Part 4: Rupst

The cannabis gods next steered my battered psyche and I to the revitalizing township of Rupst. There’s nothing like kilometers and kilometers of orchards to summon up that elusive “back to the garden” feeling.

In America, this pristine tract would have “Walmart parking lot” written all over it.

Before this trip, if anyone asked me where I’d like to spend my vacation dollars, “Holland” would have finished below every country with a palm tree.

But if you asked me where I’d like to be a cannabis tourist, of course it would have topped the list.

While I was hugely disappointed in the cannabis consciousness, or lack of it, that I encountered in Amsterdam, I was floored by how much I liked everything else about the country. People took me into their homes, lent me their bikes, offered to let me use their laptops after knowing for five minutes, and invited me to traditional feasts served to the strains of piano-accordions in pristine pear orchards.

The Netherlands is strong in orchards. Bird life flourishes all over the countryside. The songbird symphony performs from dawn to dusk. Cookoos call from clocks and trees.

In other words, reality was the exact opposite of my expectations.

The battered psyche re-pear shop in Rumpt.

When I wasn’t helping repaint a 200-year old wall, there was plenty of time to discuss the Dutch attitude toward cannabis with my gracious hosts. The short report: it’s deteriorating faster than 200-year old plaster.

Checking that the rehung artwork is as straight as future tourists’ state-of-mind if the Christian Democratic Party gets its way.

When Netherlanders hear the word “cannabis,” it brings up associations we’re unaccustomed to. For example:

  • I say cannabis, you think cannabis plus alcohol.
  • I say cannabis, you think cannabis plus heroin.
  • I say cannabis, you think cannabis plus alcohol and heroin.
  • I say cannabis, you think cannabis plus alcohol and heroin and making a slobbering fool of yourself in front of god-fearing families in public places.

I’m sure you get the idea. Is this paranoia on their part? No. You heard bartender Toni tell us how English and German tourists “can’t have just one beer, they have to have ten.” If I countered that I seldom, if ever, witnessed that sort of behavior in Denver, my hosts just rolled their eyes. Right. The idea of “well-behaved stoners” was incomprehensible to them.

“When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go …” Is worldwide marijuana prohibition nothing more than a surreal dream, like Alice in Wonderland?

My next shattered illusion: the citizenry isn’t nearly as down on our “policeman of the world” kick as, say, Iran’s. Why? Ours is a kinder, gentler form of imperialism than they’re accustomed to. They figure some country’s always going to be the Lead Dog, and the US is a sheepdog compared to the Doberman due east.

Meanwhile, the secondary “Green Thinking: Who’s Greener Ecologically?” competition is all over but the shouting. We’re calling this early: and the winner: The Netherlands in a landslide. Why?

  • You actually have a prayer of going tubing in a canal without acidic chemicals dissolving the flesh from your bones.
  • When 98% of the cars in the country are the size of Smart cars or smaller, that pretty much says everything you need to know about a national commitment to environmental concerns.
  • The fact dryers are nonexistent is not so much an indictment of a collective arrested development in large appliances as it is a confirmation that this nation, across the North Sea from Norway, the #1 ecological country on earth, is equally serious about conservation.

If you spent a year figuring out the nicest spot to spend a day in in the whole country, you really couldn’t do any better than this farmhouse, an island in a sea of orchards. And, if you wanted to learn exactly why cannabis tourism may soon be a thing of the past, you couldn’t check in with a better sampling of intellects to hear exactly why that might go down. I haven’t personalized them because several of them work in the financial markets, in prominent positions, and others work in social services. While they weren’t at all shy about offering opinions, none of them wanted to go “on the record.”

One fellow, who’d expressed complete indifference about the US as world policeman, set me straight after I suggested that, even there was more anti-cannabis sentiment in the air than I realized, wasn’t it a fact that the country desperately needed to raise cannatax?

I thought I had him there. Not only did he scoff at that idea, his explanation pinned me to the mat.

The executive summary: motivation to legalize for revenue reasons [aka collect cannatax] is nonexistent compared to what the economy is pleading for in the US.

  • Unlike, say, fellow European Union members Greece and Ireland, the tiny monarchy is astonishingly flush in tremendously insolvent times. That means that economic pressures driving the push for legalization in the US — a national debt racing past the $14 trillion mark, numerous areas experiencing 10% or greater unemployment, the threat of localities and states declaring bankruptcy — are non-issues in the NL.
  • The NL has no national debt!
  • People gladly pay 50% taxes, double the rate in the US. They consider the resulting quality of life a fair tradeoff.
  • Basically, everyone who wants one a job already has one.

That leads to an inescapable conclusion: The NL doesn’t need the cannatax at all, one less incentive for legalization.

What’s left of my patriotic side thought about countering my friend’s perfectly well-thought out argument with a few choice  “Oh yeah, buts.” However, witty retorts like “Oh yeah, but your 200-year old stairs are too steep and creeaky” and “Oh yeah, but you don’t have any dryers” don’t quite cancel out $14 trillion national debt vs. $0 national debt.

Learning of the existence of a country with no need for cannatax or cannajobs whatsoever in 2011 was like hearing about an uncharted island where Jurassic Park-like critters cavort about. That’s exactly why we set out on this fact-finding missions abroad. You never know what you’ll find out after a third cup of coffee at a rustic breakfast table set by lily-padded ponds and lawn chess boards.

After breakfast, we’re heading back to Amsterdam. The Cannabis Liberation Day Festival awaits. It’s apparently the NL’s last hope to keep cannabis tourism alive and my last hope to capture some worthwhile video. If this festival falls flat, there’s not much left to prevent the Christian Democrats from conducting Schindler’s List type searches for potheads hiding out in cabinets, alcoves and attics like Anne Frank.