Cambodia: Backpacker town Sihanoukville now ‘overrun by ...

Elie Wiesel and the Hadassah Magazine By J Zel Lurie
Sometimes my doing good caused lots of trouble.
Around 1967, 11 years after his arrival in the United States. Elie Wiesel was well on his way to fame and fortune as a defender of human rights all over the world. He paid one of his frequent visits to the office of Hadassah Magazine to check the page proofs of one of his articles. He was a prodigious worker, and we published over a score of his essays.
He noticed that we were publishing a moving account by a Hadassah doctor of his visits with the “Jews of Silence”, as Wiesel called them in his bestselling book. I had attended a press conference for the doctor in New York City where I was handed the full story of his visit with the refuseniks. Obviously his sponsors wished to educate not me, but my half million readers. I decided to comply with their wishes.
Boy, what a mess that caused.
Unaware of American public relation practices, the Hadassah doctor had also submitted his account to Norman Podhoretz, editor of Commentary Magazine. Podhoretz had consulted with Elie and decided to buy the story. Wiesel knew that the story was already in page proofs at Hadassah. He also knew that the prestigious Commentary Magazine would not like to be associated with the lowly Hadassah Magazine in sharing a story.
The aftermath was unpleasant. Podhoretz phoned me and called me a robber. The Hadassah doctor in Jerusalem lost Commentary's fee, and soon wrote one of the angriest letters ever written in the English language, demanding Hadassah’s president to fire me.
A year later, I contacted the doctor on another matter, not mentioning his earlier letter. But he remembered it well, and wrote an abject apology.
THE BACKGROUND OF ELIE WIESEL IN AMERICA
In 1956, I was the Editor of the Hadassah Newsletter, the forerunner of the Hadassah Magazine. I was also the part time correspondent of the Jerusalem Post. I would spend my mornings at the United Nations and send a cable by noon, which was 7:00 pm in Jerusalem, and my deadline. After lunch, I would travel to the Manhattan office of Hadassah.
That year, the press corps at the UN was joined by a strange looking newcomer from Israel. He was Elie Wiesel, who had arrived representing Yediot Ahronot, Israel’s largest newspaper. Most foreigners who arrived in the United States were strange looking and accepted as such. Elie’s outstanding strangeness was that he never smiled.
His command of English was sparse, so at the United Nations press conferences, he sat next to me and I whispered a Hebrew translation of what was going on. We developed a friendship of sorts. His English developed very quickly. (Years later he wrote a letter castigating me for an unjustified criticism of his attempts at fiction. He used a dozen adjectives to tell me what a low life I was. He was right, a dozen times.)
I have two overpowering regrets in my relationship with Elie. During his youth in Paris, he came under the influence of a charismatic Hasidic rabbi who had immigrated to Paraguay. He wanted to visit the rabbi and write about him, and he asked that Hadassah buy his ticket. I regret that I was too miserly to agree.
The second came in 1990, when I traveled with him and the organization of survivors, headed by Yossele Rozensaft, to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the liberation of the Bergen-Belsen camp. The general of the British regiment that had liberated the camp was the guest of honor.
In the camp, we passed sign after sign telling us where many thousands of Jewish victims of starvation were buried. I could see the Nazi atrocities etched on Elie’s face. He begged me not to take his picture. I regret that I didn’t.
Elie was a prolific writer. He wrote and published 57 books by his count. He became a writer in Paris, under the tutelage of Francois Maurioc, a Catholic Nobel Laureate for literature. Elie wrote 900 pages in Yiddish, his native language. With Maurioc’s help, it was slimmed down to less than 200 French pages. Under the title Night, it contained the most powerful and devastating descriptions of life and death in the camps.
The book did not sell. Readers were not interested in stories of the war they had just gone through. In 1958 and ‘59 an English version was turned down by 15 American publishers. It was finally published by Hill and Wang, a small publisher. It began to take off in 1961 with the help of the publicity of the Eichmann trial in Jerusalem. The book has since sold over 10 million copies, 3 million of which have been purchased since Oprah Winfrey chose it for her book club and traveled to Auschwitz with Elie.
All those years, Elie was writing and publishing articles and books, almost all of them somehow connected to his own experiences. The Hadassah Magazine was the main outlet for his articles. I may be the only living person who remembers one of his first stories about “The Watch”. He wrote that he had buried his watch in the garden of his home in Sighet when he and his father, mother, and three sisters lived before being taken to Auschwitz. The watch was found after the war.
