@Gypsy Nirvana -- Here is an edited (and slightly rewritten by Himself to pay your syntax for you) result of your story so far.
This is the easiest way to get it to you, so if you think there is sumpin' you do not want the commoners to see, you can just yank it off.
Wait... "Yank it off" may not be the best way to express... Anyway, here:
I'm pretty sure that many of us here have a few or even more than a few colorful stories. Some may even done as I have, and smuggled some form of cannabis or contraband (or both) from one country to another in the past. I certainly have, and it is now time for me to dig deep into my often-fractured memory to recount them.
Let me take you all way back to Hong Kong in the early 1980's, where I found myself in Crete – the Mediterranean island – after being hired as a 'Minder' (close protection security guy) by an aptly-named Californian property developer with the handle of John Crooks.
EDITOR: OK, you are in Crete. What happened in Crete that got you to Thailand??
I ended up in Hong Kong via Thailand a few months later. I was almost broke, and pretty much in a desperate frame of mind.
My last $100 bill had gone to pay for an economy flight from Bangkok to Hong Kong, where I hoped to find some work to make some money to survive on. Upon arriving at Kai Tak airport on Kowloon, I checked what funds I had; I was down to just $40 US dollars.
This was all I had to my name at that time. Necessity is a mother, so I had to come up with some sort of financial plan immediately. I had to spend $10 for a taxi ride from the airport to the cheapest place to stay that could be found according to my “South East Asia On A Shoestring” guide book.
I found myself at The Travelers Hostel renting a dormitory bunk-bed space on the 6th floor of Chung King Mansions on Nathan Road Kowloon, just across the water from Hong Kong Island on the Chinese mainland. At this time this was still within the then British colony of Hong Kong.
The hostel was cheap at just 30 Hong Kong Dollars per 24 hours. At that time, the exchange rate was seven Hong Kong dollars to one U.S. dollar.
This left me with around 200 HK$ to my name, which was less than a week's rent at the hostel, providing I did not eat, spend any money on buses, taxis, ferries, drugs, or hookers wondering how I was gonna get out of this financial hole and back on my feet again.
I needed some of the security of real money in my pocket again; and there was a definite sense of urgency. In these circumstances, I felt my best bet was to talk to as many people as possible in the hope of finding some quick way to afford the costs of survival which were already on my horizon.
The flight from Bangkok to Hong Kong had arrived very early in the morning around 2 AM. It was 4 AM by the time I had got through the airport and into a taxi and arrived at the hostel.
Surprisingly, I was buzzed with the excitement of arriving in a place I had never been to before. I felt wide awake after catching an hour or two's sleep on the plane and filling my belly with as much food as I could get from a very pretty Asian air hostess.
She was an angel, and at my request, gave me double the in-flight meal so there was no grumbling stomach yet, but there was no one awake in the hostel to talk to either.
Everyone was asleep at that hour. There was a very disgruntled-looking Chinese female receptionist night-shift worker who did not give me the vibe that she was interested in any sort of conversation beyond checking me in .
After a hopeful look at the hostel notice board to no avail, I went for a wander and tried to get in the elevator that I used earlier to get up to the 16th floor, but it seemed to have broken down.
It never came. Even after waiting for 15 minutes, constantly pressing the dirty button there was simply no response. So I took the filthy stairs down, aiming to get out onto the street where when I'd gotten out of the taxi I had seen some early morning activity. There had been many people hanging out and moving around at that time.
The stairway was like something out of a dystopian nightmare. The landings and stairwells were full of open trash bags, broken glass, discarded construction materials, and decomposing shit which stunk to high heaven.
There were also many big fat rats and cockroaches scurrying through it all. Clouds of mosquitoes and bloated-looking fat flies were buzzing around. Some areas were a tiny bit cleaner than others, but overall the whole downward stair journey was absolutely disgusting.
I tried to be careful as I descended gradually and cautiously towards the ground floor, avoiding touching or stepping on anything suspect that might cause me to slip and get me injured or sick.
Even the lighting was out on some floors of the stairwell, requiring me to navigate by the light of my trusty Zippo lighter at times while listening to the constant hum and clanging of multiple air conditioning units pumping stagnant and very humid air out into the hot and muggy stairwell.
