It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in Brasov. Benjamin, Tommy and I went into square with the intention to buy wood for an afternoon barbecue (wood was a bus ride away), but ended up just eating our way through the city.
We sat together, enjoying our “fast food” sandwiches when we saw the neon sign blinking in a window above our heads: “Legal Weed.”
We looked at each other.
We needed to investigate further.
The three of us went upstairs to the “spice shop” to ask questions.
No, weed was not legal. BUT, this … spice concoction … this was legal.
We looked at each other again.
“Should we try it?” I asked.
“It is 50 lei,” the clerk informed us.
Again, an exchange of looks.
Really? Were we going to do this?
I thought back to the days in America when I would read in magazines about the “herbal” mixtures that gave you a natural high, like pot … I was always curious but figured if it made you feel “high,” then like pot, it would be illegal.
And here we were, in Romania. And, well, why the hell not try it?
We pooled our lei together and purchased the tiny bag of Black Out and went back down the stairs to a bench to roll it up.
Then, we lit it. And it tasted awful. Worse than a million stale cigarettes. Worse than any thing I had ever inhaled in my life.
Ugh. What a waste of money.
We all sat around, laughing at our ridiculousness and the sheer stupidity of our impromptu purchase, as we quickly finished the tiny joint. Then, we got up to go back to the square.
And, that’s when the shit hit us.
“I feel like I am walking and walking but not moving anywhere,” Benjamin said.
He was right. I looked ahead. The millions of bricks making up the square seemed to be never-ending … and we didn’t seem to be moving any closer to where we wanted to be.
We weren’t high … but we weren’t normal.
For about 20 minutes the three of us just sat … mesmerized by children playing with the hundreds of pigeons in the square, and half shocked the Black Out had impacted us at all since we assumed it was just a sham.
Then, it was over and I got up to head to the supermarket to get food.
Later in the night, when Chris (stay tuned … ) and I were headed to a hookah(sheesha to any non-American readers) bar, a guy told me that the stuff we bought was really bad for us, a bunch of chemicals, and we shouldn’t smoke it ever again.
Good thing that was already my plan.