One of his first attempts at fiction was “The Accident”, now out of print. He was hit by a taxi not long after his arrival in New York, and he wrote about spending months in a body cast. I remember him with a broken leg, not in a body cast, but this is fiction. It is a love story that never quite makes it.
A PARADOXICAL LIFE
Elie lived a paradoxical life. He always had a goal: to make the uninformed Jews of the United States and the rest of the world aware of the Holocaust, and to protest violations of human rights all over the world. He made many tours abroad, including to the death camps in Cambodia and Darfur.
One notable trip was to Argentina where Jocobo Timerman, a Zionist editor, was interred for his journalistic criticism of the junta government. Timerman had been tortured by the Argentine junta. Elie succeeded in getting him freed. He wrote a bestselling book about his torture called, Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number.
Timerman tried living his Zionist dream in Israel and was greatly disappointed. Israel was fighting the second Lebanese war, a war which should never have happened. He came to New York to see Elie Wiesel. I don’t know what he proposed, but Elie angered him by turning him down.
Timerman told me that fascist tendencies were dominating the Israeli government, and he was returning to Argentina.
Elie Wiesel’s treatment of Timerman was typical of his relations with me and other members of the UN press corps who had welcomed him to the United States. He was our friend, but he would never do anything to deviate from his path upward to the arms of the casino king Sheldon Adelson and his Israeli wife Miriam, who support the right wing in Israel and the Republican Party in the United States with millions of dollars every year.
The Adelsons took out a full page ad in the New York Times for an obituary to Wiesel.
Through the years Elie had responded to my articles in the Jewish Journal with hand written notes of praise for the Jewish-Arab village and school. But he had never visited the village which he could clearly see at the top of the Latrun Hill from the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem expressway.
One of his notes says, “You must continue your work for Neve Shalom, which is now more important than ever.”
None of the above, neither the Hadassah Magazine, nor Jocobo Timerman, are mentioned in Elie Wiesel’s obituary on the front page of the New York Times on Saturday, July 3. He was 87 years old. The obituary says that he was a survivor who never let the world forget what the Nazis had done and is now being repeated by others in various parts of the world. But he never, but never, castigated Israel for its repression of the Palestinians. That is what attracted the Adelsons in the final years of his life.

Background: At the time of the dream, I was a 16 year old male in high school. Be warned, this is very long. It's one that I have named "Cambodia Rising". The drea started when my high school drama class decided to take a field trip to India, as they often do. We went to this port, that was really hustle and bustle, like people everywhere. The sky was kind of dark, and the “lake” that the port was on was tiny, no bigger than a football field, and completely enclosed by cliffs. There was no way for ships to leave or get in, yet despite that, I saw this large looking battleship just kind of floating there. I was following my drama teacher, who we’ll call Mr. Matthews around with the rest of the class. He was telling us all these things about India, but I don’t remember anything he said. I stopped to stare at the ship in the tiny lake, and I turned back to follow the class, except I couldn’t find them. I started running, trying to find them, and I couldn’t, and then suddenly I was knocked out from behind.
When I awoke, I was on that same ship that I had been staring at, inside some form of makeshift prison cell. It looked just like the engine room of the ship, but it also had bars where the door would be. Two men come inside the cell, and inform me that I have been kidnapped by Indian slavers, and I’m going to be sold into the slave trade. I’m freaking out at this point, and as the two men leave me cell, I see they also captured my friend Ben, a very tall redheaded guy. So these two slavers had forgotten to lock the door to my cell, and I was able to escape, and swim back to the port-market place. The waves on the tiny lake were massive, yet completely clear, like tap water. I could see all the way down, and there were no fish or anything. I finally made it back to the port, and I’m still really scared. No one there speaks english, and I’m trying to find my class while also trying to not get re-kidnapped by the Indian Slavers. So I do the most logical thing one would do in this scenario; I hide. Except my idea of hiding is to just lay down on a bench, with my head and feet sticking out of either side of it, as it was too small for me. Since I was probably the only white guy there, the Indian Slavers find me again, and take me back to their boat, where they beat me and yell at me. I remember crying in the dream as they did. However, once they left, they again forgot to lock, let alone close my door, so I get out again. I’m trying to find Ben so that we can escape together, but instead I find another one of my friends, a girl named Maggie. Together, we devise a plan to escape the cruel Indian Slavers. We have noticed that there was this small P.T boat that would come and go from the ship to the port, apparently delivering supplies to the boat. These Slavers must have needed a lot of stuff, because that boat made runs every 10 minutes or so. On the next run, me and her sneak on. We either hide in these metal barrels, or we covered ourselves in a tarp, I can’t remember, but either way, we escape, and we both take off sprinting into the market. We both come across this shipping container, and we both get inside. I am still terrified that the Slavers are coming for us, but for some reason, I leave the door to the container wide open, allowing many confused Indian people to see us in there. Two other weird things happen in that container. I take off my pants, for some unknown reason, and Maggie transforms into this other girl I know named Emma. She doesn’t really do anything though, she’s just kinda there for a bit. As soon as it happened, Emma transforms back into Maggie, and Mr. Matthews, our drama teacher, walks by the container and sees us. He kind of does a doubletake when he sees us, and he comes in to talk to us. I was so fucking relieved at that point.
