Flanagan wrote four non-fiction works before moving to fiction….
Back then the marijuana available on the east coast was either cheap lousy Mexican or more expensive and fairly decent Colombian. But then I happened upon a large quantity of golden Moroccan hashish.
This turned out to be quite fine and many, many people got to smoke this very pure, very tasty treat. It wasn't until the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam that I was reintroduced to the pleasures of the best Moroccan hashish.
I tasted all the hashish I could at the Cup, and found the King Hassan Supreme, a Greenhouse Coffeeshop entry, to be easily my favorite.
It brought back wonderful memories from my college daze. Of course the King Hassan Supreme won the Cannabis Cup for the best imported hash, and I was elated to know that my taste budz were as sensitive as ever.
The fact that this hash was still being made provided the inspiration for me to journey to Morocco. I had to find the source of this legendary hashish. So together with my travelin' buddy Red Bud, we planned a trip south from cold, wet Amsterdam to Spain and across the Mediterranean to the land of Kif and golden hashish.
The small twin engine propjet seemed a little dubious, but having endured similar flights in the Caribbean we were unfazed. How were we to know that a couple of months later the same plane would crash into the Moroccan coast killing all its passengers.
We took a taxi from Melilla to the Moroccan border. Melilla is a small Spanish enclave on the African coast. The taxi left us at the Spanish line and we had to walk among the throngs of Moroccans, many wearing hooded jallabas, carrying battered used furniture, scraps of metal and other refuse from Spanish Melilla.
These castoffs have some value in Morocco. But the profitable trade is smuggling those things prohibited by Islam, like alcohol and tobacco. At the border the friendly guards checked our passports and entered our information into a computer. An ancient filing cabinet stood nearby and they had to check that one to see if we were persona non grata.
There was no check of our luggage. Morocco saves that touristic pleasure for your departure. Once past the border we sought out a taxi and immediately a tout got between us and our ride. Thus we were unable to negotiate a decent price and paid too much.
It was the first of many arguments we were to have with guides in Morocco. It's not like you seek out help, it sort of attaches itself to you like some kind of irritating parasite. At least we were taken to a friendly inexpensive hotel.
Once we settled into the room we went out to explore the town. Nador is a small market town. It is a transit point for goods smuggled in from Melilla to Al Hoceima and places further inland.
Things like cigarettes, alcohol and electronics are relatively expensive in Morocco due to extremely high import duties.Kif in the Rif By Primo An adventure into the infamous Rif Mountains of Morocco seeking some of the best hashish in the world.
Book Morocco Hotels Online! Kif in the Rif: An examination of the illicit drug trade in Morocco Muslim North Africa Graham Mattison Research Paper 5/16/ The economic disparity between western Morocco’s upper class, urban elites, and eastern Morocco’s lower class, rural poor, has led to an increasingly problematic illicit drug trade over the last half century.
KIF IN THE RIF. Posted Then again, I am in the Rif Valley, which by a perfect coincidence of rhyme, is the primary cultivation area of kif, the Moroccan word forts nnabis. According to most estimates (and with something like cannabis, it only ever can be an estimate).
Explore historical records and family tree profiles about Lena Sund on MyHeritage, the world's family history network. A A. Lena Sophia Johan-Eriksdotter Kif-Sund (born Rif) Sweden Household Examination Books, Lena Sund Lena Sund, - Post Kif d B Fig.
Scotopic Sensitivity Limit (dB) before and after cannabis smoking. A decrement of 1dB is noted in two subjects and 2dB in a third subject after smoking kif. This result is statistically signiﬁcant (P. I want it to become like a second skin, to the point that I am almost unconscious of its contents, in as much as you would never suspect, from a casual conversation on a street corner – or a desolate four-wheel drive track in the drug-growing Rif Mountains of Morocco – that I have anything more valuable on me than my wits.