That Time I Ended Up in a Nepalese Drug Den

I was in a courtyard.

There was no ceiling.

I had arrived here by tunnel, obviously.

The walls were indented with booths, like a Mos Eisley Cantina. There wasn’t much here, but there were a fuck-tonne of drug dealers. Shady characters hunched over shady tables, making shady deals, in their shady enclaves. It was a stinking pile of villainous scum.

I was home.

- - -

My adventure began in my hotel room a while before this. My girlfriend, Taeni, was sleeping in the bed beside me. She had been my travel partner for the last 6 months.

And she was a snorer.

I had spent the day editing our travel Youtube videos, while she managed the social media accounts. I needed a break. From the work and the snoring. We had only been in Kathmandu for a few days, but had already run out of weed, a travesty. Taeni always said I have a talent for finding weed in any country.

What a shit superpower.

The first time we found weed in Kathmandu had been relatively easy. We had been walking around the streets of Thamel (the local foreign area) looking like this biggest tourists in the world.

A man approached us asking, “Grass, grass, grass?”

We looked around. Grass?

“You need something? Hash, grass?”

We smiled.

The back alley negotiations began, ending in 2000NR ($18) in exchange for five grams of what looked like half decent weed.

However, this weed was now gone.

I left a note for Taeni to expect me back in an hour or two, but if I wasn’t there, to wait longer.

Outside, quintessential Nepalese flags crisscrossed from one building to the next. The endless traffic of locals going about their daily lives, and tourists begging to belong.

“You need something?”

I looked down into the smiling face of a local man. He was short, wearing a bright blue puffy winter coat. His toque had a pink pom-pom on it.

I trusted him immediately.

“Yes”, I said. “Actually, I do.”

He told me his uncle had the weed and we would have to go meet him.

“Name?” I asked as we walked. I pointed to him.

“Sanani. My uncle is far from here.”

Sanani and I, barely strangers at this point, practically family really, weaved our way through the streets of Thamel until we reached our final destination. He pointed towards a building I had never noticed before, just off the main road. They were selling giant carpets. Behind one, was a tunnel. I squinted into the dark passage, suspecting I might die soon. What awaited me when I reached the light at the other end? Drugs? Death? Decapitation?

Being 6'4, I had to bend over at a 45-degree angle to fit the short tunnel. If this was a country of polite bowing, I was going to make quite the entrance.

The courtyard at the end was quite clean. The tables set into the white stone walls were packed with men, some chatting away and some sliding things between each other.

I was led to a table and told to wait a bit. Sanani asked again if I needed something.

“Weed”, I replied. He laughed.

He gestured to a teapot and some little plastic glasses.

“Weed?” I asked.

“Tea,” he said.

“Weed tea?”

“No weed. Tea.”

I was pretty sure this was a test. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a fuck it. I took the tea.

I watched a bearded man emerge from the tunnel. He had a big belly. His hair was grey.

My Nepali Santa Claus had arrived to deliver my weed.

When he got to the table, Sanani stood up to give him a brief hug. I got up as well, but instead we shook hands. He smelled like dirt and spices. His smile was reassuring.

We all sat down.

He introduced himself as Imay. Uncle Imay.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Weed.”

They both laughed. So, I laughed too.

“Why are you in Nepal?” he continued.

“Travelling the world with my girlfriend. We always wanted to visit Nepal.”

They smiled.

“We’re in Kathmandu for two weeks.”

“Climbing mountain?” Uncle Imay made a climbing action.

“Nope.”

They frowned.

“Then what do you do in Kathmandu for two weeks?” Sanani said slowly.

“Weed,” I said.

They both laughed. So I laughed too.

Uncle Imay pulled from his satchel a bag of weed that was bigger than my head. I began to salivate.

He didn’t ask me how much I wanted.

“4500,” he stated.

“My girlfriend will kick my ass if I spend that much.” They laughed again. Maybe I should be a comedian for drug dealers.

“How about 2000?”

“4000, is my best offer. I will give you much.”

“2500 is all I can do.” I opened my wallet, inside was 2500. It was all I had.

I flinshed as he grabbed my hand from across the table. He shook it.

“A deal”, he bellowed.

Uncle Imay tore off a large bit of the mossy weed. He handed it to me. No baggy. I brought my own anyways.

I stared at it. Raised and lowered the weed in my hand. Half jokingly I said, “This is a bit light for 2500.”

Uncle Imay laughed and slapped the table.

I was going to die.

He tore off another small amount and pushed it into my fist. We finished the transaction.

Sanani led me from the table to the tunnel. After the 45-degree angle again, and a huge bow to everyone on the main street, I was on my way back to the hotel.

- - -

Twenty minutes later I was smoking a rolled joint on the balcony. Locals and tourists moving around on the streets below me.

I’ll never forget these risky, sexy moments. When everything could have gone wrong, but didn’t.

I’ll never forget Uncle Imay and Sanani, or the adventure that finding decent weed is like in other countries.

I finished the joint and headed inside.

The snoring had finally ended.

- - -

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Will strip for tips. Will also accept tips to stop stripping.