Bob Dylan and Drugs
Posted By: Canadian Dave, eh!
I stayed in San Sebastian four extra days so I could catch the free Dylan
concert on the beach. It wasn't a hesitant choice, since a free Dylan show
is almost impossible to come by and I was loving San Sebastian. I had been
partying pretty hard the entire week I was in San Seb with the crew from the
house on da hill and the Dylan concert was going to be everyone's last night
there. This was by far my most intense, drug infested and fucked up night in
Europe.
The day started off early with afternoon beers, shots of rum and hits from
the home made bong. We all wanted to get down there pertty early so we could
find a good spot on the beach and chill before Bobby D started harmonizing
us with lyrics that a generation before our time but still sounded perfectly
true in our ears. I wish I could say that Dylan's words were sung as clear
and true as their meanings but his vocal chords have been destroyed by his
years of drug abuse and saranading a microphone. Despite his raspy voice and
his inability to stay in tune with his band, the sounds of the waves
crashing on the nights' sand composed alongside Dylan's wisdom brought me to
a state I have only had the luck of feeling a few times before. Complete
relaxation. It was beautiful. I sat with my back to the sand, occasionally
drinking my rum and smoking a joint and just let life soak me in like the
sand and the ocean. This lasted for a solid twenty minutes before my heart
kicked back in and brought me back to reality.
The night was about to get real crazy now that Dylan had ended his set and
the fireworks finished lighting up the sky with fire and gunpowder. A DJ
followed Dylan's act and everyone woke right up and started dancing; the
Spanish style of night riding was upon us. The hot Australian girl that was
with my crew went off into the massive crowd of tourists and locals alike
and came back twenty minutes later with a hand full of ecstacy. I was
already drunk and high so a hot blonde offering me drugs didn't cause my
conscience to flash red; down the trap with a shot of rum and off we went to
the closest bar. The ecstacy hit me like a truck the second we got to the
bar. I ordered a couple of pints and started dancing with the rest of the
crowd. I wasn't positive but I had a good feeling that at least 90% of the
people in the bar were fucked on some type of pill or powder. Everyone was
moving around and talking with smiles, chewing their inner gums to mush and
grinding their teeth to a fine paste. I was right there with them all and
loving every second of it.
My heart was racing with the music and I couldn't stop moving even when I
stopped to talk to people. The bar got really hot and I knew I had to be
careful not to dehydrate so I stepped outside for some air. While outside, I
met a group of British guys. One of the guys claimed to be the son of a
multi-millionaire and family friend of Richard Branson, the CEO of Virgin. I
was sceptical at first but his friends did not argue and the necklace he was
wearing looked like it was worth close to a million dollars. This guy asked
me if I wanted to go blow some lines but I declined stating that I was
already fucked up on pills and had no money. He told me the coke was free
and that if I went with him he would buy a few rounds. Apparently his
friends did not want to do any more coke so he was willing to buy himself a
friend. In my drug inhibited state of mind, free drugs and alcohol sounded
like a one time chance so I decided to play along and went with him. The
walk to his hotel concerned me. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was
walking into a trap and would find myself surrounded by a blood thirsty mob
or with a knife in my side. The problem was I couldn't stop myself from
continuing on, so thats what I did. It turned out the guy was legit and I
got my free line of coke, which I did not need since my heart rate was
already breaking records. It took hmi forever to do his line, which he broke
up incesantly as he told me about his father being stingy and not giving him
whatever he wanted. Poor bastard, some people can't catch a break. After he
blew his line, we walked back to the bar but it was closed and no one was
around. Still bouncing off the walls, we decided to head towards the beach
where we found a nigt club that was still packed at 3:30 in the morning.
While waiting in line to get in, the millionaire junkie was asking everyone
he saw for pills with no success. By the time we finally got in, I wanted to
get away from this guy and find my friends but to my utter dissapointment
everyone that was in the club spoke spanish. Despite the language barrier,
the brit was still asking for pills. I couldn't take being around him
anymore so once we got outside the club and he went across the street to
take a piss, I took off down the street.