The miasma came oozing in from the many small businesses, restaurants, and guest houses on many different floors all along the way down. My senses were assailed by the smell of spicy curry-like foods combined with the ever-present stench of sewage - YUCK!
Suddenly, at around the 5th floor, the sickening stench was permeated with something very familiar to me of... Yes! Oh my gawd! I could smell the sweet smell of hashish - cannabis resin mixed in with the other noxious odors!
Since I had not been stoned for a day or two, I was keen to discover the source. So I followed my nose down to the 4th floor, where the very pleasant cannabis smell seemed to emanate from the slightly-ajar front door of The Lee Gardens Guest House.
As I got closer to the place the sound of familiar music flooded out into the stairwell. It kept getting louder and louder as I approached. The music was also something very familiar to me:
It was the reggae soundtrack to a Jamaican film called 'Rockers'. They were playing the second track of the album called 'Money Worries'! How bloody ironic!
So I sang along as it went into the third track, 'Police and Thieves' by Junior Murvin while standing there singing and sniffing and stalling by that front door of the guest house as the pink neon sign above the door spluttered slightly while I was slowly getting up the courage to venture inside beyond the door.
Nothing for it, I had to go inside. So I did, slowly but surely, while I began singing 'Stepp'in Razor'. Just inside the door, I could see yet another door slightly ajar to my left hand side - where plumes of sweet smoke emanated.
A very dark black man was visible to me. He was bare chested with big long dreadlocks, sitting crossed legged on a bed - with a big hash press in front of him and a boom box cassette player by his side.
He was toking on a huge chillum. As my eyes took in this crazy sight, his eyes met mine and we both smiled.
“Hey mon! You singin' ma music! Come in an sit for a while an' tell me your story” he said, greeting me with what sounded like a Jamaican accent. He gave off a very positive vibe while waving the big chillum around as he gestured a welcome with his left hand.
Then he passed the chillum to me as I happily sat on the chair next to the bed he was on. I was taking some huge lugs from it, shaping my hands around it in the right way.
I was well versed in how to smoke on the 'ting' and soon I was stoned to the bone without even introducing myself. I was in a kind of happy trance like state.
“I'm Toni from Trinidad” he said as we shook hands, “And you are?”
This is the easiest way to get it to you, so if you think there is sumpin' you do not want the commoners to see, you can just yank it off.
Wait... "Yank it off" may not be the best way to express... Anyway, here:
They Were Exciting Times
©Gypsy Nirvana
©Gypsy Nirvana
I'm pretty sure that many of us here have a few or even more than a few colorful stories. Some may even done as I have, and smuggled some form of cannabis or contraband (or both) from one country to another in the past. I certainly have, and it is now time for me to dig deep into my often-fractured memory to recount them.
Let me take you all way back to Hong Kong in the early 1980's, where I found myself in Crete – the Mediterranean island – after being hired as a 'Minder' (close protection security guy) by an aptly-named Californian property developer with the handle of John Crooks.
EDITOR: OK, you are in Crete. What happened in Crete that got you to Thailand??
I ended up in Hong Kong via Thailand a few months later. I was almost broke, and pretty much in a desperate frame of mind.
My last $100 bill had gone to pay for an economy flight from Bangkok to Hong Kong, where I hoped to find some work to make some money to survive on. Upon arriving at Kai Tak airport on Kowloon, I checked what funds I had; I was down to just $40 US dollars.
This was all I had to my name at that time. Necessity is a mother, so I had to come up with some sort of financial plan immediately. I had to spend $10 for a taxi ride from the airport to the cheapest place to stay that could be found according to my “South East Asia On A Shoestring” guide book.
I found myself at The Travelers Hostel renting a dormitory bunk-bed space on the 6th floor of Chung King Mansions on Nathan Road Kowloon, just across the water from Hong Kong Island on the Chinese mainland. At this time this was still within the then British colony of Hong Kong.
The hostel was cheap at just 30 Hong Kong Dollars per 24 hours. At that time, the exchange rate was seven Hong Kong dollars to one U.S. dollar.
This left me with around 200 HK$ to my name, which was less than a week's rent at the hostel, providing I did not eat, spend any money on buses, taxis, ferries, drugs, or hookers wondering how I was gonna get out of this financial hole and back on my feet again.
