Page Four THE MICHIGAN DAILY Saturday, Januor
ry 25, 1975
EEll MlEW Part Two
Ml usings
from
Marrakech
"We sat and smoked French cigarettes for about twenty minutes and then
stomped off to find 'Snack Hippies.' That couldn't actually exist; too obvious,
I thought, to be real. But there it was."
By DAVID GARFINKEL
I MUST PREFACE this by saying that
I gave up drugs (chemicals and can-
nabis) after a particularly hairy elec-
tric punch a few years ago at a Grate-
ful Dead New Year's Eve marathon at
Winterland in San Francisco. I'm pretty
easy to please with coffee, alcohol, cig-
arettes and an occasional cold pill.
But coming into Marrakech on a pleas-
ant warm sunny afternoon on Decem-
ber 30 . . . "Marrakech the Rose" they
call it . . . Well, it was just like run-
ning into an old friend after a long
time. And how can you turn y o u r
back on an old ,friend?
Now, Dotsen had no such qualms wha4-
soever. Ile just wanted to get stoned
on his ass.
However, we arrived under unusual
circumstances, to say the least. My
friend Dotsen Acronym (not his real
name) had been regurgitating his life
away for the 1st five hours. I had called
it "the best meal of my life" the night
before in Casablanca, but his stom-
ach didn't agree. I had to carry his
pack and shoulder bag in addition to
my own gear. Since he was reduced
to saying "Water . . . water . . . water
" I also had to handle a very
sketchy map to find our way into town
from the train station.
ANOTHER PROBLEM which we were
unprepared for was that Marakech was
full-up with other pleasure-seekers for
the vacation. We found a cafe co serve
as our base while I went from place
to place, getting a string as long as my
arm of "sorry sir - full up's" and
seeing in my mind's eye Dotsen, bent
over the cafe table, two steps away
from the death rattle.
I went back and told him all the mod-
erately-priced places in the business dis-
trict, where we were, were full up. What
about a place in the Medina (old town)?
I'asked..
With a tremendous effort he .,ummon-
ed his reserve and screamed at me,
"No cockroaches, damn you! Let me die
in a clean place!" and slumped back
onto the table.
I shrugged. I figured he probably had
that right. So I slipped my shades off,
ran a comb through my hair, straight-
ened my collar and as a last effort,
strutted into the Mamounia, the classiest
place I've ever seen. Every conceiv-
able luxury except a beach, but we'd
already had that one and all we really
needed was a couple of beds .. .
I WAS QUITE sure that when the
desk clerk saw me he was going to
call the police or the bouncer in the
bar, but with professional serenity he
asked me in good French if he could
help me. We arranged a room for twen-
ty dollars for the night, almost un-
heard of by Moroccan standards but
affordable for one night for us.
Acronym now in bed, I made a pan-
icky phone call to the American em-
bassy in Rabat to get a list of doc-
tors. "All you have to do is look
in the phone book," said the annoyed
secretary in a twangy Midwestern ac-
cent.
"Look, you're going to be handling
the funeral arrangements in a couple of
days!" I exloded. "So you might as
well help me out now, while he's still
alive." I finally got my list, in case
of emergency.
Dotsen wanted to sleep. I told him I
was going up to the Medina to see
what I could round up. The Medina is
the ancient section of the city, where
dope and veiled corruption flow smooth-
ly. To the visitor, it can be remark-
ably welcoming, or it can be infernally
hostile.
WHAT: HAPPENED to me in the next
four hours would take so long to fully
explain that I can only give the high-
lights. After taking the No. 3 bus up
to the Medina, I wandered around, look-
ing for a cheap hotel for New Year's
Eve. Everyone was friendly to me, for
the first time in a while, and I felt un-
cannily at east. I found one and made
a reservation at the dirt-cheap Moura-
tania for the next night, on the blind
faith that Acronym would miraculously
recover.
That settled, I sat down at a modest
cafe and ordered a cafe au lait. A little
old lady in a red raincoat and a bon-
net came by with a small package about
the size of a deck of cards.
"What I have in here is of great in-
terest to you," she said in French.
"Tell me more," I said, my curiosity
aroused.