He informs us that every single one of his students was captured by Indian Slavers, and he had been slowly freeing all of them from their evil grasps. Way to fucking go there Mr. Matthews, seriously though. EVERY student? Anyways, he tells us that we’re some of the last students he needs to find, that, and this other guy named Terry he had yet to find. This was odd, because there’s no one named Terry in my IRl drama class, and when he appears later in this dream, you’ll see that Terry was like sixty. Anyways, he takes us behind the market opposite to the market place, and we see that on the other side it a vast ocean, full of coral reefs. This one wasn’t enclosed, and expanded all around the outside of the market, which was apparently an island we just learned. He gives us both scuba gear and instructs us to stand on these coral reefs that were close to the shore. I could stand on my tip toes, and my head would be above the water, but Maggie was shorter, so she just had to tread water. Mr. Matthews climbs on this boat next to us, and tells us that he’ll send us this robotic jetski thing, that is programmed to take us to this factory where he has the rest of the students ready to be evaced. He tells us to hang tight, and drives off. We probably could have just gotten in the boat, it was a speed boat looking thing, but whatever. Now, we’re on this coral, and I’m really scared that the Indian Slavers are gonna find us again, but Maggie’s really scared that some kind of sea creature will come and eat us. I assure her that nothing like that’s going to happen, but a few minutes later, what my drowsy mind described as “Modern Plesiosaurs” came right up to us. They looked just like plesiosaurs, except they were about the size of a small cat. I froze, and was petrified by them, swimming all around me, and Maggie began screaming. They weren’t really doing anything, if anything they were more curious than aggressive, but after what seemed like an hour, the submersible came. It was more like two handles strapped to a yellow thing with an engine, but it worked. Unfortunately, it can only hold one person, so she goes, and I stay behind. Another hour of horrifying sea creatures later, it comes back, and I make it to the evac point. Mr. Matthews had chosen this abandoned coal factory on top of this massive hill as his evac point. Most of the stuff inside, like conveyer belts and whatever you might find in a factory wasn’t there, it was just large clumps of students. We stay there for a while, until Minter finally comes back with Terry, and he announces that it’s time to leave. While everyone’s getting ready, I’m looking around for my friend Ben, and I can’t find him. I ask Mr. Matthews where he is, and he just shoulder shrugs, like he couldn’t give a fuck about my friend. Wtf Mr. Matthews. Anyways, we leave the factory and start walking down these rolling hills. Apparently, no one freed Ben from the Indian Slavers, and we just left him behind, ah well.