The plan was to go back to the house on da hill and regroup with my fellow
housemates. This plan failed miserably though since I managed to walk the
complete opposite way and found myself on the far end of San Sebastian. The
sun was coming up and I was becoming tired of my need for constant movement,
not to mention my jaw was throbbing from my consistent grinding. I took a
few minutes to get my head straight and figured out where I had to go to get
back. On my way back I ran into a group of Spaniards who just got off the
train from Madrid. They were looking for a party so I led them towards the
beach. The majority of the group seemed interested in going with me but one
of the guys wanted to find a place to sleep and was bringing us all over the
place. After at least an hour of walking we found ourselves at the mountain
with the Jesus statue, which was on the other side of the beach. I was
getting very frustrated at this point and turned to tell the group we had
to go around the mountain but only one of them was still with me. The rest
were about half a mile back. I decided to wait for the rest of the group and
started a broken conversation with the one spanish guy that was with me.
After a few minutes of travel talk, the Spaniard looked at me as asked, "Can
I kiss you?" I almost punched the guy in the face, not because I am
homophobic or was offended by his inquisition but this was the icing on the
shit flavored cake that had been pushed into my face since I met the
millionaire junkie. "No, I'm not gay. Look, I'm gonna go this way, you go
that way with your friends. Good luck finding the party." The spaniard tried
to convince me to stay but I was having no part in it. "Tu vas alli, yo voy
aqui, vale?" I walked away and fortunately I did not run into them again.
The night was not over yet. I was still having a hard time finding my way
back but to my great fortune I saw a german girl that was staying at the
house, riding a bicycle around and I yelled after her. She guided me back to
the house, although I was forced to run after her since she refused to stop
or slow down. I finally got back to the house, where a few people were still
awake and strung out from the night, smoked a joint and crashed...just to
wake up two hours later to catch a train to Nice.
concert on the beach. It wasn't a hesitant choice, since a free Dylan show
is almost impossible to come by and I was loving San Sebastian. I had been
partying pretty hard the entire week I was in San Seb with the crew from the
house on da hill and the Dylan concert was going to be everyone's last night
there. This was by far my most intense, drug infested and fucked up night in
Europe.
The day started off early with afternoon beers, shots of rum and hits from
the home made bong. We all wanted to get down there pertty early so we could
find a good spot on the beach and chill before Bobby D started harmonizing
us with lyrics that a generation before our time but still sounded perfectly
true in our ears. I wish I could say that Dylan's words were sung as clear
and true as their meanings but his vocal chords have been destroyed by his
years of drug abuse and saranading a microphone. Despite his raspy voice and
his inability to stay in tune with his band, the sounds of the waves
crashing on the nights' sand composed alongside Dylan's wisdom brought me to
a state I have only had the luck of feeling a few times before. Complete
relaxation. It was beautiful. I sat with my back to the sand, occasionally
drinking my rum and smoking a joint and just let life soak me in like the
sand and the ocean. This lasted for a solid twenty minutes before my heart
kicked back in and brought me back to reality.
The night was about to get real crazy now that Dylan had ended his set and
the fireworks finished lighting up the sky with fire and gunpowder. A DJ
followed Dylan's act and everyone woke right up and started dancing; the
Spanish style of night riding was upon us. The hot Australian girl that was
with my crew went off into the massive crowd of tourists and locals alike
and came back twenty minutes later with a hand full of ecstacy. I was
already drunk and high so a hot blonde offering me drugs didn't cause my
conscience to flash red; down the trap with a shot of rum and off we went to
the closest bar. The ecstacy hit me like a truck the second we got to the
bar. I ordered a couple of pints and started dancing with the rest of the
crowd. I wasn't positive but I had a good feeling that at least 90% of the
people in the bar were fucked on some type of pill or powder. Everyone was
moving around and talking with smiles, chewing their inner gums to mush and
grinding their teeth to a fine paste. I was right there with them all and
loving every second of it.