"Your future, your fate, all the good
and evil in the world. I have the an-
swers to your problems. All I ask of
you is one dirham."
AFTER FURTHER discussion it turn-
ed out that she was a gypsy fortune
teller. I was quite troubled about my
immediate future then and anxious for
any new insights.
Little of what she had to say at first
was much held. I was soon to receive an
important letter. A young girl more
lovely than I, she said mysteriously,
would fall madly in love with me. I was
about to embark on a successful finan-
cial venture concerning a lawyer and a
military installation.
Then I asked her about Acronym. He
was suffering a "malady of the spirit"
but he would snap out of it soon, she
assured me. I paid her the dirham,
and we were both satisfied.
Then I paid for the coffee and left her
to wander around the Jamaa El F'na,
or the "Square" as it is popularly known.
It is a vaguely triangular arrangement
of stalls selling the familiar items, with
side-shows of dancers and snake-charm-
ers running all day. I found out later
that the man who sells pipes iso does
a regular business, over-the-counter, in
hash and keef. He can arrange for more
powerful drugs within half an hour.
AT ANY RATE I did not know about
him at the time. But there were plenty
of people who knew about me, or at
least that I was an American student
in search of a Marrakech drug exper-
ience.
One who I felt I could trust - by this
time that expression had taken on a
very relative meaning, since no one can
truly be "trusted" in Marrakech -- and
I started talking and walking around. He
said his name was Abdul. I explained
my situation and we arranged a tenta-
tive meeting the next morning at 10:00.
The sun was setting and I wanted to
get out of the Medina and back to the
Mamounia. I caught the bus and made
my way to the hotel room. There was
Dotsen, sleeping as peacefully as a
baby. I nudged him gently on the should-
er.
"Urrrrr," he growled at me. "What do
you want?"
"Just wake up for a minute," I told
him. "I've got some good news for
you." He rolled over and went back to
sleep.
I WENT BACK out and had dinner.
When I came back I was able to con-
vince him to wake up after about
fifteen minutes of persuasion.
"Now listen," I said. "You've got to
get better, because tomorrow is New
Year's Eve and I've made some con-
nections for dope."
Yes, I had said the MAGIC WORD.
Color came back into his face. Fire
filled his eyes and glee danced upon
his smile. "You did?" he replied, ebul-
liant.
"Yes, I did. But you're gonna have to
get better so we can move to the Me-
dina. It's not safe here in town. Too
many tourists, for one thing."
"But we're tourists," he said with
confusion. He was still heavy with sleep.
"Never mind," I said as if the decis-
ion had already been made. "Get some
sleep now, 'cause the Medina's a real
trip and you're gonna want to look end
feel your best."
DOTSEN GAVE me a big idiotic grin.
I could tell he was coming back into the
world of the living and I felt relieved.
But I didn't want him to o.d. on too
big a hit of good health all at once.
"I've got it all arranged. So jst get
some sleep and I'll see you in the morn-
ing. Goodnight."
I walked out of the room and slammed
the door. I found my way to the hotel
bar. Drinks were reasonably priced but
I didn't care what they -ost, it had
been a long day and I needed a few.
About eight screwdrivers were enough to
send me upstairs sleepy. I woke up the
next morning with a splitting headache.
Dotsen was moving slowly but he was
having no trouble waking up. I called
room service and barked for tw cafe-
and-croissant breakfasts on the double,
because we were in a hurry. Naturally
Dotsen wasn't too up for eating, but
what he did eat he snarged down. From
the sound of it, I could have sworn he
was sniffing a funny white powder.
WE TOOK a taxi up to the Medina and
met Abdul in the Square. He walked to
our hotel with us and we checked in
and put our packs in the room. The
Mouratania was clean but extremely
basic; the toilet was a "squat," there
was no hot water and the beds were
thin.
Abdul wanted to get right down to
business and we agreed. He tried to sell
us "hash cookies" but luckily Dotsen
had heard about those debilitating mon-
sters, so he said with a wink that we
were "just smoking" and Abdul grin-
ned and nodded knowingly,
Abdul then proposed ten grams of
hash and ten grams of keef, for start-
ers. He would also throw in a pipe. We
were to give him five dirhams for good
faith and meet him at "Snack Hippies"
in half an hour to give him 35 more
dirhams and complete the transaction.
