I initially ordered these to experience what the internet had told me would be a nightmarish trip to the toilette that I could tell my grandchildren around the campfire in what would then be a post-apocalyptic dystopia. However, what I soon realized is that Haribo had removed the original product that I had heard so much about. I was very disappointed when after eating my fill of these decent tasting gummy snacks I had no such volcanic bowel tremors.Needless to say, I wanted answers! I did some research and found out where the snacks were manufactured. I traveled to the headquarters in Germany but found that none of their personnel could answer questions. All I heard was that "you'll need to talk to the recipe owners" and all but had the door shut in my face. I was about to give up hope and head home when a factory worker waved me over to behind an alley dumpster. She said she couldn't say much, but she put a small slip of paper in my hand and went back to work. After getting to my hotel room, I unfolded a scribbled note with GPS coordinates that I would find out was somewhere in Asia and one word "Cīnī pitājī".After a long journey I found myself in a hole in the wall bar in the back streets of Nepal wondering why I was there. I was pouring myself over the scribbled note and looking at maps of the city trying to figure out where the “recipe owner’s” office might be. I was half way through my Dal bhat when I noticed an old man staring at me while pulling his long white beard. I tried my best Nepali for “can I help you” but he responded in broken English saying, “Cīnī pitājī” under his breath and then stood up and walked out. I frantically threw some rupee on the counter for my meal and ran into the busy street after him.After following him to the edge of the city, he stopped and pointed to a trail head that lead into a dense forest. I was trying to read the name of the trail on a sign and turned to ask him what it said, but he had vanished as like a ghost. I had a shiver run up my spine, but collected myself and marched on anyways. It was still early in the day so I figured I could find something at the end of this trail by day break. I was wrong. I hiked that entire day and half way into the next before reaching the foot of a mountain.What met me at the end of this trail was a set of precarious stair leading up into the mountain range. At the foot was a stone monkey that looked like it was in horrific pain. I once again had to swallow my fear and began climbing. It took me until the mid-afternoon to reach the top and I was dead tired. But what I saw made me forget all my trouble. There was an entire community of what seemed to be monks going from place to place doing daily chores. I stopped the nearest one and showed him the scribbled note. He simply pointed to a window in a tower reaching above the rest of the settlement. I wasn’t going to stop then, so I kept walking. Through the town I went, passing emotionless faces of the residents there. Reaching the building that the tower protruded from I walked right in. No reception of any kind, I kept walking in. But as I walked further in and up, I passed many small rooms with people lying on cots and moaning in pain, and the further I walked the more I was overwhelmed by the horrible smell of death. I figured this must be the sick ward of a sort of hospital.I finally reached the uppermost room with the window I had seen before. In it was a very old man sitting cross legged and reading a scroll to a small boy that was taking notes at his side. I knelt before him and showed him the note. He immediately said something to the boy and had him leave the room. He then stared me I the eye for what seemed like an eternity before speaking. He said, in surprisingly clear English, “You seek answers, and you have come a long way”. I nodded. “I wish to know why the recipe has changed. Why has the effect gone away?” I replied. He smiled, “My friend, the recipe has changed, but the effect is not gone.” I looked at him with great confusion. I was beginning to get angry, when the boy returned with two grown monks carrying a stretcher. The old man then leaned forward to say “It only has a delayed fuse” and he broke out into diabolical laughter.It all came to me like an awesome wave. All the people I passed in those rooms weren’t hospital patients. They were traveler just like me, who were seeking the answer. The recipe was new, but the only change was that it now took several months to take effect. My stomach began to make horrible gurgling noises that very minute. Within minutes I had passed out from the pain. I awoke two days later in a Nepalese hospital. The doctors told me they had to throw out the pants I was wearing, and it was several days before I could walk again.I’m writing this to you all now as I’ve made it back to an internet café. But I am a broken man now. And I only want to tell you my story, and send this warning.