laugh and romance on a few levels. She knew Rome well and we wandered everywhere. i took her to a pizzeria at Fontana Di Trevi, where their jukebox had The Stones' Little Red Rooster, which i played every day. One morning however, i went to American Express and the check was still in transit. There was no choice, i had to make arrangements to go back to the States. As it happened my parents had retired and moved back to Italy, a town called Terni, in Umbria, made famous for manufacturing the rifle that shot Kennedy. My plan was to visit my folks for a week or so, pop back to Rome (two hours away) every few days to check AMEX, and if my investors had not made good, fly back to NY and kick ass.
For the past few days Magi and i had been making plans for an island getaway. i was pressing for Hydra in Greece, she for Ischia, off Naples. We settled on Hydra. When i told her of my intention to visit Terni, and go to New York if necessary, she insisted that she had money enough for both of us to go somewhere for a couple of months. But my mind was set. So we agreed to meet on Hydra if my money came through. So off i went to Terni, for a visit with my parents, during which i developed an enlightened technique to deal with their ritual traps and grievances. And happily it worked. Meanwhile my trips to Rome weren't so happy. i started making arrangements to fly back to the Apple. My last week in Terni, i went with my parents to Rome to attend a wedding. When we returned a telegram was waiting. It was from Magi, urging me to come to Hydra. i immediately sent a wire back, saying i was on my way, hang in. How to get there was my only problem, and Greece wasn't that far. That very next day i got a phone call. Two of my pals from NY, Eddie A and Gerry had heard of my exploits and were driving to Beirut. They were actually in Terni, hoping i would give them the route to the hash fields. We all shared a joyous reunion, and it was settled. They would drive me to Piraeus, where i could catch a ferry to Hydra, and i would map out their hash strategy. None of this surprised me. In the sixties, synchronicity was a fact of life. Driving straight through to the car ferry, the trip took about thirty six hours. The drudgery was alleviated by some ups i had stashed for just such an emergency. We talked. I told them my first choice Tom, had vanished, so i went with Ahmed. When we smoked some of my white hash, they were determined to find Tom. They deposited me at the ferry office in Piraeus, which coincidentally was their booking office for a freighter to Beirut. They invited me along but i was on a mission. The three of us sat in an outdoor cafe until my ferry was due to sail. Then, sleepless and coming down, i boarded the crowded boat, not knowing if Magi had gotten my wire, or had left the island. It was a short, if quiet, voyage, which suited me. I found a window seat inside and stared at the water. When we docked the passengers crowded towards the exit. i just sat there waiting for things to clear. From my seat i saw the dock was crowded with people dressed in black. Suddenly a loud wail went up and i saw a coffin was being carried from the ferry and passed overhead, hand over hand, to a horse drawn carriage. i waited respectfully until most of the dock was clear, then started down the gangway. And there, blond hair flashing above the departing mourners, was Magi. Instantly my comedown cleared.
Hydra is a glorious, if stark, island. To this day it has a ban on autos. Mules rule. The water is crystal clear, and one can eat grilled sea food on the beach. Leanord Cohen, then known as the author of a novel titled Beautiful Losers, lived there. His musical career was in its infancy. Then one night, walking after dinner, i spotted two thirds of the Alexandrian Trio, Benny and Joe, in an outdoor cafe, back from Egypt. Joe rushed up to greet me. "Did you make a killing in Beirut?" he asked. i shrugged, wondering what had happened to the third member of their party.
i didn't get a chance to find out. Magi was uncomfortable on the island for a number of reasons, one of which was that Joe was an ex boyfriend. Talk about synchronicity, considering the fact that i had picked them out cold, in a cafe in Athens, two months before, as players. Signs were everywhere, and i was totally connected. And so it came to pass that me, Magi and all seven of her suitcases ( they came down the hill strapped to a mule ), left Hydra, went back to Italy, took the express train to Naples, and another ferry to the emerald island of Ischia. We found a tiny room in Lacco Ammeno for a hundred bucks a month, and for the rest of the summer we swam, ate at beach restaurants, lay in the sun, made love, and generally lived in paradise. Ischia is a thermal island, meaning it has hot volcanic springs and volcanic mud prized for its cosmetic properties.. At the beach i frequented, outside the town of Forio, the water was clear green velvet, and if you dug your toe in the sand at the water's edge, the heat was too intense. You had to pull out. When i swam about a hundred yards and looked back to the beach, the surrounding cliff bowl above, was obviously the remnant of a blasted out volcano. For centuries, emperors, senators, courtesans, and other knowledgable Italians had been coming to Ischia for the healing waters, and beautifying radioactive mud. The vegitation was equally lush, with flowers everywhere. The days too, were slow and lush, and at night our skin seemed to glow in the dark. But eventually even paradise has a last call.