We figured if we came away with half
that much we would be getting a very
good deal by our standards, so after
some ceremonial bickering over the
price, we gave him the five dirhams
(about $1.15) and shook hands on the
deal.
WE SAT and smoked French cigar-
ettes for about twenty minutes and then
stomped off to find "Snack Hippies."
That couldn't actually exist; too obvious,
I thought, to be real. But there it was.
The morning crowd was already there
smoking keef, and we were casually
welcomed.
Abdul showed up about fifteen minutes
late. "There's a rush because of New
Year's," he explained apologetically,
loud enough for everyone to hear. "I
had to go to a little extra trouble to get
this."
I wasn't sure what he was doing, but
everyone around me was smirking. Dot-
sen nudged me hard in the ribs. "Does
HE POCKETED the money quickly,
no doubt making a handsome profit.
"And nothing for me?" he asked in a
hurt tone of voice.
Dotsen and I glanced at each other.
We had payed the going rate . . . why
pay more I thought for a moment and
said, "Well, sure, why don't you smoke
some more with us and have some
tea?"
He realized that he was wasting prec-
ious time, and flashed an embarrassed
grin. "Uh, I have a lot of customers
waiting on the Jamaa. So I'll see you
later, my friends. Bonne annee!" We
shook hands, and he sliped unobtrusively
out of the restaurant. Dotsen and I or-
dered mint tea and smoked for a couple
of hours. We got very, very high. But
we never saw Abdul again.
We spent a good week in Marrakech.
That night, we tried smoking pure keef.
It looks a lot like finely ground pot. But
it comes on with such an incrediblc wal-
lop that at one point I felt like my
head had disappeared. Dotsen was very
high himself and noticed my condition.
"I'VE NEVER really been this high
before," he said, helpfully.
already made plane reservations from
Casablanca to Marseilles.
I woke up at three on the morning
we were supposed to leave. Dotsen was
sleeping in a cheap Casablanca bed.
"Wake up, you fool!" I screamed at
him. "I've got six grams of assorted
goodies in my pack and we've got to
smoke it all now. Only five hours until
flight, time."
"Urrrr," he responded.
"Wake UP, motherf.....r," I said. Then
I threatened him. "Or else I'll smoke
it all myself."
THAT WORKED. We had discussed the
possibility of trying to sneak it through,
but we had never come to a decision.
I had been dreaming of being led to
one of France's 18th-century chateaux-
turned-into-prisons and I realized now
that there was only one srolution.
He was up in a flash. He doubted the
wisdom of my move but when he saw
I meant business he pulled on his cloth-
es. We then smoked for three and a half
hours, until we had to get the airport
bus.
You would have to search long and
hard to find two more messed up people.
We laughed all the way to the airport.
I wrote in my notebook, "have you
ever seen anything funnier than the sun
rising?"
Casablanca's International Airport at
Nonasser is among the most disordered
entities in the civilized world. We were
forced to play soccer with our baggages,
but our behavior got very weird. A
Swiss couple looked at us with some
concern. A French tourist who was very
pushy accidentally got elbowed in the
kidney by some clumsy laughing Amer-
ican and expertly tripped by another.
But they were so quick he never found
out who they were.
I WAS VERY hungry but there were
only five minutes left to board. I thought
that we only had time for coffee but
Dotsen had the sense to start moving
toward the plane. The passport control
looked like just another waiter to me.
"Votre passeport, sil vous plait."
"Pas de blague, brave monsieur. Un
cafe an lait. Vitre! J'suis presse!"
He looked at me incredulously. "Votre
passeport, monsieur," he said with anioy-
ance.
Maybe they were only serving coffee
with passports. I fished out my passport.
He stamped it and waved me through.
"Pas de cafe? Pas du tout?" 1 yelled
back at him. He looked at One first with
a bewildered expression, and then with
total disgust.
"C'mon already!" Dotsen said, grab-
bing at my arm. We only had two min-
utes left.
