1995 Eivissa (Ibiza): Pollen of cannibis sativa

"Autumn is here," said Ra (below), once a Professor of Physics in the USA. "It starts at one o'clock today." I have no idea whether he means A.M. or P.M., not that it matters. Ra's going to be giving a two-part talk about Human Design Systems starting this coming Monday.

In the late afternoon Daniel and I drive to the hippy market in Sant Carles de Peralta. (On Wednesdays the market moves to Es Canar.) It's an open-air market consisting of many small booths set up only hours before. A utilitarian mix of languages fills the air, as haggling reaches a fevered pitch. The range of items available boggles my mind. US Native American is a popular theme; I see "Hopi" jewlery manufactured in Mexico, "Primitive Art" tee-shirts that contain a mix of tribal symbols, and early 20th century photos (for example those from a "Charles Carpenter of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition") of all levels of tribal members reproduced as postcards.

As I stroll about I notice crepés and fresh fruit drinks and milkshakes, batik skirts of all colors, handmade chachkes (Yiddish: tacky things) made of lexan and of silver and of wood, hundreds of lunghi, lots of jewelery with red coral from Italy, a fox pelt, a didjeroo, beads and jewelery from India, a variety of buddhas, Your Name on a small wearable California license plate, and my favorite: a silver ring with a silver V-2 rocket flying along the wearer's finger.

It's not only goods that are on sale here: services include cooking of various comestables to Se hacen agujeros (we do body piercings), available from a small jewelery stand.

Cultural aside: The state of recreational medication on Eivissa is far ahead of what I've experienced in the USA. Rather than seeing the furtive, secretive habits of folks back in the States, here I see a bemused tolerance buffered by peer pressure to behave in a social manner. "Grass" - marijuana - is rare here because of its bulkiness. The drug of choice is "dope" - hashish - smoked in joints combied with cigarette tabacco. Hashish, which has a bad name in the drug war-crazed USA, is merely the oils of the marijuana plant, compressed into bricks that look like fat chocolate bars. Its effect seems to be to mellow the smoker, a far cry from the obnoxious behavior brought on by alcohol. American drug policy is bizarre, doubly so when one considers what's been learned in recent years about the dynamics, politics, and realities about the relationship of our government to the waging of the drug war.

The chemical consumption business gets stranger yet. One bay I notice a table-mate making a joint with something else other than the usual cigarette tabacco and hash crumbs. He's rolling in something brown, but much softer-looking. "Pollen," he explains, "of the plant from which we get pot (leaves) and hash (resin): cannibis sativa." Another long-time expatriate shows me a nasal inhaler labeled (in Spanish) as being for incipent diabetes. As he takes off his gold and black plastic sunglasses he says "pot-smokers in California tought me this 20 years ago. It removes the symptoms of a night of smoking - or of drinking. It also helps to improve memory, like before an exam, you know. Brightens you right up."

Now might be a good time to introduce some of the people with which I spend my days on Eivissa. At left is a thumbnail of Anand, our French-speaking ambassador to all things mellow. One is guaranteed of receiving a hearty "Hello Mon" when meeting Anand in town, and of receiving good stories when spending time with him at parties.

At right is Anita, a free spirit that was blown to Eivissa by a spiritual wind, she says. I see her once a week, when she descends into town to clean ACT and ECO each Thursday. By the time she picks up and dusts each item, the afternoon is all used up. She lives with an Ibicenco family above Sant Juan.

At left is Bob. In 1973 his girlfriend, on vacation in Eivissa, called Bob in Munich and said "if you don't come down here you can forget about me." Bob arrived for a three-week vacation and stayed two years. Then he brought all his things from Germany, where he'd been working as an ambiance engineer at nightclubs. He tells a story about his last hurrah in Munich. He'd been fired from a nightclub job because of a conflict with U--. He was summarily uninvited to the upcoming Christmas party, and so contrived a plan to package himself in a small box and be delivered as a mystery gift for the artist's benefit auction to be held at midnight. He dressed up as an angel, and jammed himself into a little crate. Because the auction was pushed back until 0200, Bob stayed in the fetal position in the sweltering box in the middle of the stage. The champagne magnum he'd brought in with him went from chilled to tepid. The auctioneer started by presenting Bob's box, which "has created such a stir all evening," to U--, who stood up from the crowd and proudly came to the stage. Bob staggered out of the box, straightened up, sprayed the entire magnum over U--, dipped and kissed him, and retreated back to the box.

Krystof can be seen zipping around town in either his motorcycle or his Mercedes, the latter is decorated with paintings of tridents. Krystof is , linksTo:"krystof.jpg"tall, really , linksTo:"krystof.jpg"tall. His daughter Ganeshi goes to school with Mayra.

Rosa runs an antique shop in the Placa e'Espanya in Sant Joan, a hundred meters away from ECO, across the street from Fernandito's. She, like most of the people that run in this circle, speaks a mixture of Spanish, German, and English, as required to communicate with travellers, tourists, customers, and locals.

Have you found errors nontrivial or marginal, factual, analytical and illogical, arithmetical, temporal, or even typographical? Please let me know; drop me email. Thanks!

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