Next: Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained

Recommended Viewing: Avanti! starring Jack Lemmon

Recommended Listening: The Future by Leanord Cohen

Recommended Reading: Raga Six

The Vatican Connection


Can * nois * seur ( Kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

Our visit to The Vapor Room, 607A Haight Street @ Steiner in San Francisco, proved to be a singular experience. Registration is easy, and not mandatory for the first visit. One enters a comfortable, low-ceilinged roon with a number of long tables fitted with vaporizers. The dispensary in the rear features a wide range of strains, edibles and concentrates, as well as their signature grinder. The staff is friendly, polite and low-key on sales, giving one time to make a selection. The atmosphere is quite restful with good music and a large, clean, fish tank to reflect on. We brought some take-out coffee with us, made our selection ( Orange Crush ), then were given a bag by the management and sat down to vaporize our herb. Within minutes everything was in its place and deeply mellow. A righteous club well worth checking out, The Vapor Room is a spiritual oasis in a sea of commerce.
Orange crush is a dense sativa with distinctive red leaves on a dark green field. Its' effect is like coming home after a tough day at the office, taking off your shoes, hooking your tail to a flying beast ( ikran in Navi ), and soaring off on a glorious journey to the floating mountains. Definitely a staple in any well-stocked stash.


The Vatican Connection



That May, Rome basked in balmy sunshine. i had taken a room in a pensione, located in the center, near the Spanish Steps, mainly because it came complete with meals. At this point i was on a thin budget. My suitcase, stuffed with nearly six pounds of hash was under the bed, reeking like bad shaving lotion at a prom. The first day i went out and bought a scale, six souvenir vases, and various packing supplies. i divvied the hash into six parts, which i put inside the six vases. ( Should you wish to read significance in the numbers, i refer you to Madonna. )
Having packaged and addressed said vases, i hiked over to Vatican City, home of Saint Peter's Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, and the Vatican Post Office.
There, at the Vatican Post Office, i dispatched six packages to my investors in New York. That done, i settled back for the long wait, a month or so i figured, before the checks rolled back... optimist that i was. Meanwhile i enjoyed my extended visit to the eternal city, walking the cobbled backstreets crammed with throwaway art, be it the faded remnant of a mural on some ancient archway, or odd skull carvings on a church, or the big marble foot ( il piedone ) near Rome University, the magnificent sculpted fountains everywhere, and my personal favorite, The Pantheon, which, at that time, still maintained its integrity as a pagan temple. Today its been co opted by the ever voracious church, which installed a makeshift altar and rows of pews inside, thus destroying-and desecrating- the divine symmetry of its circular interior.
Then too, was the easy pace beneath the city bustle, shared by most of its stylish citizens, the outdoor cafes, lolling on the Spanish Steps, browsing Campo Di Fiori's morning market, checking out the local movie stars ( real and imagined ) on Via Veneto, but by the third week i needed to make some decisions. My daily visits to American Express yielded no checks in the mail, and i was seriously considering returning to New York. About that time, perhaps in search of inspiration, i was practicing automatic writing and cut ups, much in the manner suggested by William Burroughs and Byron Gysin. During one of these sessions i jotted "four in the corner pocket please", in my diary. The next day, while walking the city, i spotted a flash of blond hair belonging to a lovely female, seated in a passing cab. i waved, she didn't seem to notice, but the cab slowed for a light. My deal was this: i wouldn't run, but if the light held i would walk up to the cab and speak to the lady. The light held for a long while. i knocked on the window and began my rap, asking if she'd join me for coffee. She shook her head, i persisted nicely, getting her name ( Magi ), and suggested we meet the next day at Piazza Del Popolo. As the cab went on its way i noticed where i was...the corner of The Four Fountains.