THE PLANE ride was very smooth. I
spent most of my time singing to myself
and watching the cloud formations out-
side.
A few hours later we were in Mar-
seilles. At customs, I walked r i g h t
through, but Dotsen got stopped.
Where are you going," said the Cus-
toms Man.
"Back to Aix, I'm a foreign student
there." Dotsen showed him the visa.
"And I have nothing to declare."
"So you have absolutely noting!" ex-
claimed the jubillant Frenchman. And
he nodded my friend through.
Well, if we had only known," we
could have brought back pounds . .
but as I was telling Dotsen yesterday,
I wouldn't really want to smoke here.
I'm not much of a doper anyway, and ...
"Oh, bulls t. That's sour grapes and
you know it," Dotsen said to me. And
we killed off a liter of wine between
us, and each went our separate ways.
David Garfinkel is a Dulty European
Correspondent studying in Aix-en-Prov-
ence, France.
"'Your future, your fate, all the good and evil in the world. I have the answers
to your problems. All I ask of you is one dirham,' said the gypsy fortuneteller."
he have it?" he asked me.
"Do you have it?" I asked Abdul.
"I mean, man, are you holding?" A
couple of Americans at the other end of
the room cracked up.
Abdul smiled at me and produced a
pipe, a paper packet and a cellophane
wrapper from a pack of cigarettes which
held at least ten grams of dark brown
hashish. "I have it," he said simply.
HE THEN filled the very small bowl
of a long-stemmed pipe which resembled
a wooden flute, about three quarters of
an inch in diameter, with a mixture of
keef and hash. "You should always try
it before you buy it," he said to me
with mock seriousness. "That is the
custom."
He lit the pipe and passed it to Dotsen.
Dotsen took a long toke and passed the
pipe to me.
I had been straight for over a year
and had smoked little for the last two
years. I took a toke and felt my head
shoot right through the ceiling. Trying to
hold it in, I coughed with such force
that Dotsen later told me he saw the
windows shake. "Nice stuff," 1 said
with the best toothy smile I could muster.
"You like it, and you will pay me 3
dirhams," Abdul said.
No argument with that. "Yeah, y'know,
a deal's a deal," I said in my best busi-
ness voice, quickly withdrew the four
bills from my pocket and slapped them
on the table.
I coughed about ten times and took
a drink of water. We were in our hotel
room. "Acid?" I squawked.
He thought about it for about five
minutes. In a moment of great clarity
he stated, "Oh, well, that's difLerent."
We met a lot of people, including the
travellers of what my friend Paul O'Don-
nell calls the "Amsterdam'd-Marrakecli
highway."
"Yeah, I think I just spent three
weeks sitting in this youth hostel in
Amsterdam. Just smoking hash,' a guy
from Toronto told me. "It was alright.
But I know this one guy who spent six
months there. Anyone want a hit of this
hash powder, hey?"
There were a lot of people we met
like that. For a traveller. drugs are hard
to come by elsewhere in Europe or Af-
rica unless you "know" some people. On
the other hand, Marrakesh and Am-
sterdam are both wide open for s o f t
drugs.
THEN, LIKE THE end of a beautiful
dream, it w*s time to come back to
Aix and go to school. Dotsen and I would
not tend to stay too long in Marrakech
if we could help it. We had spared
no expense to make sure tnat we got
back easily; and by this time I had been
through a chain of bronchitis, a fever,
a sore throat, a bad headcold and dyna-
mite cough - all because of too much
smoking. We would still be in Marrakech,
rather than facing the prospect of those
awful Spanish trains, except we had
IT,
f, I
I
~4e £ripian at
Eighty-four years of editorial freedom
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan
tII
BRIIE-iE:
If both sides
lead same suit,
one is crazy
Letters to The Daily
(t
I
by FRANK BELL
Saturday, January 25, 1975
News Phone: 764-0552
420 Maynard St., Ann Arbor, Mi. 48104
Consumers hurt by lx law
POSSIBLY MORE SO than any
other state in this land, Michigan
can be stereotyped as a one-industry
state, and for good eason. No way
around it; Wolverine State has al-
ways lived and died by the economic
fortunes of the ,automobile, a condi-
tion never more starkly apparent
than during the present economic
crunch.
