BY K OF TRICHOME TECHNOLOGIES

Trichome Technologies is a West Coast breeding facility dedicated to producing the highest-quality marijuana for medical consumption and to researching cutting-edge cultivation technology.

KIND BUD FOR CASTRO
Two years ago, I traveled to Cuba, an experience that left me with a deep regard for its culture and people. The big problem I had throughout my stay was that the weed there sucks. At $20 a gram, it’s very expensive—especially when you consider that the average Cuban salary, depending on a person’s social status and standing in the Communist Party, is roughly $9 to $12 a month. Add to that the fact that the weed is on the level of the seediest, driest Mexican ditchweed, and you have a situation that I consider to be a cannabis crisis.

I became good friends with two guys we’ll call “El Gato” and “Mr. Verde,” and watching them spend a month’s pay on the dirtiest of dirtweed broke my heart. As with any tragedy that occurs on foreign shores involving poverty and political oppression, I figured I had two choices: I could stand by and feel sorry for the people it affected, or I could take my 27 years of marijuana-cultivation experience and do something about it.

GANJA TO CUBA: A MISSION FROM JAH
With a 16-hour trip from California to Havana via Cancún ahead of me, I decided to pack some food for the journey—namely, four English muffins coated with 10 grams of pure cannabis trichomes mixed with butter and slightly heated to activate the THC for ingestion.

An hour before we got to Havana, I decided to have a muffin. The first bite went well—the second, too. On the third bite, my lovely co-conspirator Mary Jane started glaring at me with that “What the fuck are you doing?” stare, as the smell of pure hashish began to permeate the airplane. Not having planned for this situation, I didn’t really know what to do. Every time I exhaled, the smell got stronger. The seemingly logical solution was to get rid of the source of the odor fast and try not to breathe.

All this would have been little more than an annoyance if it hadn’t been for the fact that my luggage contained 80 grams of pure trichomes (placed in capsules and packaged to look like vitamins), two Spanish-language grow books by Jorge Cervantes—The Indoor Bible and Outdoor Guerrilla Growing (covered and packaged to look like Bibles, then vacuum-sealed)—300 seeds of the Kryptonite strain (mixed in with a big bag of trail mix) and three Pyrex pipes.

Cuba’s attitude toward drugs makes America look like Amsterdam. If I were to be caught or captured, the charges and penalties would be severe. Smuggling 80 grams of hash, among other things, with the intent to educate and cultivate would surely create an international incident and probably get me life in a Cuban prison.

Mary Jane kept shooting me evil stares as the smell of pure hashish wafted through the aisles. The stewardess was handing out customs forms for us to fill out. In an effort to help me dispose of the muffins, Mary Jane took two for herself. There was so much hash butter on them that it made her gag like a contestant on Fear Factor. After a while she said, “Fuck this,” went to the bathroom and flushed hers down the toilet.

Landing at José Martí International Airport, I was half asleep and high as fuck, but fully in control of the situation. After disembarking from the aircraft, we were led to a large room with sealed booths against one wall, each with a soldier inside. Mary Jane and I both stood in line and waited to be called into one of the booths. Once I was inside, the soldier asked if I had been to Cuba before. I told him I had. I was then asked about where I had gone, whether I had enjoyed myself and, finally, where I was planning to stay this time around. Satisfied with my answers, he stamped my tourist visa and gave me back my papers.

“Have a nice visit,” he said, and motioned for me to exit through the door on the opposite side, which led to the room where I was to claim my baggage.

All the luggage from our flight was lined up in rows, and military officers were running drug dogs down the aisles over and over again. As soon as one of the dogs finished its tour of duty, one of the soldiers gave it a little pep talk and then started the process over again.

I did get a funny look from one of the mutts, but lucky for me, he went one way and I went another. When it came time for me to actually claim our luggage, I noticed that Mary Jane’s bag was suspiciously missing. I told her I would meet her outside, Jah willing.

After my bags were X-rayed and my body patted down once more for luck, I stepped outside and breathed in the tropical night air. Mary Jane soon followed. The first leg of my mission was complete.