Letʼs start with the fact that I am 100% faded in Laos with some clear-headed, chronic sativa THC smuggled in from LA. Iʼve been in-country on vacation for a week here with my hubby and two adult kids, fabulously lit every single day. Iʼm a stoner. Have been since the beginning of time. In the period leading up to our two-week vacation, no less than ten friends and acquaintances (half joking) asked every version of, ‟Youʼre going two weeks without?!ˮ I would nod and smile ambiguously— Iʼm not looking for an accomplice.

But I did need a plan. Because in some countries you can buy and smoke it safely enough. Not in Laos. As legalization opens around the world, some destinations demonstrate a necessity to be lowkey both in the buying and partaking. After asking around, a budtender at an industry event in LA told me, ‟They have tablets, all dosages, no odor, available at most dispensaries.ˮ

A few days before our flight I visited The Set in Silverlake. What was once an old Chinese food go-to with the kids is now a different kind of go-to. Iʼm here to make plans, but California stoners aren’t allowed to open or smell products inside the dispensary. So I had to trust my budtender’s assurances that these tiny, beige, mint-sized ‟pillsˮ were odorless. I bought a container-full. In the car, I open the packaging. Way too loud. A distinctly skunky odor.

I visited another dispensary nearby. The woman-owned Stash Dash had just opened in Atwater. I explained my situation to the female budtender who knew just what I needed—discreet, no stink—and she led me to more tiny pills. I repeated ‟no stinkˮ a few times, my lack of confidence... meeting her voice of confidence. I was running out of time and purchased enough for the whole trip: 25mg (fun) and 10mg (interesting). Back in the car, I opened the package and the glorious odor was as quiet as a mouse. Just the tiniest faint smell. It was true! And not smoking for two weeks would be good for my lungs. Bonus. How on earth could I ever consider visiting Laos, of all countries, without being stoned?!

Next step, pack: the second hurdle of this operation. All together, in the same place? Apart? Hidden? Hidden in plain sight? I finally decided to mix them with my regular meds for mood, high cholesterol, thyroid, and general health in one of those little pill organizers with boxes for ‟Sundayˮ through ‟Saturday.ˮ I would feel more even, more energetic, a little brighter, and also pretty happy and inspired. You can guess which pill helps with what.

And one final consideration, just because: dogs. Everyone is terrified of these highly sensitive noses being trained on the scent of cannabis. Lucky or unlucky for us all, bombs are enough of a risk that they don’t waste time teaching pups to sniff out weed. At least not in America. The LAX website even says as much—their dogs are ‟not trained for cannabis discovery.ˮ Agreed, let’s keep dogs focused on the truly dangerous things at the airport.

For those among you who are stash-curious, hereʼs a short list of options Iʼve heard told:

1. Carve out the bottom of a lipstick or chapstick container and hide supplies where the contents used to be, with a little dose of lipstick (like a cherry) on top.

2. Empty the largest TSA-approved size of some salve, empty out the contents, wrap your stash tightly, insert, and reinsert the original salve on top. Messy but effective (a popular TV approach).

3. Buy cannabis gummies. Buy similar-looking plain candies. Mix them together and bring in the original non-spiked packaging as flight snacks.

4. Buy a small bottle of high-dose beverage or tincture and fill a 3 oz. shampoo bottle. Don’t forget the dosing dropper! A little goes a long way.

5. Use sample-sized high-end toiletry brand samplers (i.e. Chanel, Dior, etc.) and replace the contents with something even more valuable—a good time. What security guard is going to risk the sting of a punitive manager by opening a bunch of tiny women’s make-up containers?

6. The cardboard delivery mechanism of a tampon can also house a reasonable amount of supply. Not an option for everyone but definitely not something your average TSA wants to screw around with.

7. I’ve heard that Trader Joe’s sells little mints in small metal containers. You can use the same idea as the gummies but with the low-odor pills. But to my mind, a metal tin isn’t worth the X-ray flag that may certainly be generated. A poor option.

8. There’s always the age-old body crevasse method—both male and female. But X-ray screening now makes this once-ubiquitous avenue a bad choice. There’s always the option to opt out of the X-ray, which I understand is common enough. But again, additional scrutiny feels antithetical.

The moment of truth: passing through three sets of international airport security on our way to Laos. As a rule, I would let my 23-year-old son go through screening first. My foil. He wasn’t carrying, but he was flagged for additional pat-downs every single time. What is it about a li’l hottie that begs getting felt up? Don’t let anyone fool you... race, age, status, and general economic profiling is a key to who gets extra attention, so don’t ignore this factor. My role as a concerned mother was a nice counter-balance to my son’s young confidence. They could see we were traveling together. Once TSA had cleared the most likely in our group, the entire family was easily painted with the same safe brush. I’ve done this so many times, the thrill is nearly forgotten. And the thought of discovery doesn’t disappear when you land at your destination. But I made it through all three international airports: LA, Taipei, Hanoi. ‟Woohoo!!ˮ with one caution: never celebrate, even the very slightest, until you are 100% removed from scrutiny. Stepping out into the bright morning sun of Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, we arrived, ready to vacation.

So my son and I, sitting poolside on a fine afternoon in Laos under idyllic circumstances, split a 25mg at the Belmond Luang Prabang. A 1% experience made 100% better.

As we check out of our hotel after two full weeks of non-stop fun, ready to brace for the long journey home, I strike up a little casual conversation with the hotel manager. I’m telling him of my affinity for bud and conveying my curiosity around issues of legality and public tolerance. Smiling, he recounts a story of his college days in America. The story complete, he adds with emphasis and eye contact, ‟You know, it’s punishable by death in Laos.ˮ

Note: This story is for entertainment purposes only!