But before becoming permanently
resigned to Michigan's place at the
short end of the recessionary stick,
issue of prescription drugs. ,
In every state but Michigan and
Florida, doctors are allowed to pre-
scribe a specific brand name drug
even it the generic, or common name,
equivalent is available at cheaper
cost. Many of the larger pharma-
ceutical companies produce several
brands of drugs which are chemical-
ly identical, differing only in cost
and packaging.
I TNDER current federal and most
When today's hand arose in a
recent duplicate game at the
Crystal House Motel, most pairs
found themselves stuck in some
number of hearts and going
down one or two tricks doubled.
But West's seemingly sound
double and a slight slip in the
defense gave one declarer the
key to his contract.
Too strong to overcall two
hearts, South made a take out
double of East's one spade bid.
West passed, North responded
two clubs, and East bid two
diamonds. South now revealed
his strong one suited hand with
a jump to three hearts, and
North correctly judged to raise
to four hearts. East and South
passed, and West doubled.
Neither Vul.
NORTH
K54
The
East
14
2+
Pass
bidding:
South
DBL
3V
Pass
Opening lead: six of spades.
When the dummy hit the
table, South realized that West
must have at least four, if not
all five of the outstanding trump
for his double. Accordingly, he
won East's spade queen with
the ace and led his diamond,
preparatory to shortening him-
self with a diamond ruff.
East, unable to comprehend
why declarer was leading dia-
monds, won his jack and made
the fatal error of continuing
with the king. This was all
South needed.
Ruffing the diamond, declarer
led a spade to the king and ruf-
fed another diamond. He now
cashed the ace of clubs, led a
West
Pass
Pass
DBL
North
24
4V
ethics fidelity becomes a worse crime
than the napalming of a Viet-
To The Daily: namese village. Using a four-
ONE OF THE least noted yet letter word is greeted with more
most foreboding outcomes of the disgust than the economic ex-
Watergate affair is the re-emer- ploitation of millions by multi-
gence of the traditional, con- national corporations. T h u s ,
servative Sunday-School-moral- despite the valiant efforts of
ity ethic in the United States. some the bombing of Cambod-
This ethic holds that the great- ia was not included in the arti-
est of "sins" are those vices Iles of impeachment approved
so often preached against by by the House.
spinsterly little old lady Sunday THE WATERGATE episode
school teachers and conserva- has caused such morality to re-
tive "fire and brimstone" gain its former ren<An in Amer-
preachers a la Billy Graham. ica after a brief liberal inspir-
Dancing, cussing, smoking, ed flirtation with "situation
drinking, swearing and sex (of ethics." However, for m a n y
almost any kind) are thought to Americans Sunday school moral-
almost certainly send souls ity never lost its hold. In the
plummeting to hell; while the eyes of many conservative Re-
mass slaughter of humans publicans, for example, the dis-
through genocide and war are covery that Nixon had an exple-
seen asspart of a God-approved tive for all ozcasions was more
manifest destiny. Marital in- damaging to his image than any
of his Watergate misdeeds. Un-
taking advantage of all the der the sway of such a morality
clues available and a slight slip Wilbur Wills is castigated for a
in the defense to bring home his rather harmless night out on the
an almost Nazi-like search for
the "perfect", moral politician
on the local as well as the na-
tional level. The standard of ex-
cellence is based on an in-group
,mericanized Sunday School
morality. Skeletons in the clo-
sets of aspiring politicians are
probed as much for signs of
extra-marital infidelity or the
undercover use of expletives as
for political improprieties. A
military record consisting of a
thousand flights to carry tons
of napalm to burn the flesh of
North Vietnamese peasants be-
comes a badge of honor. The
smoking of a marijuana cigar-
ette or going on one drunken,
sexual rampage becomes a
badge of scorn.
Perhaps we shall find such a
"perfect" politician; an all-
American Sunday School idea;
one who neither smokes, drinks,
nor swears, one who is loyal to
one wife, two children and one
dog: one who neither dances nor
allows break-ins of fellow poli-