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Old 07-07-2016, 09:07 AM   #1 (permalink)
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Movie's Marijuana Travel stories

Marijuana Travel Stories
Up until last year I traveled the world as an international correspondent for a major news organization. The past five years I have stayed stateside as I am too old to hide from bullets and bad guys anymore. It is a young man's game.

I WAS young once and was able to see many things (3 wars) and all that goes with it. The upside as a rabid marijuana historian, it occurs to me many of the grows I saw are gone. I will use this thread to tell of some of great true marijuana adventures I participated in. This will include saving an ancient strain called "The Giant Tikal". When we found one at the Copan ruins our Honduran friend who was 89 at the time told us he remembered this weed, from his youth and had not seen one for 40 years. We chopped the plant and took it to a biology student who made clones and seeds and the "Giant Tikal" is still found in some parts of Honduras.

We also discovered three Mayan ruins on this six month adventure while being accompanied by Guardia with M-16's. In our news reports seen worldwide, about the ruins, not Tikal pot, you can see the Guardia with their weapons peaking from behind trees not wanting to get in the shot. Several others did want to be seen and did the "Hi Mom" stuff whenever they could. We were so loaded we did not care. Lots of expensive film did end up on the cutting room floor.
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Old 07-07-2016, 10:07 AM   #2 (permalink)
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Beans for Christmas

It was early December in 1979. We lived in the only house on middle creek on the Caribe beach of Costa Rica. From Puerto Viejo south to the Panama border there were only 2 town smalllllll villages. On the north side of middle creek the was Manzanillo ( 3 miles) and to the south Gandoca (3 miles). The day we got there by boat we were greeted by fishermen pulling their boat to the beach. They were short handed and having a hard time rolling the craft on bamboo rollers. I jumped out of the boat and I helped getting the boat up on the beach. Watching from a porch was the town elder Mr. Bent. We were the first white people seen by many of the town residents. Mr. Bent (71) was a giant of a man. He could crack a coconut by putting it in his elbow and closing his arm. It crushed as if it were a giant marshmallow. He proclaimed to the crowd "We are all tribes" and led my wife to his stoop so everyone could see he was welcoming us. Educated in England at the turn of the century he knew everything about the ocean and the jungle. He ask if we were going to stay and when we said yes he gave us the house on middle creek. Manzanillo was composed of black residents whose fathers had worked building the Panama canal and stayed. Gandoca six miles to the south was a group of Latino Costa Ricans and the two towns could not get together. There were too many cultural differences. The Caribes spoke what we would later call an ensalada mixta. Three languages made into one over time, sounded like "Vamos ala house boy". Gandocans spoke only Spanish. Little did I know we would be the influence that brought them together. Everybody smoked marijuana. Baby had tee. Grampas rolled really big joints. Only Mr. Bent did not smoke. Over time (1 year) when they said "Here comes the white boy" it could only be me. There were no others. We make lifelong friendships with both towns. My wife buried our friends Mom and we became the local "Puesto de Salud. When our friend Douglas was coming to see us he stopped to relive himself and we found him on the trail dead with his pants around his ankles. Either a Fer de Lance or a busmaster bit him and he died within seconds. I got to know the only authority in the region, a Costa Rican lawman named Ivan. He knew of our many many good works and came down to middle creek to see us. We smoked a fatty I had grown and my growing skills became well known. Ivan would come by once a month and I would give him a half pound of my stash. In return I pretty much had control of the coast from Monkey point to the Sixaola river which was the border with Panama. Everyone ate beans and rice three times a day and the week before Christmas the coast had no beans. A boat with the supply from Chile had sunk and so were we. It was going to be a bad Christmas. Ivan sent word through the jungle grapevine about the problem and I answered back "I'll take care of it". My foreman, Fernando, stayed on the Costa Rican side because on the Panama side his was a known cattle thief. In fact during one of his nightime adventures the Panama cops shot his tricep off. Made him a hero of sorts. I told Fernando about the problem and here is what we did. On the Panama side there was a civil war and you could get shot for an ounce. They had no weed. Fernando and I set off into the jungle for a 2 day walk into the Santa Maria mountains. He had a carved token for free passage through Bri-Bri Indian country. We traded a rusty 12 gauge, and two horses (Fernando swears he did not steal them) for 5 pounds of a very potent, now gone, Marijuana. Panama got most of it's products from the US and had a surplus of beans. Turned out one of Fernando's Uncles worked at the border checkpoint at Bridgefoot about 8 miles up river from the coast. It was the only town for 50 square miles. It had 2 stores 9 bars and 2 whorehouses. We agreed to meet 1 mile from Bridgefoot at 2 am. We made the trade. 5 pounds of weed for 200 pounds of black beans. The next day we took 100 pounds to Manzanillo and 100 pounds to Gandoca. It was a Merry Christmas for the Caribe coast and a stoned one for the Panamanians. To be continued.
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Old 07-07-2016, 10:08 AM   #3 (permalink)
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The Island of Roatan and 2 small sister islands sit at the south end of the second largest barrier reef in the world. In 1982 tourism took off when an electric cable distributed power to the several small dive resorts. It is Honduras but an island apart. We were filming at Reef House resort and enjoying the electric cable crossing the water (ice,tv,etc). Rats were using the wire and the Island became infested. We would lay in bed at night and shoot them with a pellet pistol as they ran around the room. 2 nights before we left I heard a commotion in the laundry room and went to check it out. There I saw a startled young man breaking up a huge feed sack of marijuana into one pound lots. As he started towards me [I shot him in the neck. As I was reloading, he screamed and ran from the small building. I did not get a good look at him but he abandoned the stash. The new temp manager named Mandy saw the whole thing. There was no law on the Island and Mandy was freaked. She ask me what she should do. I told her to throw it into the sea and forget about it. Word travels fast and the "dump it" solution went out with the tide. Mandy knew we were leaving on an old DC3 and she asked me to take this fine weed to the Honduran authorities on the mainland. I ask her what she was smoking. The Honduran military at the time was one of the cruelest in the world. To get young recruits the military would take 2 military trucks and burst into Cinemas at gunpoint and all males between 18-21 were herded into the trucks and boom they were in the Army. Honduras was at war with Nicaragua as they were ousting Somosa and the Sandanistas killed everyone. One of every 2 movie goers went to war after 2 weeks training. The central prison in the capital, Tegucigalpa, was named "Casa Mata" or "Kill House" in English. I had no intention of carrying 25 pounds of stinky weed to the mainland. The next morning at the airport while waiting with our luggage I smelled the weed. I looked down and next to our bags was an old backpack with the damn ganja. As I looked around I saw Mandy hauling ass out the door. What to do? We grabbed our stuff and hired a launch to take us to another dive resort on the Island of Guanaja three miles away. We stayed a week and when we did leave we heard Mandy had quit her job and was back in Miami. I have often wondered what happened to that weed. When we returned the following year we collected the shrink wrapped OZ in cabin 7. We discovered Bonefish on a small flat and sent divers and fishermen there for the next 10 years. In year eleven a Japanese factory ship cleaned out the entire area. We moved on to Belize. To be continued.
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Old 07-07-2016, 10:09 AM   #4 (permalink)
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Belize