Suggested Reading: The Girl who Played With Fire by Steig Larsson

Suggested Listening: Chet Baker and Gerry Mulligan

The Damascus Connection

Can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

Heads Up: Check out The Big Lebowski, now appearing at Medithrive, 1933 Mission Street between 14th and 15th. Like its namesake this hybrid sativa is a big, amiable bud, with surprising complexity underneath. It hangs for a good long time and leaves one feeling hale, mellow, and ready to roll.


The Damascus Connection

So there i sat on the mountaintop at Baalbek. My prospects-and my cash-dwindling, and my visibility growing uncomfortably with each passing day. After all, how many times can you study the ruins? So after making one last sweep of the rug market, and another tour of the Temple Of the Sun, i set out to find another connection. Shortly after lunch i went over to the cab stand and chose a driver that looked amenable, using whatever psychic currency i'd accrued during my months of meditation and semi-silence.
From my diary: "We had a talk which resolved itself at his home, the house way out of town...any town...I was back to the era of the first Arab people who wandered the hills with mule and flock, or camel and tent...The afternoon wore on, slow. I was on top of my vibrational count. i kept it simple, smile...I made some worry beads out of something I happened to find in my hand..."
People came to visit at my friend Ahmed's modest house at the side of a country road. we talked, sipped tea. We had chicken dinner and talked some more. A hookah appeared and we sat under the stars and smoked. More people came. Somewhere in there a deal was made. i slept at Ahmed's house that night. Sometime after dawn i awoke. Another diary entry: "I wake up...my friend's beautiful daughter hands me a towel and I go outside to wash...the caravans already on their way. A boy runs to the house for water, the caravan moves on. The woman on the mule angles slow but steady until the boy begins to run after them, looking ahead as he rejoins..."
So it was arranged. After a breakfast of tea, sugar and bread we drove back to town, where i checked out of the hotel. We then drove back to Ahmed's place, where i packed 2.5 kees into my bag. Ahmed seemed to be in a great mood, even buying a colorful oilcloth for his wife's kitchen table. We then drove out to the bus stop where i watched my bag get heaved onto the roof, hugged goodbye, and then back down the mountain to the big city. Diary entry reads: "A tigress of a city. Old Arab section for miles on one side, the other side a bay velveted with hotels...light grey flannels, blue vicuna blazer and a white boat of some sort, say 100 feet and 40 passengers, that's the style..."

i took a room at the Omar Kayham Hotel, but money was getting short. i made a collect call to the Twins in New York, and waited for the money to arrive. Every day i took a long walk along the promenade edging the bay. The St. George Hotel had a busy yacht basin, the Phoenicia was an impressive white tower. Stopping in the Phoenicia's air conditioned lobby in hopes of finding a Herald Tribune less than a week old, i spotted a cool looking barber shop. It occurred to me that trimming my lengthy locks before going through customs might be a wise idea. It turned out to be an excellent idea. i walked out into the sun with one of the best haircuts i've ever received... Flash Foward: San Francisco 2005. While dining at one of my favorite restaurants ( Zarzuella) i discovered the host was from Beirut, and mentioned the great haircut i got at the Phoenicia Hotel. The host told me his father used to get his haircut there. Not only that, but when the hotel was rebuilt, after the wars, they went out to find the old master barber, and reinstalled him in his shop.
There are very few good haircut stories...

Baalbek Haiku: The water jug placed/ in the shade of the stone/ at the side of the road

Finally the wire arrived and i purchased a ticket on a charter flight from Damascus to Rome. The plane was due to arrive a 6a.m. Ironically, the bus taking us to Damascus, Syria, had to negotiate the same winding road that took me to Baalbek. Because we were all boarding an immediate flight, there was minimal border check in Syria. The flight was uneventful, and at 6 a.m. yawning Italian customs inspectors just chalked the bags without looking. i was home free in Rome...

Recommended Reading: Without Stopping by Paul Bowles