You could say that I am a product of my environment. So, during my time living in Montreal, it was not uncommon for city natives to say, “well, that explains why you love weed,” when I informed them that I originated from just outside Vancouver British Columbia.
I still go back and forth between cities, and after a solid month of mostly just kicking it in Montreal, I was jetting off for a short but solid sisters’ weekend in Toronto. Toronto is a new city to me, one where I don’t have any established “contacts,” and obviously, I was not going to carry my herbs with me through the airport, so I had resolved to take a two-and-a-half-day “tolerance break” for the occasion. Honestly though, the duration of this abstinence was actually more so a consequence of the stoner-gene having skipped my middle sibling. I was aware that Toronto was known to possess a wealth of medical dispensaries, but I also knew that they wouldn’t be a welcomed addition to our joint tour of the city. Although, I had reasoned that we would be plenty satiated by local beer and eats, and so I would be able to manage to function without my medicine for just a few days.
I realized I had previously had some overly optimistic thinking about being apart from my stash about halfway through the first day in Toronto, after feeling my bad breakfast choice set my stomach ulcer ablaze. The second day was our last together, and I was already so wilted from trying to cram a mass of activities into such a limited time frame, on such feeble amounts of sleep, that I was worried I would ruin the day by being unpleasant and grumpy. Luckily, I had a few hours apart from my sister at the start of the second day, so the first thing I did was search for relief by taking a stroll through downtown, in order to see if I could grab a quick gram from the closest medical dispensary. I did not bring up my need for weed on the first day, as my sister would have hated a wild goose chase that she would not benefit from. And, as might have been expected, the closest downtown dispensary was closed until further notice. But I was alone and undeterred, so I single-mindedly headed deeper into Chinatown to see what else this city might have to offer.
Whilst following Google Maps to apparently the next closest dispensary, I came across a shop titled Cloud 6ix Wellness. Since I was not really in a place to be picky, I stepped past the bud-tender in the threshold enjoying a cigarette and stopped inside. I then sauntered into the lobby and waiting area and was asked to fill out a short form of personal and medical information. The girl at reception glanced over my answers, checked my ID, and I was promptly allowed access into the back room. The backroom was much more barren than I was expecting, the shop carried a few glass bongs and pipes, and at the back of a mostly white room, sat a counter displaying the shop’s flower selection. The descriptions for the strains were about as barren as the blank room, with a half gram of flower underneath a glass globe, atop a label displaying just the strain name. With no indications of which buds were indica, sativa, or hybrid, and not wanting ask the tender information for approximately 15 different strains, I quickly selected a familiar and favoured sativa, Moby Dick.
I stuffed my purchase into my purse, and then I tried my best to awkwardly dash out of the shop whilst the budtender took liberty to comment on my physical appearance. Even though one of the reasons that I favour making purchases from a dispensary is that it virtually eliminates inappropriate advances from dealers, this man was genuinely humble, and I still left his store wearing a big smirk.
Chinatown was a mass of activity, but even amidst the chaos, finding a quiet alley to roll up my goods and smoke was superbly easy. I backtracked, closer to the main road, to get some more comfortable seating to keep on enjoying my product, and even though my loud weed did turn a couple of heads, passersby quickly went back to minding their own business, and letting me mind mine. It was a nice change of pace from Montreal, where it can sometimes be impossible to find a quiet place to smoke undisturbed, anywhere near downtown hot-spots.
The first thing I noticed about Moby Dick was the state of hyper-focus it put me in, although it was a bit of a cloudy headed state of focus. I was uninterruptedly locked in to whatever I was doing at the time, all with a decent sized grin on my face, since I was also blessed with a lovely body buzz. When trying to find my sister I walked a good 5 blocks past the Dundas Street Intersection where we were meant to meet; mesmerized by the Chinese shops spilling onto the streets, I reached Queen St. Before I realized that I may have walked too far. Doubling back on the unfamiliar streets a slight tinge of paranoia hit me. I felt like this crazy homeless man who was talking to himself had started to follow me, so I increased my speed, and a couple of seconds later, looked back over my shoulder. I then quickly realized that there was no reason to tense up and went back to my mellow mood, grinning at the eclectic shopkeepers who were actually paying zero attention to me.
Throughout the day when conversing with my somewhat anti-pot sister, I was extremely attentive, focused on every word she was saying, and able to intelligently and sympathetically respond back. I felt like she had no idea that I had scored, because even though I had a strong buzz and my eyes were probably slightly glazed, I was pretty socially functional. I started daydreaming about food maybe an hour into my high, but I was still very patient and energetic going through all of the tourist sites she wanted to see before lunch. I was thoroughly entertained doing things that I don’t find entertaining at all, and so happy and appreciative to be doing them. She really wanted to check out the Hockey Hall of Fame and sports-related things, which I cared nothing about, but I was enthusiastically walking about with her, while just contentedly noting to myself all the things I wanted to eat.
My patience eventually paid off as we stopped at the closest restaurant, Marche Movenpick, which ended up being a legitimate stoner heaven. It was set up to look like a market where you could shop for meals, or like an adult cafeteria with food you actually want to eat. I felt literally blessed at all of the food choices in front of me, and was so thankful I had medicated with a strain that could give me an appetite healthy enough to sample everything I fancied.
Later in the evening however, I felt a pretty hard crash. Sobering up and being void of all of the energy and trippy euphoria Moby Dick had provided for the day, I was experiencing a fair bit of irritability and I almost literally felt like collapsing in a heap on the street corner. I persevered and felt slight relief after entering an indoor shopping mall, when all of a sudden, looking at clothes started to make my head spin. I decided to sneak out for a few more puffs, and it thankfully boosted me enough to get through a few more hours of shopping.
At the end of the day I couldn’t stand to be around people and crowds any longer. I sat in the back of our Uber Pool barely saying any words to our chatty driver or fellow passengers, and just stared out the window for about 40 minutes instead. I then pigged out at dinner at the hotel, finishing off most of our appetizer, my own meal, and the fries from my sister’s meal. I was basically comatose before even reaching bed, but when we finally made it to the room I slept like an absolute baby.
Last but not least, I woke up in the morning fresh as a daisy. I was up and packing for the airport a good half an hour before my “morning person” sister, which was shocking for both of us probably. I guess I still had a bit of residual energy and good mood carrying over from the day before.
This strain is creatively named after its White Widow parent and is also based on the high yields that the plant produces. It helped me make the most of a very short trip in an unfamiliar city, although not without a killer crash. Assuredly, Moby Dick is an all-around stellar strain, and I will probably spend the whole of my life trying to once again catch this white whale.