During the 1960's and early 1970's, the best hashish in the world was purchased in tea-houses in Afghanistan. Its resin was sticky, its colour and texture were pure, its tangy taste was as sweet as honey from heaven, and its high was a dreamer's paradise. The country's ruler, King Saber Shah, loved it. In 1973, the king was ousted. In 1979, the Russians invaded, and the country's troubles deteriorated. So did the hashish, which soon became a clumsy mixture of a variety of resins from different plants, idly and slovenly screened, and held together by animal fat. I first smuggled Afghan hashish in 1970.
