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The last time I was in Europe I travelled from Amsterdam to Luxembourg through Belgium. Although I really love my daily joint or five at the Dutch coffeeshops, my desire to see Luxembourg again was stronger, so I thought. I traveled with a friend outside Holland, where we stopped in Liege, Belgium to switch trains. As there was some time before the next train left, my friend and I found a nice bar across from station where we ordered a beer for me and Bacardi & Coke for my friend. (my friend, not a beer drinker, found it hard to get into the local scene, preferring to stick with his accustomed airplane drink instead.) I had always assumed that the Dutch border towns wouldn’t have coffeeshops because of the potential for foreigners to come in and get some weed. Not that this would be a bad thing, I just assumed that all the coffeeshop action was mostly in big towns like Amsterdam. As he prepared a raw beef dish for a customer the bartender explained that all we had to do was backtrack about 30 minutes to the Dutch border town of Maastricht to find some weed. It did not take much of a decision process for us to reverse our direction of travel and return to Holland for one last smoke. We arrived in Maastricht to find an open-air fair up and down the town’s main street. I saw a teenager working at one of the booths, and assuming he would be hep to the location of any local coffeeshops. I asked him about our need. I turns out he was working with someone who was probably his father, who forcefully explained to us that, "there are no coffeeshops in this town!" Undaunted, I started down a side street and entered the first bar I saw. I surprised the bartender, who was closed and didn’t know his front door was unlocked. Once he regained his composure, he was more than happy to tell us that the nearest coffeeshop was just around the corner. Sure enough, such a beast existed. I still don’t remember the name of the place, but they had the best White Widow I smoked during my entire trip. For the next 2 weeks, the joke was always that if we couldn’t find good pot in Amsterdam, we would travel back out to Maastricht for a good joint. Luckily we found good enough White Widow right there in Amsterdam to keep us happy. Back to the story. While smoking in this border town coffeeshop, I got the bright idea that I could stuff a small bud in my right boot and safely carry this down to Luxembourg. I really wanted to be able to smoke in Luxembourg. Towards this end, I stuffed a litte bud between my boot and sock, thinking (remember I was stoned) that if I did get caught, I could say it had accidentally fallen in there. Continuing this warped thought process, I felt that between my boot and sock was safer than in my sock, because to put pot in my sock would be to show a willful intent to hide the pot. Otherwise I could just claim to have sticky socks and hope for the best. The whole idea was almost put to a real test. Because I was so stoned off this great White Widow in Maastricht, after we changed trains in Liege I started to become sleepy. The next leg of the train ride would take us out of Belgium and into Luxembourg through the Ardennes mountains, which look more like big hills to me. But what do I know, I am just a dumb American who has lived near the Sierras and in the Rockies. Speaking of "are you stoned or stupid," I assumed any drug checks would occur as we left Holland. As it turned out, there were a couple of law dudes and a cute German Sheperd on the train with us; thought we didn’t know it until later. I had enough interaction with the dog to have given him a name, Ruger. Another friend of mine had a similar dog with a similar name, so Ruger stuck. I will tell you the whole "dog-gone" story soon, but first let me say that I survived the experience without going to jail or losing my passport. In fact, I never even had to show it. My friend, on the other hand, was searched more closely. There, as promised I have ended the story early, relieving you of the burden of suspense. You may now go to the bathroom and continue reading. ********** Did I tell you about the sandwich in Liege? I believe that sandwich is responsible for my lucky drug-carrying encounter with foreign authorities. While waiting to get on the Luxembourg-bound train in Liege, I stopped at the station cafe to get some kind of food. Stoned and hungry always go together. Now that we were in the Walloon region of Belgium, most of the people no longer spoke English readily or willingly. I tried to get a sandwich WITH cheese and WITHOUT meat. The woman at the counter picked out a sandwich for me and I bought it without much inspection, as I was in a hurry to get on the train. I ran and made the train, only to realize that I had 5 minutes before it left. I took this opportunity to inspect my sandwich and discovered a dead animal inside it. Turns out it was a ham and cheese sandwich. I pulled out the ham, ran it to a garbage can on the train platform, and proceeded to eat my cheese sandwich. Once done with that, I wiped my obviously greasy hands on my pants, wanting for a napkin. (There again. See how I have dispelled all the suspense by telling the story backward? Wouldn’t my English professor be proud? Now that you have some inobviously connected facts, let me fill in the rest of the story.) As I mentioned, I was stoned/sleepy as we began to wind through the Ardennes, stopping here and there at little Belgian and Luxembourgish towns to take on and discharge passengers. I was sitting on one side of the train in a little section with 4 seats facing each other and a little table by the window. My aforementioned friend was across the aisle in another group of seats. I put my head down on the table and began to nod in and out of that zone called consciousness. One time when I nodded back into consciousness I realized I was seeing a German Sheperd attached by a harness and leash to a guy in plainclothes with a guy in uniform. I luckily did this without alerting them to the fact that I was fully awake. I couldn’t hear exactly what was going on, but later my friend tells me that the two men and the dog did not pay any attention to any of the other passengers on the train. They came straight to him and asked for train tickets and passport. They asked my friend to open his travelling bag and encouraged the loyal Ruger to inspect it for drugs. Once they were done looking at my friend from 7 directions, they turned to me. I was still zoning, but as Ruger came closer I put my hand to his nose in a friendly gesture and said, "Hey, Little Buddy" in the cutest little doggie-woggie voice I could muster. I then refocussed on my goal, which was to totally ignore the fact that maybe Ruger would sniff out the bud stashed in my right boot. Here’s where the sandwich comes in. Instead of barking furiously at the marijuana I was carrying, Ruger took a few licks from my pants where I had wiped the cheese and ham grease, and he was ready to call it a day. I guess Ruger wanted to eat lunch more than he wanted to get some pot. The law guy tapped once on my bag, and Ruger did a cursory inspection, but that’s not where the bud was. The law guys left, but it wasn’t until I saw them get off the train 3 stops later that I made any communication with my friend. That was only to say, "get off at the same place as me but meet me away from the station." I was being super paranoid, with some just cause. Now we just laugh about this, and every German Sheperd is named Ruger. I won’t try to carry buds out of Holland again, and neither should you. Stay in Holland, or just drink more elsewhere.. |