Friends in high places: a Cannabis Cup special

As a kid, Usain Bolt probably dreamt of the Olympics while he was outstripping all his mates on the running track. Neil Armstrong probably gazed at the Moon and wondered “what if?” Charlie, Mandy and Bobby Brown almost certainly sat monged in the wee hours of the morning and all agreed they really fucking wanted to go to the Cannabis Cup.

I doubt many stoners have bucket lists. They’re kind of reserved for unfulfilled old men and the terminally ill, and arguably require a degree of focus and ambition that tends to evade the habitual recreational smoker. Nevertheless, if they did the High Times Cannabis Cup would definitely feature. In truth, it might be the only thing to feature. It’s the Valhalla of ganja, marijuana’s answer to Davos, the meeting place for all that is great and good in the world of green – it’s the Cannabis Cup. In spite of everyone’s best efforts to get out of bed and check in at Gatwick for stupid o’clock, the trusty pilot at RyanJet decided to fuck up our day and show up late. I wish I could recollect a riot scene _à la _August in Croydon, but that’s far from a stoner’s nature. Instead there were a few apathetic sniffs and whimpers, as most would-be Cup-goers sat with lips pursed, longing for the sweet scent of THC and greasy fried chicken chaser.

The delayed flight gave plentiful time and an adequate sample size to give us a good idea as to the demographic of Cup-goers. An entire spectrum of people was present: everything from investment wankers right up to hoodie-sporting CoD aficionados. Men and women, of all ages, shapes and classes – it seems there is some truth in EveryoneDoesIt.com’s beloved domain name. After a few rounds of Angry Birds EasyAir finally got their shit together and we were off on our merry way.

We decamped at the hostel, breakfasted like champions on some chicken strips and, buoyed by a sense of adventure, hit the atmospheric Hill Street Blues coffee shop to warm up. As the saying goes, when in Amsterdam, do as the tourists do.

HSB is your classic coffeeshop: dark, hazy and frequented by people who look like they popped in for a doob in 1992 and just never really got around to leaving. For someone who ordinarily finds dreadlocks repulsive, to say I was impressed by some of the examples on show so says a lot. Anyone who can grow it out and backcomb enough to look like Star Wars’ Bib Fortuna deserves credit.

A couple of drinks and a zoot of Hill Street’s finest later and we were probably about as outwardly lethargic as we were at the start, but inside we were pumped. We shot each other the kind of look that gladiators give one another in the tunnel waiting to face the lions. We knew why we were here, so we trundled out to the bus stop.

Thankfully the good folks at High Times provided us with the perfect means of transport to get to and from the event. A far cry from the bog standard buses of London town, the ‘cannabus’ was kitted out with comfy chairs, strobe lights and – of course – ashtrays. We rumbled through to the misty outskirts of town as the reggae blared and conversations flowed, as the residents of Amsterdam gawked at the big metal box of lunatics that zoomed by.

To be blunt (pun intended), the journey was tip-top-terrific. We aggressively worked our way through the rest of our spliff and spoke endless codshite to our fellow Cup-goers, at least until the fumes got the better of us and we were forced into a silent submission. Before the haze and glaze, we did manage to muster up some top quality investigative journalism.

...it was Willy Wonka’s weed wet dream

Among the humble critters we encountered was Dale, a sixty-something PhD (Doctor of Philosophy? Pretty huge dick? You decide.) hailing from – where else – Southern California. Dale has lived a pretty interesting life, setting up growers “for private use and on a commercial scale”. His clients include doctors and lawyers, and despite run-ins with the law and the burden of repeated heart attacks, Dale insists that he loves his work and loves his pot.

As the bus pulls in to the foggy car park Dale tells us “everybody is programmed to be on a leash, our entire society. You don’t realise what’s important in life until you almost don’t have it, and I’m glad I’ve found it”. With a puff on his pipe and a tip of the hat, he wishes us a good Cup and enters the madness.

It was now that shit got real. As if a converted, graffitied bus with strobe lights and ashtrays hadn’t hit it home enough, the arrival at the Borchland provided the finish. None of us had any idea of what lay in wait for us through the double doors of this unassuming out-of-town conference centre. Naturally our minds had run wild over the past weeks, but we knew nothing, the whole affair was shrouded in myth and mystery.

Picture a careers fair, except instead of rows of banks lining up to hand out boiled sweets and pens, you have stall after stall offering everything a stoner could desire. Oh, and also the 30ft high conference hall is dense with the fruitiest smoke that ever washed over your olfactory receptors. The High Times employees made us feel immediately welcome with their Southern Californian warmth and candour, as they handed out our judges passes and a bunch of free stuff. I couldn’t help but pinch myself when, confused by who wanted what t-shirt, the assistant serving us let slip, “man, I’m too high for this shit.” You certainly wouldn’t get it in Starbucks (or at least they wouldn’t admit to it).

Without many other similar events anywhere else in the world, the Cannabis Cup commands global attention. Whilst exhibitors tend to come from the small clutch of countries in which cannabis cultivation is legal (the homespun Dutch growers dominate the line-up), the attendees predominantly come from the States. Naturally there are stereotypes of those who smoke cannabis and each was ably represented at the Borchland. From the Lil Jon lookalike West Coast gangsters to the hippies still committed to the cause, from the nerdy hobbyists who do the science on their laptops to the well-to-do liberal thinkers who’ve retained their taste for green. However, common to them all is an easy-going outlook, perhaps unlocked by the safe environment that Amsterdam offers.

