Hello all. I’m new in this forum and this is my first post. I live in São Paulo, Brazil, where I write history textbooks for a living, and where tobacco importation is all but forbidden and pipes cost a whole lot of cash to get.
But man, I sure like this thing! A buddy of mine introduced me to the hobby about two years ago, and despite the hard time to pack, constant relights and the oddness of my first pipe (a brandless “made in Thailand” meerschaum I bought in Holland), I got used to the whole adventure. It’s now one of my favorite spare times.
The point of my post, however – despite, of course, introducing myself to this exquisite gentleman community – is to talk about a general feeling I have about pipe smoking: a subtle melancholy. I sincerely wonder if it’s only me.
As opposed from other trends amongst youth nowadays, like grinding your special blend of coffee at home, or brewing your own craft beer in the backyard, pipe smoking seems like a fading art. While those are thriving from underground towards a glorious future, pipe smoking appears to be on the verge of disappearance every time (Dunhill about to close blending, FDA about to ruin blending in America forever, so on)… In my country, which isn’t the land of the free and home of the brave, intrusive state regulation abounds just as much as corruption does. Therefore, in a traditional tobacco shop around here, you’ll find only those excessively mild national blends plus Captain Black, and that’s it, nothing more. Zero. Nada. Dunhill EMP costs around US$ 51,00 – No kidding, and it wasn’t always this way.
As a result, every nice thing I discover about pipes or tobacco seem not to be recently invented or created, but to have merely survived destruction, inherited to us from older generations by mere chance or remarkable willpower (I recently came across G.L. Pease however, an inspiring exception to this rule).To a young newcomer like me, it’s much like arriving at the end of the party, when people are turning the chairs on top of tables, the music is done playing, and the floor is a mess.
In other words: melancholic.
Do you share this feeling as well? Or am I just heavy influenced by the arrogant heavy state anti-tabagism in the country I live in, plus my historian habits?
P.S. – Please excuse my mistakes in my English.
But man, I sure like this thing! A buddy of mine introduced me to the hobby about two years ago, and despite the hard time to pack, constant relights and the oddness of my first pipe (a brandless “made in Thailand” meerschaum I bought in Holland), I got used to the whole adventure. It’s now one of my favorite spare times.
The point of my post, however – despite, of course, introducing myself to this exquisite gentleman community – is to talk about a general feeling I have about pipe smoking: a subtle melancholy. I sincerely wonder if it’s only me.
As opposed from other trends amongst youth nowadays, like grinding your special blend of coffee at home, or brewing your own craft beer in the backyard, pipe smoking seems like a fading art. While those are thriving from underground towards a glorious future, pipe smoking appears to be on the verge of disappearance every time (Dunhill about to close blending, FDA about to ruin blending in America forever, so on)… In my country, which isn’t the land of the free and home of the brave, intrusive state regulation abounds just as much as corruption does. Therefore, in a traditional tobacco shop around here, you’ll find only those excessively mild national blends plus Captain Black, and that’s it, nothing more. Zero. Nada. Dunhill EMP costs around US$ 51,00 – No kidding, and it wasn’t always this way.
As a result, every nice thing I discover about pipes or tobacco seem not to be recently invented or created, but to have merely survived destruction, inherited to us from older generations by mere chance or remarkable willpower (I recently came across G.L. Pease however, an inspiring exception to this rule).To a young newcomer like me, it’s much like arriving at the end of the party, when people are turning the chairs on top of tables, the music is done playing, and the floor is a mess.
In other words: melancholic.
Do you share this feeling as well? Or am I just heavy influenced by the arrogant heavy state anti-tabagism in the country I live in, plus my historian habits?
P.S. – Please excuse my mistakes in my English.
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