We walk along these rolling hills for a while, and then we come to this more plateau like green plain. There’s this thick forest in front of us, and as we’re walking to it, Mr. Matthews tells us to stay on the path, because apparently the factory had been polluting the area with toxic waste, and it was deadly to step off the path into it. I remember walking next to a bunch of other guys, and one of them said “It’s not so bad.” in reference to the toxic waste. Just then I saw an animal walking around in the sludge, and I pointed it out to the guys by saying “Look, a two-headed turkey vulture!” In truth, it just looked like a normal turkey, but that’s what I said in this convoluted dream. That shut him up right away, and we entered the forest. We walked for a long time in that forest, but I don’t remember anything that happened there. All I know, is that we spent a LONG time getting through it. Also, a lot of students died from radiation poisoning, one of them being Terry. R.I.P. Finally, at the fall of night, we come across this village. It’s really just a few huts, and one massive high rise in the middle of this vast plain, but we were happy to see it. I had this assumption that we were in Russia, but I also thought that we didn’t get very far from India. Either way, we walk inside this building with Mr. Matthews and what’s left of the class, and are greeted by this asian woman. She looks like Wu Zetian from Civ 5, and she informs us that we’re in Cambodia. This makes no sense, since in the dream we only walked North through India, but whatever. Oh, and I forgot to mention this, but at some point before we reach the village, we had this plan that we would walk to Europe, and fly back to Canada from there. Anyways, Mr. Matthews stays behind to talk to this woman while I investigate the building we’re in. The room we were in had a hotel-like desk in in, and nothing more, not even a second floor. There were several doors in the place, and I open one, and I walk into a room with a bed, a chair and a fridge. It looked like a living space, and as I’m looking at it, another asian woman, who looks identical to the one from before enters from behind me and glares at me. “You’re not supposed to be in here” she says, and I leave. Rude, but whatever. Mr. Matthews groups us up after this (There were about 12 of us, out of a class of almost 30) and tells us that if we can’t find an airport in this village (Of about 50 mind you), then we’ll stay here for the night. So I go out looking, determined to find an airport, but I can’t find anything. Every building is just a small hut, like the one before, except for this one giant high rise in the middle of the village, which was apparently a casino. Annoyed by not finding an airport, I approach this woman, who by the way, also looked identical to the other two woman, but was a completely different person from Desk Asian Lady and Rude Asian Lady. I ask her where the airport is, and she takes me to the casino building. I get annoyed at her, because this is obviously the building I just investigated, and it was clearly not a casino. However, she takes me to the back, and right on the other side of the building was this train station. Go figure. So I go back to Mr. Matthews, who was still talking with the lady at the desk. The rest of the class must have dispersed, because no one was there but him and the lady. I tell them him that I’ve found a train station, so we should get traveling tonight. However, he turns to me and says “Getting to Europe will be difficult, especially crossing the french alps. I vote we stay here for the night.” Ok, listen here you little shit. First, that is entirely untrue, you can get to Europe without crossing the alps; And two, I just found you a train station, why are you now staying here? I was getting tired of Mr. Matthews shit at this point, but nevertheless, we decided to stay here for the night.
I decide to go to the train station that I had found to try and sleep there. I enter this little booth looking thing next to the tracks, and it turns out it’s a bathroom. Inside the bathroom, are these little playmobil figures, and let me tell you, they were fucking awesome. I say this because I spent like the entire night playing with them. I remember looking at the clock in the bathroom, and noticing it was 5 am, but I didn’t care because I was having so much fun. A lot more stuff happened in that bathroom, but I don’t remember specifics. I just remember I was in there for a long time, and that it was really fun. At some point, I accidentally break one of them. Well fuck, what now? I decide to “Displace Time” as I called it in the dream, and travel back in time to when one of the toys wasn’t broken. This is something I can do apparently, and it never comes up ever again. Probably could have used that to save Ben, who is still probably a slave in India. Anyways, as I displace time, a few figures fall behind the sink counter. Displacing time is finicky I suppose, so you always have to expect slight malfunctions. I lean over the counter to grab them, when I spy this revolver just sitting behind the counter. I’m just staring at it, when suddenly it discharges and shoots me in the face. It wasn’t even pointing at me, but it shot me anyways. My vision goes red, and I clutch at my face. I wasn’t actually hurt, in fact I was more shocked that it had happened. There’s this ringing in my ears, which eventually subsides, except now I hear people screaming. I figure it’s because a gun just went off, and I exit the bathroom to assure everyone that nothing worrisome is going on, but that’s when I realise what’s happening in the small village in Cambodia.
