“Would..you..like..to..smoke..hasheesh?” the English was clear though hesitant. Clearly practised.
The grip on my arm was solid and intimate. This had to be wrong. I cannot be hearing this. In a blundering blur, I turned to my side to face the owner of the voice. Noone was there.
“Would..you..like..to..smoke..hasheesh?” the voice oozed innocence and sweetness. My glance was guided downwards.
A little round woman was wrapped around my right arm, the cheekiest grin on her face, looking up at me. She was a fantastic feast of colours in her traditional Bai costume and adornment. It seemed like every local wore their native dress on a daily basis in this most ancient city of Dali in Yunnan, China.
“Would..you..like..to..smoke..hasheesh?” that sweet voice and gorgeous smile again, but with a question that could land me in a Chinese jail for women, rotting in my own filth with no bathing privileges for the next 12 months. Possibly longer.
I was backpacking around Yunnan, long famed for being the cradle of Chinese civilization as we know it. This was where my ancestors had come from. I expected to see a lot of things – fabulous traditional costume still worn every day, cobbled streets over 1,000 years old, snow-capped mountains with names like Jade Dragon Mountain. But not pot-pushing sweet motherly types in traditional garb.
Much as I love a good high, this was not going to be the path that brings me there. I fumbled my thanks-but-not-today and tottered over to the nearest textile stall where I got my two gorgeous pieces of Bai tapestries instead. Pot. Always a good excuse to go shopping instead.
Do I ever wonder what would have been if I had say yes? Quite often, actually. But then visions of me in a filthy work camp somewhere near the Tibetan border always follow. And the bubble bursts.
Author’s note: The Wordsmith never condones inhaling illegal substances of any sort. She experiences natural highs through sheer laughter and exercise. She advises readers to try these instead of pot.
