Chris De Bié - Storia Theurgica - The Hippie trail -
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Storia Theurgica
The Hippie trail


- _1. The escape
- _2. Gate to Asia
- _3. Persia
- _4. Afghanistan
- _5. Pakistan
- _6. India
- _7. Nepal
- _8. Back to Europe
8. Back to Europe

Jaipur - Quetta - Teheran - Istanbul - Athens - Brindisi


It was Ramadan and my search for food and beverages was unsuccessful. As long as I was in India I had not been aware that the month of fasting had started. In the afternoon I boarded the train for Quetta and – like most – fell asleep quickly. When I awoke in the evening my neighbours were busy to quench their thirst and still their hunger – I was very grateful for every chai and piece of bread I was offered. After a journey of almost 24 hours we finally arrived in the capital of the autonomous Baluchistan and everybody was looking forward to breaking fast. The sun was about to set and the Baluchi people gathered around huge, richly filled brass dishes. And again, the choice for a vegetarian was rather small; I stilled my hunger with some vegetarian dish, collected bread, fresh and dried fruit and mineral water. Apart from a few hidden stores in Rajasthan, here were also the last legal hash and opium shops. Several chai shops offered hashish where it could be openly bought and consumed. The hashish was brought over from Afghanistan whose border was only about 100 km away. In the North of Pakistan there were rich cannabis fields, but we were in Baluchistan! This autonomous region encompasses the south of Persia and Afghanistan and the south-western region of Pakistan – and had its own laws.

With the last of my money I purchased some gram of high quality Afghani every evening. It was less noticeable then that I was planning on buying a big quantity and people just took me for a heavy consumer. One gram consisted of 5 sticks at 0.2 gram each, the size of Italian wax-matches. After a week I had collected 180 gram. 60 sticks I pressed into finger sized portions of one tola. They reminded me of the daily crops in the Himalayas. Carrying 50 tolas I had travelled undisturbed from Manikaran to Goa. But now I had to cross dangerous country borders. Pakistan, Persia and Turkey. I packed the hash into condoms and tried to hide the loot in my rectum. It took days for my intestines to get kind of used to this unusual “freight” and in the end I managed to insert 10 tolas. 24 hours before I started on my dangerous journey I ate one last small meal. And 2 hours prior to setting off I burdened my body with the whole booty. I just could not afford to waste 60 gram after all this was my whole capital. The risk was immense and the profit was going to be rather small – but I had no other choice.

Early in the morning at the bus station I met two totally high Italians with their dirty duffelbags. My travel-bag was neatly packed and I was completely sober. I took a seat at the back of the bus – away from the Italians and my co-travellers. Sitting on a wooden bench a torturous journey started. Whenever the bus bumped into a pothole or another obstacle, my “freight” caused me agonies. It most definitely wanted out. It was getting hotter inside the bus and my fellow travellers noticed my great discomfort. And they were also astonished that I was not eating anything after the sun had set.

Shortly before reaching the border to Pakistan I woke up early and became witness to something very unusual. A motorbike was heading towards us from the desert, getting closer and the bus stopped. The biker took one bag and disappeared into the solitude again. The border turned out to be rather harmless and in the no-man's-land between Pakistan and Persia, the motorbike reappeared and the bag with its mysterious contents was again returned to the bus. The bus driver was given a huge piece of meat as a thank you and nobody seemed to be surprised in the least.

So far, so good! But the pressure in my intestines increased more and more, were about to become unbearable and I felt queasy. “What in the world am I doing” I thought to myself and had a vision, or was it a Fata Morgana? Once again my protective Demonfright appeared, this time in a sandstone temple.


Fata Morgana
Digital image by Chris De Bié

At the Persian border tourists and locals were separated and I followed the Italians to the passport checkpoint. Everything went smoothly and customs control was next. With a disgusted expression the customs official quickly glanced at the Italians' bags but gave my luggage a thorough search. I was told to empty my sandalwood box containing the silver and stones. Trying hard to appear calm I did as I was told but lost control of my fingers when I was supposed to repack my goods. After my second failed attempt at picking up my goods, the customs official looked deeply into my eyes and my third attempt was finally successful. The customs officer waved me through the checkpoint; I was sure if I had failed again they would have made a body search. The next “obstacle” was the office where our vaccination certificates were checked and behind this there were the wash rooms and toilets. The moment I closed the door of the toilet my intestines let lose – heavenly bliss but not without danger! Fortunately I was alone in the room and I could clean myself and the condoms discreetly. I was not going to make my poor body suffer more and put the “freight” into the pockets of my trousers.

  Chris De Bié

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© by Chris De Bié admin: 17.03.2019