Belize was granted independence from Britain in 1964, and became “Belize” in 1973. However, according to the CIA World Fact book, border disputes between the UK and Guatemala delayed Belize’s actual independence until 1981. I have had a 30 year love hate relationship but it was the marijuana Oasis for me. Many famous people have hung out because of the second largest barrier reef in the world. I first went to start a tourism industry. I found out within the first hour of arriving I could buy an 8th of "Belizean Breeze" for $2 dollars US.
Back in the 1970's Belize enjoyed a measure of prosperity by exporting to Wisconsin buyers, the famous 'Belizean Breeze' sensamilla, by the plane and boatload. DEA crackdowns in the Straits of Yucatan and Gulf of Mexico gave some trouble and slowed the export potentiality of this herb to the northern USA states. Therefore it was easier to just go and stay for a while. Over the past 35 years I visited with my groups of divers and fishermen 200 times. Customs welcomed me on a first name basis and were always glad to see me ( I am a big tipper). With 300 marijuana travel stories to tell, I will pick one. We kept and shared a huge home across from the Governor's Palace. The Reverend Fairweather and his wife lived on the first floor. We had the second floor, and a big Indian family from Bangalore that owned the only appliance store had the third floor. It was 1 block from the harbor break wall. The family next door had 22 natural born children. They did not have a TV station (I fixed that importing a sat dish from Miami and rebroadcasting a low power signal . 80 percent of the country lived within a ten mile radius. I asked the 12 year old, Rocky, if he came home late so he could sleep on top. At night I would fish the breakwater with rooster tails. The first night I went I caught a 22 pound Snook but I do not eat fish. I sent the fish home with Rocky. By the time he got back I had caught 2 more. Their was a 24 year old neighbor who began coming down and kept me company. I had rolled a fatty and smoked and laughed about our fishing success. We became great friends. It turned out that Frank was the driver for the commissioner of the BDF (Police and Military rolled into one). The police always had the best marijuana. Since the TV station was in my back room I could watch whatever I wanted. I would always run Charlies Angels because Frank and the Commish loved it. One evening while programming Charlies Angels to be followed by a Chicago Cubs game, I notice a piercing siren approaching. It pulled into the yard and out jumped Frank. He exclaimed "Me got good stock Boy". I went out to the Police van and it was "full up". Every once in a while the BDF would raid marijuana plantations near Orange Walk town to the north. The BDF knew that a happy stoned population did not have to steal if they had something to smoke. Frank told me to get in the back along with his brother Rafa and an officer I did not know. There is only one main drag in Belize City and we started at the south end. Every block we would throw a 100 pound feed sack out of the back of the van. It was not a mad rush by the residents. Just a lot of singing and cheers. It was a very cool life. Then came Cocaine and the world changed and you can't teach that. More to follow.
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Old 07-07-2016, 10:09 AM   #5 (permalink)
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​Whenever aging stoners gather around a burning bush and discuss the legendary strains of yore, it’s a sure bet that the mighty Panama Red will be mentioned. Along with Acapulco Gold, Panama Red was one of the first cannabis “brand names” that caught the imagination of the American public, becoming a, well, “hit” nationwide.