Terry, that one sixty year old “kid” in my drama class, who had apparently not died in the forest trek, had returned, and was running around with a knife, killing everyone. I ran into that hotel-like building, and I hid in the room that I wasn’t supposed to go in. I saw blood seeping out from under the doorway of another room, and I knew that someone had died in there. After a few minutes of hiding, I hear Mr. Matthews screaming. I run outside, and I spot a cellar right next to the building, which I enter. Inside is a set similar to Tribal Council in the show Survivor. Mr. Matthews is standing where Jeff Probst would be, cowering, with a claw pot over his head. Terry is standing in the middle of the room, back to me, watching him with a knife. Mr. Matthews is terrified, and he screams out “No! Don’t kill me! I haven’t even won a Academy Award yet!” Suddenly, Terry turns to look at me, and darts out of the room, without touching me. I run to Mr. Matthews and ask him what happened. He said that once he saw Terry had come back, he ran down here, and did the most logical thing for his survival, which was placing a pot on his head and cowering in fear. During all this, he had neglected to even warn the students of the mass-murder loose on the village. At this point, I am so fed up with Mr. Matthews shit, so I just run. I run out of the cellar, out of the village, and I just kept running through this vast grassy plain, leaving everything behind. Around morning, I start to worry, because I have no fucking idea where I’m going or what I’m doing. I felt so alone, and I wanted to try and find my class again. However just then, I saw this guy crouched in a bush. I waved to him, and he stood up to look at me. He had greasy black hair, glassy and a very pimply face. He was lanky, and had a slim build. I knew this guy IRL, but in this dream, he was someone different. Our conversation went something like this.
Him : “Ohhhh Ouuuuu, Stargatessssss.” Me : “Who are you?” “My name’s Carter, who are you? Stargates.” “Where am I?” “You’re in Mongolia friend.” “Mongolia!? But that’s impossible!” “STTTAAARRRGGGATTTEESS”
He then ran off, carrying this device in his hand. Mind you, this guy’s IRL name was not Carter, but I didn’t care, and I followed him anyways. As I learned through small bits of conversation with him, he was looking for “Stargates” with his team, which only consisted of one person. We met up with her, and she looked exactly like Susie Smith from Survivor. For those who don’t know, she looked like an average Mexican Mom. They both had these devices, which resembled flip up phones with these weird purple radar things. Eventually, the two come across the ruins of an old Mongolian house, nothing but a wood skeleton now. Susie places her device at the door of the ruins, and a black substance begins to materialize there. At this point, two other girls from my drama class, named Emily and Julia come up behind us, and watch as this spectacle goes down. After a short while, the place where the door should be turns completely black, and Carter and Susie jump into it. It looked like someone was photoshopping a picture, and had just taken the black paint bucket thing, and dumped it into the doorway. We decided to jump in after them. Inside this so called “stargate” is a large black void, and we fall for what seems like a long time. Eventually, we land, and I find myself holding a assault rifle. We’re at this motel, and we have to kill a bunch of these solider guys. We do, and the stargate collapses, and we’re pushed outside. There, Carter explains that his mission in life is to travel around the world and destroy these stargates. He was tracking this one in Mongolia when he ran into us. Stargates can only open on door, and to destroy a stargate, all you had to do was enter one, and do whatever minigame was inside, and it would collapse. He asked us if we wanted to join him, and we agreed. So he took us to his private jet, and we became a crack team of stargate destroyers.
For the rest of the dream, I never went back to Asia, so I never learned what became of my drama class and Mr. Matthews, but I did learn what happened to Ben. That’ll come later. Anyways, we travel around the world in a montage like fashion destroying these stargates. I kind of half remember a few of them, but not really. It’s been like 2 years now, and we’re down to the last one. We track it to this fair in America somewhere, specifically inside this building which housed a cafe type thing. We find out that the stargate is at this door to a jewelry store inside the building, which, by the way is bustling with people. Carter tries to open the stargate, but he can’t because there’s some glass in the way right next to the door. So Emily breaks the glass, but then an alarm goes off. Carter quickly places his device down, and the stargate begins to form. We’re trying to hurry, because the police have arrived, and they’re shooting at us. They start to get closer and at the last second, it opens, and we all jump inside. A police man jumps in with us, and midair as we fall, Carter shoot him in the head, killing him. He had a gun the whole time apparently. We fall for a bit, and then we land on the platform in the desert. We don’t really know what to do, but suddenly another metal platform raises besides us, to reveal a familiar face; It was Terry, holding a knife, about 15 ft tall, angrily looking at us. Our goal here is to fight him. I wish I remember how we did it, cause we beat him, and I remember I did something really badass, but I can’t recall much. We beat him and the stargate collapses. We enter back into the real world to find the cafe abandoned and in ruins. There were a few fires, a lot of rubble and trash everyone. Susie looked at her device, and it indicated that there were no more stargates left in the world. We had done it.
