How Easy is It Get Weed in Guatemala
To Weed Or Not To Weed?
Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, did not displease this day or night.
The wind blew.
White caps rolled.
From the south to north.
The opposing atmospheric forces clashed high amidst the volcano craters.
Within the breeze, a skeleton of cold.
An added icing on this night was the bright red, orange lava plumes reaching skyward from the constantly active Volcan Fuego located three hours away near Antigua.
I'd read that this February full moon is called Dharma Moon.
Its cool white glade on the lake, though broken up because of the wind, was nothing short of breathtaking.
Night blooming jasmine, it's impossible to describe its sweetness, blew through us sitting around the fire pit. On either side of the property were two lots full of banana and coffee trees. The richly, over grown, windblown sound gave a rain like quality feel to the night.
Despite the unwavering wind coming off the lake's surface, lightning bugs lit on and off amidst the plant growth lent an even more pronounced mystical air to the night.
It's a good thing to say that this was a perfect night to share a joint amongst good friends. As you'll see, life provides its wrinkles…
The fire warmed
We warmed hands over flames. The marshmallows and closet hanger sticks I took along proved an ideal bonus.
Hot chocolate from a thermos and a bottle of Cuervos tequila, some wine, a small bottle of Nicaraguan rum kept making its appearance.
Earlier that afternoon for late lunch, it was a ride on two dangerously overstuffed three-wheeler motorized rickshaws to San Pedro La Laguna.
One of two colorful towns at a Volcanos base.
Indigenous towns over run, though not unpleasantly with tourism fever.
My friend Frank and I spotted our buddy Geronimo. Our wives had ducked into a textile store and were unaware Frank and I were on a separate mission. Douglas, Frank's brother-in-law, unfortunately tagged along with us at a discreet distance and was already displaying a certain displeasure. Douglas is one of those who for however many implausible reasons remain stuck in those days when Uncle Sam was on a non-stop warpath against the evil 'devil weed.
As we'd done a couple months ago, Frank and I once again watched over Geronimo's homemade jewelry stand on the cobblestoned sidewalk space.
He'd gone to get the 'stuff'.
The humor of our tending to Geronimo's homemade jewelry stand wasn't lost on us. In fact, Geronimo was not his name, and he didn't know our names. It was just one of those things when you just 'know'.
Priceless for the unfolding moments was a better word.
Essentially. The first time we 'met', he'd offered us weed. Said he had to go get it. We had to stand watch over his jewelry stand, a colorfully woven indigenous cloth on a folding table on the tourist crowded street corner. Our mission was to mind the shop for him, which we found too fun and funny to pass up.
I mean, how often…
Three coeds approached me and Frank, both of us in our seventies. The girls wanted to know about the jewelry.
Most of the 'jewelry' had to do with weed accessories.
Joint clips, funky, dragon winged pipes, rings with an eyeball, small packets of rolling paper, and arrowheads of obsidian and leather necklaces.
The coeds were ridiculously cute, long, shapely legged creatures, could just see the beginnings of the butt contour.
Life can be a pleasant surprise.
But yes, we are old men, and so there are no bad vibes. These ladies were post grad age. No off flavor kidding here.
Nothing more needs to be said.
After fifteen minutes of not selling any jewelry outside of a gargoyle shaped hash pipe Geronimo showed.
Offered me and Frank a job as jewelry salespeople, a big smile on his toothless face.
Under the display table, Geronimo deftly passed Frank's purchase.
&&&
I'm worried a little about Douglas says Frank.
Straight laced that he is, you know.
I think he gets a little freaked out.
You know what I mean.
But I can see that it's Frank who is the one mostly likely unsure of the weed adventure.
I try to assure Frank, however, that it's not about Douglas.
Your stodgy brother-in-law, I say to him.
Douglas is barely one to talk.
He's a serious tequila drinker.
So who's to judge here?
I try to appeal to Frank by asking, how can Douglas judge you, man? How can anyone judge anyone?
&&&
The stiff wind blew that night off the lake, across the short bay, the lake's western end.
Small town lights glittered like diamonds across the water.
Music beat was heard this early from the starting Saturday night parties.
Frank asks me: I mean, should I smoke?
