Remember the Germans I met in Marrakesh? I ended up staying a few days with them in Madrid. The guy had to return home to complete his thesis, and the girl had planned a weekend with her friends in Salamanca. They met on a Facebook page, "Germans in Madrid," and have known each other for about two months. I was lucky enough to be invited to tag along with three cool chicks.
I arrived later than the rest of them, due to a date going well with a girl I met in Madrid. They had already seen the major sights of the city, and were ready to eat dinner and drink. Perfect for me. Like the other cities I had visited in Spain, there's a historic main plaza filled with restaurants and bars. We introduced ourselves, and began asking questions about why we were each in Madrid.
Conny was just about to leave Madrid and return home to Germany. She's an ever-smiling, always happy type. Tuba, yes, that's her real name, recently moved to Madrid to pursue a career in investment banking. She's a bit more on the serious side, but intensely curious. After explaining my travel plans, they were a bit rattled. Who is this weird fuck their friend is introducing them to? They didn't have much experience with someone being open about drug use.
They're all fluent English speakers, but, when you get into an esoteric discussion about hallucinogens, it gets difficult to explain. I take acid for a few reasons, the main one being that I feel like I'm mainlining information in a way that's impossible outside of an altered state. Once you come down, you forget most of what you learned. But, the things that stick with you, have a profound effect on your personality. I always want to remember more, from that place of perfect truth, so, I keep visiting. For me, LSD isn't escapism. It's a heightened awareness. I get a brief window to look at myself objectively, through the subjective experience of being something outside myself. It holds up the mirror and presses your face against the glass. No self-deception allowed, the viewing and the acceptance are a package deal.
The problem with talking about the experience, is that you can't convey any of it. You have to go through it yourself to understand it. Explaining it makes you sound insane. When someone asks me what it's like, I never have a good answer. They usually want to know about the visuals. I think those are just a nifty distraction from the real power of hallucinogens. I'll say something along the lines of, "Yeah it's not like the movies, you won't see things that aren't there, just exaggerations of reality. But, that's not the cool part, the cool part, is the way it changes the perception of your senses. You get to experience reality without filters, or, with different filters. Your senses mix and intertwine. Light affects the sound your hear, sound can change the light. You lose time, or fast forward through it. You can experience deja-vu over and over. It makes me sound fucking crazy, doesn't it?
I always try to steer the conversation back to the good things I've gotten out of my experiences. When I was going to school, and completely lost the passion for what I was studying, LSD helped me work through the feelings and find my way to a new subject I loved even more. When my father died, the previous experiences I had with DMT, taught me that death isn't something to be feared. I mourned of course, but my mind was already prepared, because I had "experienced my own death" a handful of times. It helped me to work through my issues with weight, self-image, and self-esteem. I wouldn't be traveling if it weren't for drugs.
Of course, the conversation never gets that far. They stop me after hearing the scary visual shit they asked to hear. We eat dinner and begin drinking beer. The conversation turns to our personal lives and histories, travel and favorite cities. More drinks. We decide to walk. One of the things I appreciate about this country, is the complete lack of fucks given about copyright law. We eventually land in a place called Barvel. As in, Marvel comics.
The walls are covered in comic graffiti, the drinks all have super hero names. Each beer purchase comes with a free shot of the bartenders choosing. He keeps giving us sweet shots with a sour gummy worm. The music is a mix of Spanish and American pop, house, and trance. Tuba complains of a headache, and walks down the street to a pharmacy to get Ibuprofen. She's a trooper. The place is mostly empty except for us. We start dancing, my repertoire only includes the waltz, some swing, and white guy shit. They're only busting out white girl shit, so it's evenly matched. At some point, Conny and I have a squat contest. I stop after I start to sweat profusely, she wasn't even phased. It was then I learned she goes to the gym almost every day. Beers, shots, dancing, beers, shots, dancing, beers, shots, dancing.
I don't know what time it was when we left, but my phone was dead and I wasn't sure where my hostel was. I wandered the streets for what seemed like a drunken eternity. I found a guy outside smoking and managed a, "Donde Salamanca Dorado?" He pointed and gave me a vague idea of where to go. I eventually remembered that I can charge my phone from my e-cig. I laid on the sidewalk, waiting for the charge. I sat and reflected for a moment on how I got to this place, at this time. I met a girl from the UK at a hostel in Marrakesh. She introduced me to two Germans she met on a desert camping trip. They happened to be living in Madrid and I met up with them again. They invited me to Salamanca, a place I never would have gone on my own. Now I'm too drunk to find my bed. I didn't have long to wallow, the phone was charged.