“So, what now?” I asked. Julia turned away from the group, and I asked her what was wrong. She said that she wanted to leave our group, and I asked her where or what she was going to do. She said she was going somewhere “Steady with an army.” Whatever that means. She said her goodbye, we hugged it out, and she was off, walking briskly through the destroyed building. We all sat in silence for a bit, taking everything in. Carter broke into song about how good of a team we were, but I don’t remember specifics about it. Everything went back to normal after that. I went back to school, and the team went our separate ways. That is, until WW1 broke out in my school's auditorium. The Entente recruited me, and I met back up with Carter, who was part of another squad. When we got there, my Mom was there for some reason, and she kept taking pictures of everything I did. The Entente was pinned behind the last row of seats, and they were taking pot shots at the Central powers, who simply stood on the stage with no cover. Oh, and they were all black for some reason. Despite that fact, and the fact that either side had no more than 30 men, it was an intense war, and I fought with pride. Carter, his regiment, and my Mom watched from the side, clearly within few of the enemy, yet they weren’t being shot at. I guess it was an honour thing. Eventually, it was time for my battalion to leave the front, and we rotated with Carters. We switched spots as my Mom took pictures of the whole thing.
As Carter’s squad assumed the position on the front, tragedy struck. Almost immediately, Carter was shot directly in the forehead, and killed. I screamed, and ran to him, even though I was supposed to stay off the battlefield. I held him in my arms, hoping he would make it, but knowing he wouldn’t. My Mom, came over to us, and tried to take my picture with him, but I screamed at her. What can I say? She wasn’t taking this seriously, my best friend in this dream had just died. She was taken back, and stomped out of the auditorium. I held Carter in my arms while being hailed with bullets for a long time, until his regiment left, and mine joined the battle. I didn’t join with them, I ran from the auditorium crying, only to be hit from the back of the head as I ran. When I awoke, I had a sack over my head. It was removed, and I saw Ben, my friend who had been left behind, sitting in a throne, surrounded by Indian Slavers. He had apparently became their king in the span of a few years. In the back I saw my Mom looking angry at me. She had apparently sold me out to the Slavers, since I yelled at her (Wtf mom?). Ben motioned to me. “So you’re the one who ate my sculpture of Tokyo made out of french fries?” I didn’t respond, mainly because I have no idea what he had just said. I think he didn’t recognize me. He then motioned to the men behind me, and they placed the sack over my head again. The last thing I heard was Ben saying to them “Award Our Winner Here.” Then I awoke, and the story was over. I never learned the happenings of Carter, Mr. Matthews, Terry and the others (Aside from their real life counterparts). This was the end of Cambodia Rising.

Trees everywhere are amazing!
The past 3 years I have been going around the globe making it a priority to find the best herb I can.
Ontario CA (Southern california), USA [9] - Good locally grown weed. Can get from cannabis clubs in LA for basically the best in the world.
Las Vegas, NV USA [9.5] - Actually was better than CA. Had a friend who had a $500k house from my home town that he paid for by growing/selling trees in LV. Lots of delivery people. And since Vegas is all about spending, they got the best stuff from NorCal if you're willing to pay for it.
Melbourne, Australia [7] - Stayed at the Crown Casino for 2 weeks. Happened to get lucky and run into someone whos nickname was 'AllinAt420' so got a half oz from him. Real good indoor stuff.
Buenos Aires, Argentina [6] - Mostly Peruvian brick weed smoked. They have 'flower' weed which is more expensive, a lot greener and is a lot better. People open smoke in parks when the weathers nice.
Bangkok, Thailand [5] - Brick weed grown up North, pretty weak indica. Strength varies a little bit but generally bad. Through connections could get California weed, but for $45/gram it was mostly shake and nothing comparable to california.
Siam Reap, Cambodia [6] - Same brick weed mostly, but they have some better stuff. And as a bonus, you can get it from pizza places that will cook it into your pizza. It's called 'happy' or 'ecstatic' pizza.
Amsterdam, The Netherlands [9] - Just got back from a 2 week vacation here. They have coffee shops where the herb is great. 'Tangerine Dream' was 2010 Cannabis Cup Winner having like 25% THC. They have local hash for like 60euro/gram, that stuffs ridiculous.
London, England [0] - Got sold fake weed. Twice. I hear they have good 'skunk' over there, but I'd just rather not go back to somewhere so expensive and rainy.
Boston MA, USA [8] - You have to know people, but it's decriminalized here for up to 1 oz. Can get BC bud, or good stuff like white kush & blue dream.
My next stop is SF at the beginning of next year. It looks like it will be a [10]. Happy to answer any questions. Enjoy ents!