While hippies in the late 1960s thought that Panama Red was so strong because of the rain-forest climate in which it was grown, we know today that its legendary potency was due to genetics — and thank God, those genetics have been preserved for modern smokers to enjoy, despite the fact that the culture of cannabis in Panama was mostly blown away during the cocaine-fueled 1980s.

Panama Red, commonly produced in the sparsely populated Pearl Islands just off the Panamanian coast, is known for producing a strong, speedy, intense psychedelic high — in other words, it’s a prototypical sativa strain.


​We last checked in with western Washington grower No Longer Sad back in May, when she had a beautiful crop of Jillybean. Now, N.L.S. is just finishing up a superlative crop of Panama Red, from a clone she found at the Green Door in downtown Seattle.
No Longer Sad’s accomplishment is even more impressive when you consider the fact that she never uses chemical fertilizers — it’s all organic nutrients in her greenhouse, baby.
Considering that lots of those huge chemically grown buds you see on dispensary shelves and in the High Times centerfold are the botanical equivalent of a steroid geek — and have about as much to do with “healthy” — it doesn’t take long to realize that maybe it’s not a great idea to ingest chemically grown weed on a regular basis.
“Not everything good comes in big packages,” No Longer Sad said with a chuckle.
The grower swears by the nutrients of the Roots Organics line. “Roots Organics has just come out with a whole new ‘biosynthetic’ line to make the chemical growers happy, while still catering to the organic lovers,” she said. “It can be used in soil, soilless, and hydro grows.” More Panama Red stories next week.
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Old 07-07-2016, 10:11 AM   #6 (permalink)
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On the Mexico Belize border is a customs free town called Chetumal. It is a big city now for this part of Mexico. In 1976 you might have thought Humphrey Bogart was the guy sweating under a slow fan in a cheap bar. Being a free port and the fact Belize made nothing, many Belizean people went to Chetumal to shop. Belize did make one thing at the time, box matches. They had a picture of a Toucan on the box and they were so inferior, the first one you struck broke and burned a whole in your pants. We said "If one can't do it....... Toucan. We took the bus from Belize City regularly. We did not want to buy weed there although it was powerful and cheap. We took our own. We only smoked in our cheap hotel and quite by chance we ran into an old friend from high school. WTF. He had gotten stopped that morning by the local Five-O. They had smelled his fingers and it smelled of Ganja. After scaring my friend half to death telling him of the 30 years in jail the crime merited they settled for a $20 bribe (La Mordita or "the big bite). I spoke Spanish and ask a storekeeper if all Americans were treated that way. He explained the local cops made $20 a month and they were encouraged to shake down Americans to make up for the lack of pay. They had lots of scams and I converted $100 in Belizean money to Pesos equaling $5 US. We smoked a fatty, washed, added a bunch of Aqua Velva and went to do our shopping. We were stopped 4 times that day. I not only speak Spanish but dream in Spanish. When they tried the smell my finger thing I just told them I needed help finding a nightgown for my wife and offered $5 dollars in Pesos for directions. It was the same $5 they would scored by screwing with us about marijuana but with no drama. We knew where to make our purchases and added the $100 as a cost of doing biz in Chetumal. Crossing the border going home we stood in line for 2 hours until I remembered $10 would put us at the head of the line. There was a huge Belizean lady who did not like the play and did not have the Mordita to herself move to the front. She though a fit and came smacking and kicking me hoping that if she made a bid fuss the customs people would let her advance just like us. There were about 30 people in the line and she pissed almost all of them off. She spoke creole and the Mexican customs guy spoke only Spanish. As he moved toward her telling her to knock it off in Spanish, she kicked me again. In Spanish I announced in a loud voice in both English and Spanish "Mam it has been a very long time since I knocked out a fat #^%&* like you........... But I remember how". The crowd went wild. The customs officer led her away and we never saw her again. Once we crossed the border and had an hours wait for the bus about 10 of the people in that line and us sat and had a cool beer in Orange Walk town and passed a fatty laughing at the obviously demented lady. We lit the doob with a belizean match and I burnt three holes in my new shirt. That called for 2 more joints because if one can't do it Toucan. To be continued.
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