Citation: p dot. "A Hard Lesson in Gastrology: An Experience with Cannabis - Hash (exp25680)". Erowid.org. Jun 15, 2006. erowid.org/exp/25680
After graduating high school in June, a few very close friends and I took a month long tour of western europe. Not by mistake, this included a week-long visit to Amsterdam. If you haven't been, this city is really a must for anyone with any interest in culture and environmental aesthetics. Even for the non-grass-smokers among us, the canals, architecture, and wonderful culture are enough to inspire and entertain continously.
As for me, I am a grass smoker. Pretty well experienced, I had partaken of sensimilla regularly for the better part of 4 years. Nonetheless, I heeded the cautioning of those who went before me - 'nederwied' is not your average American seedless. I practiced restraint and followed my body when it told me I should not let my surroundings lead me to over-indulgence. I narrowly avoided any adverse experiences, and had a hell of a good time in the process.
That is, until, my confidence got the best of me. Having conquered the most potent strains I could find, my partners in crime and myself decided we would enhance our departing train trip to Barcelona (via Paris) with some cake I purchased from a nearby rastafarian coffeeshop. While it's deep green color and choking aroma should have given it away, the cake did not seem like anything I couldn't handle. I've eaten enough ganja cookies to choke a horse.
We ate the said cake at 8:45 a.m. before boarding our train, each consuming 1 slice each. As I was becoming comfortably enveloped in Kurt Vonnegut's Galapagos (a fantastic book), things started to go wrong. My girlfriend, a bit smaller and less experienced than myself, was complaining of stomach pains. -They will pass- I told her, sure that they would. I realized my mistake when she vomited on the tray table in front of her. This was 11 am.
By the time we unloaded for our connecting train in Paris, about 1 pm, I was more stoned than I've ever been. My companions were all too high to stay awake, passing out at the first bench we saw. As people passed our entourage, I became paranoid. Unable to sleep with the need to watch our backpacks and belongings, I felt like everyone knew exactly what state we were in. I tried to bury myself in my book to look inconspicuous and forget about the situation, but each passing word made less and less sense. Feeling alone and extremely urgent, I woke the girls up at 3:30 pm and insisted that we force ourselves to the metro and to the other train station from where we would catch our car to Barcelona. We still had 7 grueling hours to go before that train would come.
After a metro trip that I barely remember now, we arrived at Paris Austerlitz around 4 pm. I was stoned beyond compare. After parking at a new location for the girls to pass out, one of them said 'Guys, I lost my wallet.' To give you an idea of the state we were all in, none of us responded. No 'I'm sorry' or 'That sucks' came out of any of our mouths. We were too incapacitated to react.
This became more obvious when a man behind us began having a seizure. When I realized what was going on and that there was at least one man trying to help him, I, for shame, simply woke my friends up and asked if we could move away from the commotion. I was in no state to help this man, so I took the easier route of ignoring him.
Around 6 pm, I started experiencing the worst stomach pains I've ever had. Having lost my appetite after the cake, I had eaten nothing but the devil's pastry and two rolls all day. I finally got up the energy to use the toilet, but after entering the bathroom and seeing that it was full of attendents and fee collectors, I could not bring myself to sit down. I quickly used the urinal and chose to endure the pain and save myself the embarassment of what was sure to be one of the most terrifying poops I would ever take. And still, I was retardedly stoned.
After laying for two more hours in pain and stupidity, my nausea subsided enough for me to force down a cheese sandwich. Anything, I thought, to dilute the poison in my stomach. Sure enough, the nausea went completely away within an hour. After the girls had had sufficient sleep, around 7 pm, I took advantage of my first opportunity to pass out. I woke at 9:30 with the worst headache I'd had in years, anxious to board our train and sleep until morning. And that's just what I did, sleeping from 11 pm until 7 am and waking up extremely happy to be sober.
All in all, I was stoned for about 12 hours. Naturally, I swore off marijuana forever. I lasted 9 days - until we arrived in Switzerland. But that's another story...
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