Having sampled the strains and products on offer, we eventually plucked up the courage to venture backstage and put the press passes to good use. It was at this point that we had a meet and greet with The Brotherhood of Eternal Love, the infamous group of psychedelic drug enthusiasts and dealers that formed in sunny California in the late 60’s, under a mutual love for LSD and (amongst other things) vegetarianism. After witnessing their outstanding musical performance and poetry recital we were eager to find out more about this curious bunch.

One Brotherhood veteran, who wished to remain anonymous, gave us an insight into his early life: attentive Imperialites could learn a thing or two. “We used to surf all day, then spend our weekends crashing other schools’ parties and stealing their girls. And then we discovered psychadelics and, it was like, uh-oh!” Uh-oh indeed: the group rose to notoriety and unfortunately attracted the attention of the authorities, and as such many members were arrested while the rest scattered around the globe.

When questioned about the use of drugs by younger people, the Brotherhood spokesperson went on to describe an alternative solution based on personal anecdote: “the best time to get them [children] started is very young. If you catch them doing them alone, simply take them by the hand and show them the path. My daughter and I are now closer than ever: after taking LSD and gazing into each other’s eyes for hours, she took me to new levels that I didn’t think were possible.” Rather than turning a blind eye to drug consumption, perhaps UK authorities could instead see the obvious benefits to the Brotherhood’s approach.

I would liken us to children in a sweetshop, except I imagine in the sweetshop they weren’t handing free samples of everything. Seeds here, bong-hits there, buds the size of your fist – it was Willy Wonka’s weed wet dream. Who knew there was so much pioneering research in the field of vaporizers, so much innovative engineering applied to grinders? Sadly, rather than be conscientious Charlie Buckets and resist the temptation before our slightly pink eyes, we dived lungs first into the occasion.

Two hours later, we were flat on our backs in a quiet corner of the convention centre, each us having retreated, stupefied, to some dark recess at the back of our minds. Either watching the passersby with vacant eyes or locked into the mellowest game of Angry Birds we’ve ever played. After the umpteenth, we resolved to scrape ourselves off the floor and embark on the journey back.

Having lost all inhibitions, it took a little while to rationalise the difficult concepts of roads and traffic. After what felt like an eternity we hobbled from the bus into Amsterdam traffic, crossed the road unscathed and clambered into chilly hostel beds, where we remained unconscious for several hours.

We awoke on day two refreshed and ready to face a solid day of investigative journalism. Instead of reiterating the wake and bake of the first day, we focused our attention on attending the countless sessions on offer at the expo. From a presentation on how to properly utilise fertiliser, to a hash making class, to jolly sing-alongs – High Times’ expo managed to encompass the sublime, the ridiculous and everything in between. After attending a presentation on the endless benefits of hemp, followed up by checking out the cracking rack on Miss High Times 2011, we proceeded to track down some of the big names in the industry.

We took our seats at the front of a hash making class led by the legendary hash professor Mila Jansen, who spent 14 years living in India learning the ways of the locals. In 1995, she came to fame for developing the Pollinator, a device described as “a personal solution for hand turning leaf material to separate the resin from the plant material”, that is effectively only useful in hash-making. Resembling a washing machine on it back, you place dry ice and your ‘leaf material’ into the drum and allow to spin before removing the mixture and shaking out the powdery precipitate. Cue wide-eyed gasps of awe as Mila’s assistant sprinkled light green snow over a glass-top coffee table and biblical scenes as the crowd swarmed to the front to collect a free sample. Speaking to Mila after the class, she shared with us a few croaky anecdotes of her time travelling Asia, perfecting the art of hashish. “I love Afghani hash! I love Afghanis!”

With the Dutch government’s recent aborted attempt to tighten cannabis laws, the future of legislation was a hot topic on the convention floor. Dale was convinced that our generation would see the widespread decriminalization of cannabis, Dan Skye, High Times editor, was hopeful but tempered his optimism. Casually dressed and well spoken, Skye, who initially donated the press prizes to the Felix Travel competition, had a good chat with us about his views. Unsurprisingly, these mostly echoed Imperial’s very own Council Chairman Baroness Manningham-Buller and Professor David Nutt.

“Current drugs policy needs some serious re-thinking, and as long as people aren’t harming anyone they should be allowed to use any substance they like,” said Dan. “We have to overcome this illogical drug war and put aside the rhetoric and propaganda.” Cutting through the hysteria – the proposed restrictions on cannabis tourism were dropped a few weeks before our visit – Dan was confident that the Cannabis Cup would go on for years to come in the Netherlands, regardless of what happens in his less liberal home in the States.

Danny Danko, senior cultivation editor approaching his tenth year at High Times, painted a less rosy picture, telling us of his torment growing cannabis in the face of draconian US laws. “I found it very stressful, very hard on the psyche. All the secrecy and being in fear all the time, its not always a very natural way to live.” With unnerving undertones of a man oppressed, he explained how every time he leaves Amsterdam, he feels he is making a mistake but is too rooted to his life in his homeland. In the case of Danko, who grows reasonably large quantities at his home in New York, proposed that much of the paranoia they say comes from marijuana actually comes from marijuana prohibition. Resigned, he concluded, “after all, it’s just nutrients and fertilizer.”

Even though we were strictly in Amsterdam on business, no trip would be complete without the mandatory victory lap through the red light district. Stoned as a rock and floppy as a 3 ½ inch floppy disk, Charlie, Mandy and Meow-Meow parted ways and rendezvoused at Central Station a good 20 minutes later.

The flight home was somewhat less problematic as the outward journey, and we sat in silence, struggling to compile our thoughts under the comfort of blankets. We staggered to our lectures feeling brighter and warmer than ever. To say that we are now richer for the experience would be an understatement. The combination of enlightened minds and magical herbs has made us all better people, and the wise words of the Brotherhood will stay with us for many reincarnations yet to come.