My heart was racing with the music and I couldn't stop moving even when I
stopped to talk to people. The bar got really hot and I knew I had to be
careful not to dehydrate so I stepped outside for some air. While outside, I
met a group of British guys. One of the guys claimed to be the son of a
multi-millionaire and family friend of Richard Branson, the CEO of Virgin. I
was sceptical at first but his friends did not argue and the necklace he was
wearing looked like it was worth close to a million dollars. This guy asked
me if I wanted to go blow some lines but I declined stating that I was
already fucked up on pills and had no money. He told me the coke was free
and that if I went with him he would buy a few rounds. Apparently his
friends did not want to do any more coke so he was willing to buy himself a
friend. In my drug inhibited state of mind, free drugs and alcohol sounded
like a one time chance so I decided to play along and went with him. The
walk to his hotel concerned me. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was
walking into a trap and would find myself surrounded by a blood thirsty mob
or with a knife in my side. The problem was I couldn't stop myself from
continuing on, so thats what I did. It turned out the guy was legit and I
got my free line of coke, which I did not need since my heart rate was
already breaking records. It took hmi forever to do his line, which he broke
up incesantly as he told me about his father being stingy and not giving him
whatever he wanted. Poor bastard, some people can't catch a break. After he
blew his line, we walked back to the bar but it was closed and no one was
around. Still bouncing off the walls, we decided to head towards the beach
where we found a nigt club that was still packed at 3:30 in the morning.
While waiting in line to get in, the millionaire junkie was asking everyone
he saw for pills with no success. By the time we finally got in, I wanted to
get away from this guy and find my friends but to my utter dissapointment
everyone that was in the club spoke spanish. Despite the language barrier,
the brit was still asking for pills. I couldn't take being around him
anymore so once we got outside the club and he went across the street to
take a piss, I took off down the street.
The plan was to go back to the house on da hill and regroup with my fellow
housemates. This plan failed miserably though since I managed to walk the
complete opposite way and found myself on the far end of San Sebastian. The
sun was coming up and I was becoming tired of my need for constant movement,
not to mention my jaw was throbbing from my consistent grinding. I took a
few minutes to get my head straight and figured out where I had to go to get
back. On my way back I ran into a group of Spaniards who just got off the
train from Madrid. They were looking for a party so I led them towards the
beach. The majority of the group seemed interested in going with me but one
of the guys wanted to find a place to sleep and was bringing us all over the
place. After at least an hour of walking we found ourselves at the mountain
with the Jesus statue, which was on the other side of the beach. I was
getting very frustrated at this point and turned to tell the group we had
to go around the mountain but only one of them was still with me. The rest
were about half a mile back. I decided to wait for the rest of the group and
started a broken conversation with the one spanish guy that was with me.
After a few minutes of travel talk, the Spaniard looked at me as asked, "Can
I kiss you?" I almost punched the guy in the face, not because I am
homophobic or was offended by his inquisition but this was the icing on the
shit flavored cake that had been pushed into my face since I met the
millionaire junkie. "No, I'm not gay. Look, I'm gonna go this way, you go
that way with your friends. Good luck finding the party." The spaniard tried
to convince me to stay but I was having no part in it. "Tu vas alli, yo voy
aqui, vale?" I walked away and fortunately I did not run into them again.
The night was not over yet. I was still having a hard time finding my way
back but to my great fortune I saw a german girl that was staying at the
house, riding a bicycle around and I yelled after her. She guided me back to
the house, although I was forced to run after her since she refused to stop
or slow down. I finally got back to the house, where a few people were still
awake and strung out from the night, smoked a joint and crashed...just to
wake up two hours later to catch a train to Nice.
This entry was posted by Ben Myers, on
Tuesday, September 05, 2006.
You can leave your response.
6:03 AM
lOVED YOUR STORY MAN, I love the house on da hill and loved the gang up there, i never got any free coke (lucky you) but i did knock into a few dodgey spainards.....Great Story mate, never know i may of been there when you were there