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Bora Bora, the best island in the world. What better place than this isolated island paradise to blaze and enjoy absolute Nirvana? You want to get away from the hustle and bustle and relax in a land of beauty, serenity, and really great weed. So where is one of the most beautiful getaways on the planet? Think Bora Bora. The best island in the world, according to U. News, is Bora Bora. This jewel in the crown of French Polynesia sits in the heart of the South Pacific are known as Oceania. Continentalists might not think of these tiny specks of land much, but they should. This world renowned romantic destination was once described by legendary sea captain James Cook as the ideal place to lay back and enjoy paradise. So said John Donne. France does not have legal cannabis. Therefore French Polynesia also maintains its illegality. The growth, possession, sale, distribution, or conspiracy to distribute cannabis are crimes punishable by some uncomfortably long jail terms. That being said, the climate is ideal for growing it, the locals love it, and the tourists are willing to pay handsomely to get blissed out in a tropical paradise. As far as Huge government agencies, you are pretty far out in the ocean to worry about militaristic raids. The currency exchange rate into local currency is almost ridiculous. The weed in Bora Bora is no joke. With the rising unemployment , there are many locals who take it upon themselves to grow in the hills. And what they grow in this hot, humid oasis is some premium herb. We are talking total fire. Where is your perfect smoking destination? Tell us on social media or in the comments below. Get Med Card. Learn Scarcely a spot on the universe affords a more luxurious prospect. No man is an island, entire of itself. Herb Recommended Products:. Featured Brands:. Legalization News

