Once upon a bender ago, I went to Bolivia on a coca quest after seeing Evo Morales at the United Nations. President Morales would later tell me in person that the coca plant was sacred to his people and they didn't give one whiff about it in the powdered form. Cocaine he said was American's problem and without our demand there would be no market and therefore no production. Whatever. Though it's no secret how coca leaves are turned into cocaine, the mysteries of distribution are a bit more elusive.
I'd been wondering how the cartels were transporting this "devil's dandruff" to the US ever since the CIA shuttered their Mena, Arkansas cocaine importation and supply hub. Cuz unlike oil, there is no drug shortage in sight. You can rest assured that powdered baggies are still lining the watch key pockets of hipsters from sea to shining sea and in these trying economic times the bathroom stall installation biz is probably a good investment opportunity if you don't want to risk becoming a dealer straight up.
But I digress. Coke is good for daydreaming and when you have money and minions you can make some wacky shit happen. So taking a page straight from Jules Verne, the hustlers started building submarines in the jungles of Colombia and launching them from the Pacific coastline where muddy rivers loop into the ocean. It's a smugglers' paradise.
The Captain Nemo of Coke, Enrique Portocarrero built a cocaine armada of 20 smuggling semi-submersibles. These ocean going jalopies are the pinnacle of rural sci-fi design. So take heart in knowing that your hard earned drug money is not merely wasted on a cheap buzz but also going to a good cause: the support of 3rd World industrial arts. And people hate the NEA!
My Bolivian Marching Powder adventure can be sniffed out here