During the 1960s and early ’70s, my family vacationed regularly in Baja California, Mexico. We’d drive the few hours from Redondo Beach in southern California and stay in the Del Sol Motel in downtown Ensenada.
We’d eat great food, ride horses on the beach, and get our dental work done in a clinic that mirrored the dental offices at home, for a fraction of the price.
When I was a Girl Scout, we’d hold clothing drives and my mom and dad would drive a few wide-eyed young girls across the border to Tijuana. We’d traverse down dirt roads into rows of cardboard shacks that lined the city’s perimeter at the time, handing out bags of clothes to those in need.
Being in that neighborhood and witnessing how they lived was a lesson in humility and empathy I couldn’t get anywhere else, and to this day, I like to believe the act has left me with a giving and sympathetic heart.
I never feared coming down to Mexico. Though today’s toll roads along the coast have stopped a majority of bribery opportunities, I don’t remember being afraid when my dad was pulled over and made to offer up a $20 bill to the policía for no good reason.
It was just life in Mexico as we knew it. The Mexican people who served us were good and kind. I never felt like a tourist; I felt like I belonged. It was—and is—my home away from home.
Ragweed, Tijuana Jail Time, and Clarity
Years later, I’d hear stories about my favorite aunt’s friend, who was held in a Tijuana jail for attempting to smuggle weed across the border in the early 1950s. Evidently, it wasn’t his first time—and wouldn’t be his last. Rumor had it that my aunt helped him escape by making plans with him in visiting “concubine” quarters, the two of them conspiring on a thin, dirty mattress on the floor. I’m not sure how the whole thing played out, but he did escape to freedom.
The first joint I ever smoked was no doubt the same Mexican ragweed my aunt’s boyfriend commandeered. It was 1975. I was 16 and on my way to high school when a friend offered up a smoke in a gas station bathroom.
At that time, I would guess the THC probably measured in at around 5%, if that. I remember stepping out of the bathroom into the crisp morning air with all my senses activated and my third eye fully open.
I had been failing high school, unable to retain anything, with no diagnosis. The principal advised that I would “need to work harder than others to succeed.” That day I was able to focus on my schoolwork for the first time, and three years later, at 19, I was first published as a poet.
To this day I’ve never written anything professionally without medicating, be it for television, newspapers, or this magazine. It’s my Ritalin, and it continues to help me focus on my work.
Seek and You Shall Find
Traveling as a full-fledged patient can be challenging. The truth of the matter is, where there are humans, there is cannabis. As demonstrated in my essay “An American Stoner in Paris,” published in the July 2014 issue of DOPE, even in a non-tolerant, illegal country, my medicine was easily found.
Mexico is no different. In fact, the people of Mexico knew about the medicinal benefits of cannabis long before the U.S. was a country. The indigenous peoples of the world have been using plant-based medicines, including cannabis, for centuries. We are meant to have a symbiotic relationship with nature for food, medicine, shelter, and survival. Based on our modern-day ailments alone, I’d say our relationship with nature is failing.
From Garden to Shelf to Healing
Pharmacies, or farmacias, are popular in Mexico. Americans frequent them often, as no prescription is needed for most of the medications offered. Pain and sleeping pills are common purchases, with Viagra signs prominently displayed.
While perusing a farmacia in Ensenada, I came across a jar of salve with a big cannabis leaf on the label. “Marihuana” was clearly listed as a major ingredient. I asked the pharmacist if this really had “marihuana” in it, to which he replied, Sí. I asked if it was legal, and he said No, laughing. I then asked why he sells it. “Because it works,” was his response, with a wink and a knowing nod.
The ingredients also listed arnica, glucosamine, and other plant-based concentrates known to have anti-inflammatory properties just like cannabis. Though it was weaker than what I have made at home or could purchase in a dispensary, it did ease the chronic pain in my knee and lower back.
According to a paper published on the U.S. National Library of Medicine’s PubMed site, the most commonly used herbs in Mexico are nopal, peppermint, chaparral, dandelion, mullein, chamomile, nettle, passionflower, linden, and aloe.
The farmacias seem to cater mostly to Americans and tourists from other countries, but there are many botánicas, shops filled with plant-based medicines, bulk herbs, and combinations of plant-based remedies. Even the big grocery stores like Calimax have homeopathic sections with bags of herbs, teas, herbal capsules, and salves.
The most common herb added to everything from shampoo to herbal remedies is manzanilla, or chamomile. Chamomile is my favorite herb, mimicking cannabis without the THC.
The cost is around $2 an ounce in the states for bulk flower, so it’s also economical. Locals use it regularly in Mexico for myriad ailments including sleep, digestive issues, pain, inflammation, infection—the list is as long as it is for cannabis. They also put it into shampoo, soap, and eye drops, as it mirrors cannabis as an anti-inflammatory.
Tinctures are an excellent example of the cost difference of herbal remedies in Mexico and the U.S. A 1-ounce dropper bottle can cost over $20 at herb shops in the U.S., but are typically around $2 in Mexico.
However, travel isn’t necessary: Mexican, Asian, and other culturally diverse markets in the U.S. often have homeopathic treatments on the shelves at a fraction of the cost.
A booth set up at a local weekly swap meet just south of Ensenada proper in the agricultural region offered many small bags of seeds and dried herbs for medicinal use. The woman selling them informed me that one bag of moringa seeds, when shelled and swallowed with water, quells diabetes symptoms.
This, I thought, was worth researching. I quickly found a site called, “I Love Moringa the Miracle Tree.” Its home page claims the plant is a “fast-growing, nutritious, delicious gift from God,” with every part of the plant used for cleansing and healing the body.
I bought a large bag of dried arnica to make salve, a bag of moringa seeds for a friend with diabetes, and a bag of a combination of herbs that are said to quell body temperature issues associated with menopause. Each bag was about 30 pesos, which was an exceptional deal. With the current exchange rate, I spent $1.75 per bag.
The bottom line is, the poorest in the world don’t look to Big Pharma to ease their pain—they go to the garden for help, a place we’ve wandered away from for far too long.
Viva la Mexico and its people for keeping plant-based medicine alive. Godspeed to them in legalizing my favorite herb, cannabis. Until that happens, health can still be found in the garden.
The post An American Stoner in Mexico appeared first on Dope Magazine.