The Birdheye View: Love and Ganja in Bora Bora

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Each month, Birdheye explores a different avenue of ganja culture, taking us from Kingston to the South Pacific, as he seeks out the best strains, cannabis competitions and marijuana travel destinations, and updates us on the latest in marijuana reform and technology. This is his third column. It was the second half of our last spliff in luxurious exile. As my owl eyes gazed on Mount Otemanu, the Mountain of Birds, the slight ebb and flow of the Tahiti Blue massaged my mind, and I passed the joint delicately to my partner in travel and life. This was our encore session in the beyond-beautiful island of Bora Bora in French Polynesia. The massive pull had her eyelids sprinting to the top of her forehead. I had to grab my camera. Then the unspeakable happened! La Orana! I received the warmest of greetings as I exited my plane in Papeete. Vibrant folk music with ukuleles energized the arriving visitors, as a group of Tahitian women danced with waist movements like rattlesnakes on Redbull. As I entered the airport, the music faded. The feeling of being somewhere remote, and the casual demeanor of the locals, gave confirmation that I had a successful escape from the secular west. There was not much time in my layover to galavant, so I quickly found refuge in a discrete area housing a pile of cigarettes. Two Polynesian men walked over and, after a glance my way, began to smoke something that was not a cigarette. From there, a small plane filled with couples and an abundance of love flew us to the Pearl of the Pacific. Bora Bora is surrounded by a lagoon and barrier reef, a natural product of coral formations. You can stand at the edge of a reef with water at your ankles but, with one step, find yourself in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The five-star Four Seasons Hotel is at the top of that list. I was back on the ganja trail , in search of the best draw in Bora Bora. I could not have predicted the first obstacle to my mission. The hotel was located on a private islet, or motu , that only allowed staff and guests on property. Evidently, boat was the only means of travel here. Fortunately, the hotel offered a complimentary daily shuttle. We commenced our adventure with a delicious Polynesian breakfast and a Tahitian massage. Next, it was time to snorkel in 50 shades of blue. The variety of aquatic life found amidst the bountiful coral would make the set of Finding Nemo seem underpopulated. We left the safe lagoon, and headed towards the deep blue Pacific via speedboat. As our boat came to a halt, a few large shadows began circling the vessel. I started to pull on my vape pen like an asthmatic countering an asthma attack. Time to go in! It was time to face my fear. I swam amongst them in the Pacific wild on a stormy, wave-crashing day. The locals have an exceptional bond with sharks. Interestingly, this does not carry over to other Polynesian islands: The same sharks do attack. After my shark encounter, I got straight to the point: Where can I find marijuana? The tour guide smiled and replied: My neighbor. Bingo to bloodclaat — I had my first breakthrough. The ganja quest was on. I booked the shuttle for the following day, and traveled to Matira Beach, ranked the No. For the record, the most beautiful beaches in Bora Bora are completely owned and protected by local tribes. They do a great job of preserving their sacred land. As I arrived, I saw a few Polynesian hustlers sitting by themselves on the shore. It was too conspicuous. It may be remote territory, but they do have a police department. Safety first! I went to a restaurant instead. She made a favorable gesture, and I subtly stepped outside. The language barrier made communication difficult, but fortunately I had learned the code word. Locals do not call the herb ganja, marijuana, hemp, or cannabis. Inside a tiny shack, a youngster tried the tourist hustle, but thanks to my friendly tour guide, I knew what to say. Luckily, those are bigger than the ones in Jamaica — about 3 to 4 grams. He loaded a small joint, out of courtesy, and curiosity. This was the first time he had smoked with a Jamaican. Likewise, I was orientating myself to the world of the Polynesian Pakalolo. Apparently, my dreadlocks seemed to be a spectacle in this region. I approached casually. They had the demeanor of green merchant, so I knew they had more Pakalolo for sale. I respectfully declined, but they just smiled and gave me some for free. All I could say is, Maururu! Now, it was time to light up the bungalow. The Pakalolo was rich in terpines, with a surprisingly spicy taste similar to Jamaican sativa. A favorable resin count facilitated a tremendous lift of a heavenly sunset. My favorite leisure was canoeing in the lagoon to my No-Maddz album , with a massive spliff in my jaw corner. I stood about three miles out with a proper spliff at a floating bar and chased a few eagle rays. The fish were so plenty they swam right into my hands. I advised a few of the parrot fish and snapper I encountered not to try that if they ever swim to the Caribbean. They would surely get a steamed surprise! My stash dwindled faster than the Jamaican economy in the first year after general election. It was time to venture off the motu again. Instead, a private Jet Ski tour did the trick! I pushed that machine across the blue towards the green like it was my first time for both. Selassie I know, it was my favorite journey to obtain ganja in my life. Originated in Hawaii, Pakalolo is grown amongst coconut trees on the motu islets in a very hot and salty environment. Unlike Tahiti, which has a vast mountain region with springs, Bora Bora is mainly sand, coconut trees, coral and fish-filled lagoons. The island has a heavy roster of imports, including drinking water and fruits. Somehow, saltwater has to be a part of the growing process there. Growers in Polynesia have had an ongoing battle with the French government. There have been political talks about possible decriminalization in recent years. Yet, large fields and grows are frequently demolished by police in helicopter. On eve of our departure, we sailed to a motu of our own, for a fresh-catch French Polynesian feast. To conclude our evening, we had a few giant pakalolo joints in silence. Sadly, it was time to say Nana. Our Pacific voyage concluded with a private helicopter trip. There was love in the air, literally and figuratively. We flew over Bora Bora to neighboring Tupai, the heart-shaped island. With its undisturbed beauty, the view gave a tranquil healing. After a safe landing, it was a speedy escort back to the Bungalow. I began to ask myself some questions. Is the Caribbean island paradise fading, like the shores of Hellshire Beach? We continue to degrade our paradise, through corruption and violence, for capitalistic heights. Polynesia has taught me that, with enough fishes, a shark will swim in the arms of a man. Jamaica has a surplus of ganja — enough to constipate the greedy, and liberate the poor. Hopefully, the emerging green gold industry will shine a positive light that spreads throughout the region. Bora Bora is the most romantic place I have ever seen, but never imagined. I had to pinch myself a few times. I experienced an array of rainbows, dozens of wild dolphins and sunset sailing next to giant humpback whales, coconut milk baths and breakfast delivered by canoes, to name just a few heights. To conclude the bliss, I rolled a super joint. Ganja was a catalyst of love on this romantic exile, a well-needed ingredient in our euphoric and exotic freedom. I passed the joint. She took a hefty pull that brightened her Grand Canyon-like eyes, and revealed her infallible smile. Then, the unspeakable happened. The spliff slipped between her fingers, through a tiny crack, and into the water below. We were dumbfounded, but not heartbroken. I guess those fishes needed some. We laughed hysterically and resorted to the acme of euphoria for the last time. This will guarantee the adventure of a lifetime. So let us call it that, for the record. It was a damn good dream that I made up. Give thanks for life. Stay high, and stay fly — The Birdheye View.

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