There was some muted conversation at the shop where our group met up as the women tentatively felt each other out. We met our retreat facilitators (two were there to meet us, two more were already at the retreat getting ready for our arrival), who told us the plan for catching our taxi back at Centraal Station’s kiss and ride (love that name).
Our facilitators already had a relationship with the shop. We individually went up and told the woman at the counter we were with the group, she gave us the right type and amount of mushrooms, and we bought our truffles.
I had been so focused on getting to Amsterdam, on getting to that shop on the right day at the right time, that I’d spent little time studying the retreat schedule beyond our meet-up. This ended up being a gift – it kept me in the present and didn’t allow me to worry too much about what would happen next.
The next phase of my trip was going to be a psychedelic trip, packaged in a retreat setting surrounded by practices and activities designed to help each of us get the most out of the experience.
That first night, I curled up with my book. It kept me company into the wee hours of the night. I was only able to sleep for a couple of hours between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m., then was awake for the day.
In the foggy, quiet morning, I felt like I had the city to myself. The smell of weed, which gets stronger as the day goes on, had cleared from the air. My hotel provided breakfast, and it was one of the most amazing breakfasts I’ve ever had – a hard boiled egg in a special little egg cup, yogurt, granola with milk, a clementine, and a little glass of chocolate milk. I ate quietly, checked out of my room, and was able to leave my bags behind so I could explore the city without them.
I left on a chilly, bleak Tuesday afternoon. My family drove me to the train station, and I got on the train and sat, disbelieving, as it headed south towards New York. I read, dozed a little, and tested the new data plan the Chaplain had set up for me that would work on both sides of the Atlantic.
I arrived in the New York after six. I wasn’t in a rush and had time to come above ground at Penn Station and wander a few blocks in a few different directions. I hadn’t been to that part of New York at night in ages. The huge LCD billboards were new to me. There was a man playing pop on a saxophone, the sound soulfully bouncing off the buildings. I dipped into a tiny pizza place and bought a slice, then stopped in another place for a fruit smoothie.
From Penn Station, a train to Jamaica would connect me to the Airtrain to JFK. The process was super easy and I made it to the check-in line at the airport in plenty of time, which is good, because check-in was long and disorganized. That was my first preview of what to expect from my budget airline, and it was a trend that would continue with abysmal and insanely expensive food on the flight.
Usually, flying for me involves a great deal of anxiety. I love travel, but flying is a means to an end. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped on a plane, and I dread the thought of using the airplane lavatory. I usually prepare for a flight with dramamine, and I’d brought my CBD oil. I did take the dramamine, but didn’t need anything else, and didn’t find the flight to be stressful. As it turns out, when you aren’t responsible for anyone besides yourself, a flight is surprisingly uneventful.
When I first heard Michael Pollan’s interview on Fresh Air, then read his book, I knew I was onto something. I would read articles on Medium about microdosing LSD and wonder if I had the balls to ask friends to ask friends until I found someone I knew that knew how to get some. But we live in Trump’s America, and my husband is a legal resident, not a U.S. citizen. Doing something illegal and putting my family at risk wouldn’t be worth it.
During this time, the Chaplain and I were deep in talks about if, how, and when I should pursue trying psychedelics for personal development, spiritual breakthrough, and relief from depression and anxiety. We started with a fuzzy goal of wanting to make it happen by around my 40th birthday.
I wiki’d where it was legal to use psilocybin, a substance that has shown real promise for treating depression and anxiety. I came up with two places that seemed like they might work. I started with Jamaica. I was specifically looking for a guided retreat. I wanted it to be a safe, purposeful experience, and I wanted to get as much bang for my buck as I could. The retreats offered in Jamaica sounded amazing – a week long, with three different psilocybin experiences during the week with a day in between each one. The cost was about two grand, not including airfare. But cost aside, I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to leave my family for that long. Or if I even needed to do it three times.
Given the specs of the Jamaica retreat, I knew it would require waiting and saving, which I was OK with. But I was feeling very stuck. So now that I had an idea about the legality of it, I just searched, “guided psilocybin retreats” and up popped the Netherlands. Instead of saying, “Yes! It’s legal!,” the Netherlands chooses a more subtle approach of allowing it without condoning it. The retreats in the Netherlands were significantly shorter (a weekend) and significantly cheaper (even with airfare). Also, an important factor for me – they offered women’s-only retreats.
When I’m packing for a trip, I always spend some time working out which books to bring and how many. I typically think I’ll read more than I actually get to. I also usually travel with my family. But this most recent trip, I’d be traveling alone. So the books I was bringing were going to get my full attention. Also, I was going on retreat, so it was important that I was putting the right stuff in. I needed to bring books that were physically lightweight and easy to carry since I was traveling alone and not checking any bags.
In addition, I was super, skin-crawling anxious ahead of this trip, and knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything too heady or deep, at least on the way there.
Crazy Rich Asians met the criteria on all counts.