Jesus Frank, you don't have to explain to anyone.
You just survived a major bout with cancer, as I did.
We can do as we fucking want, let's light up.
Frank and Emily bought a small piece of lake side paradise about two months before.
Be right back guys, me and Frank are going to check out the wave break with this strong wind.
It was too cold for anyone to want to join us.
Our wives were in the house opening up another wine and fixing saltines with cream cheese snacks.
We left Douglas at fire side with Sofia, Franks and Douglas' very sweet mother-in-law.
Douglas watched us, saw us go, almost laughable, the look on his fire lit face, if it weren't just that, some rich humor.
The joint traveled back and forth between us as the wall on the shore broke the waves, spraying us lightly with cold water.
Post cancer, both of us felt all the more, no obligation or the need to offer explanation to this group of non-weed family members.
Frank likes a daily smoke when he's home alone without people around who might be ready to judge.
I know what you guys were doing, Douglas accused, more of a pouncing, his adding, jokingly, I'm going to tell your wife Frank. I suddenly felt that tonight might be a long overdue evening to get a few things cleared.
What were we doing? I was ready. He saw it immediately and sat back, shut his mouth and did another tequila.
Good stuff I said, regarding the weed, want some? Frank's eyes showed surprise at my asking his brother-in-law.
What? Oh, no, I don't do drugs.
I wasn't overly concerned over Frank's mother-in-law. If she picked up on the conversation, she seemed to choose to ignore and instead poked at the fire with some kindling.
Imagine me at seventy-one having to render accounts to this tequila quaffing kid.
It was more my concern for Frank, just turned seventy, old enough to be his bro in law's father.
Douglas repeated, I don't do drugs
I say: but you sure as hell enjoy alcohol, right?
What do you call alcohol amigo? Just another drug, isn't it?
Frank chuckled.
Douglas remained mute. He wasn't used to having someone stand up for Frank. Frank was too easygoing and, as the overly friendly gringo was too easily pushed around.
It's an old story. One I've witnessed thousands of times. Frank, married into a conservative Latin family, felt obliged to do whatever it took to harmoniously fit into the Guatemalan culture. Sadly, this can and often means the 'foreigner' all too often sells out. Not a problem at first, but over time, the new member of the family feels the need to reclaim his or her cultural upbringings.
&&&
The scenario played out in countless households. Frank married into a Latin family and found going with the flow of things made life so much easier. Pretty much keeps most things to himself, politics, child rearing philosophy. Weed is, to a great extent, still taboo in Guatemala. Exceptions, however, do exist. One example easily understood is getting through the final wrinkles of post pancreatic cancer. Frank, as do many cancer victims, finds it helps smooth things over. In Frank's case, out of respect, mostly smoked alone and out of sight.
Yes, a certain aspect of being an outcast in your own damn home. In Frank's case, a home that he bought and paid for because of years and years of working his ass off as a home builder gave it a ring of unfairness. Unfair towards Frank, of course.
Frank's wife, half American, half Latina, tolerated the once forbidden substance. For what it's worth, I'm half gringo and half Guatemalan. But this was to be the first time he smoked in front of family. His wife was with my wife, from Honduras, were presently in the kitchen and both blissfully not knowing of the milestone taking place in the windy night at lake's edge.
Wine, beer, liquor was all just fine, you understand…
&&&
I Repeated: No, but you sure enjoy your tequila right?
Have another amigo. It could be a long night.
You may find the booze takes the chill out of the air tonight.
Somehow, the ageing and sometimes opinionated mother-in-law was blissfully unaware of the back and forth around the crackling fire pit. As the discussion grew, so did her understanding of the conversation.
She ended it all by stating: To each his own, after living a full life and knowing that there can be danger in so many things, it's up to each person to decide what they decide to do.
You are all old enough now to make these decisions for yourselves.
Smiles all around.
A pleasant silence settled on the discussion. The fire sparked and crackled.
Sofia grabbed a couple of marshmallow sticks and offered to heat some up. Suddenly, eating freshly toasted marshmallows seemed rather inviting.
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Source: https://medium.com/an-idea/to-weed-or-not-to-weed-3931efc5a98d
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