I needed some of the security of real money in my pocket again; and there was a definite sense of urgency. In these circumstances, I felt my best bet was to talk to as many people as possible in the hope of finding some quick way to afford the costs of survival which were already on my horizon.
The flight from Bangkok to Hong Kong had arrived very early in the morning around 2 AM. It was 4 AM by the time I had got through the airport and into a taxi and arrived at the hostel.
Surprisingly, I was buzzed with the excitement of arriving in a place I had never been to before. I felt wide awake after catching an hour or two's sleep on the plane and filling my belly with as much food as I could get from a very pretty Asian air hostess.
She was an angel, and at my request, gave me double the in-flight meal so there was no grumbling stomach yet, but there was no one awake in the hostel to talk to either.
Everyone was asleep at that hour. There was a very disgruntled-looking Chinese female receptionist night-shift worker who did not give me the vibe that she was interested in any sort of conversation beyond checking me in .
After a hopeful look at the hostel notice board to no avail, I went for a wander and tried to get in the elevator that I used earlier to get up to the 16th floor, but it seemed to have broken down.
It never came. Even after waiting for 15 minutes, constantly pressing the dirty button there was simply no response. So I took the filthy stairs down, aiming to get out onto the street where when I'd gotten out of the taxi I had seen some early morning activity. There had been many people hanging out and moving around at that time.
The stairway was like something out of a dystopian nightmare. The landings and stairwells were full of open trash bags, broken glass, discarded construction materials, and decomposing shit which stunk to high heaven.
There were also many big fat rats and cockroaches scurrying through it all. Clouds of mosquitoes and bloated-looking fat flies were buzzing around. Some areas were a tiny bit cleaner than others, but overall the whole downward stair journey was absolutely disgusting.
I tried to be careful as I descended gradually and cautiously towards the ground floor, avoiding touching or stepping on anything suspect that might cause me to slip and get me injured or sick.
Even the lighting was out on some floors of the stairwell, requiring me to navigate by the light of my trusty Zippo lighter at times while listening to the constant hum and clanging of multiple air conditioning units pumping stagnant and very humid air out into the hot and muggy stairwell.
The miasma came oozing in from the many small businesses, restaurants, and guest houses on many different floors all along the way down. My senses were assailed by the smell of spicy curry-like foods combined with the ever-present stench of sewage - YUCK!
Suddenly, at around the 5th floor, the sickening stench was permeated with something very familiar to me of... Yes! Oh my gawd! I could smell the sweet smell of hashish - cannabis resin mixed in with the other noxious odors!
Since I had not been stoned for a day or two, I was keen to discover the source. So I followed my nose down to the 4th floor, where the very pleasant cannabis smell seemed to emanate from the slightly-ajar front door of The Lee Gardens Guest House.
As I got closer to the place the sound of familiar music flooded out into the stairwell. It kept getting louder and louder as I approached. The music was also something very familiar to me:
It was the reggae soundtrack to a Jamaican film called 'Rockers'. They were playing the second track of the album called 'Money Worries'! How bloody ironic!
So I sang along as it went into the third track, 'Police and Thieves' by Junior Murvin while standing there singing and sniffing and stalling by that front door of the guest house as the pink neon sign above the door spluttered slightly while I was slowly getting up the courage to venture inside beyond the door.
Nothing for it, I had to go inside. So I did, slowly but surely, while I began singing 'Stepp'in Razor'. Just inside the door, I could see yet another door slightly ajar to my left hand side - where plumes of sweet smoke emanated.
A very dark black man was visible to me. He was bare chested with big long dreadlocks, sitting crossed legged on a bed - with a big hash press in front of him and a boom box cassette player by his side.
He was toking on a huge chillum. As my eyes took in this crazy sight, his eyes met mine and we both smiled.
“Hey mon! You singin' ma music! Come in an sit for a while an' tell me your story” he said, greeting me with what sounded like a Jamaican accent. He gave off a very positive vibe while waving the big chillum around as he gestured a welcome with his left hand.
Then he passed the chillum to me as I happily sat on the chair next to the bed he was on. I was taking some huge lugs from it, shaping my hands around it in the right way.
I was well versed in how to smoke on the 'ting' and soon I was stoned to the bone without even introducing myself. I was in a kind of happy trance like state.
“I'm Toni from Trinidad” he said as we shook hands, “And you are?”
- to be continued -
I got words for everything
