Between Prague and Paris

It's been nearly four months since my trip to Prague. The envelope with all the usual mementos -- a leaflet from the hotel, an entrance ticket to a museum, a postcard -- is still on my desk, along with my handwritten travel journal. The photos are on my hard disk -- at least the ones I took with my iPhone; the ones taken with a proper camera had been downloaded to my hubby's hard drive, which went kaput as hard drives sometimes do. Much good all that does me, or my readers.

But lo and behold: lucky me is going abroad again. Without having properly documented the previous trip. Tut-tut. So before I pack my bags and fly off, I'd better get a couple of things off my chest:

First of all, I wanted to share with you the image that has stayed with me from Prague. The one that's stuck in my mind and bothers me. It is not a pretty picture. It's not the beautiful old-world buildings, the amazing clock tower, the dizzying selection of handbags, nor the quirky modern statues nor winsome bands of musicians.

Clock Tower, Prague

Bag shop, Prague

Musicians on Charles Bridge, Prague

It was the beggars.

I don't have a single photo, but I can't get them out of my head. I didn't take pictures because I felt it was bad form; it would be demeaning, dehumanizing.

The beggars don't just stand or sit around. They crouch in the most abject posture I've ever seen. They crouch on their heels and bend forward, their forehead resting on the pavement, their arms stretched in front of them, holding a cup, tin, or their hat. 

If you go to Google Images and type in "Prague beggars" you'll see exactly what I mean. Because plenty of tourists have found the sight worth photographing. Far fewer bothered to throw a few coins into the beggars' cup or hat, as far as I could see.

Every big city has its beggars and homeless people. But the Prague beggars are still there, as if begging me to remember them.

On to two happier thoughts:

- My Prague posts focused, inter alia, on my need for medical cannabis. I'm happy to report that I'm off cannabis. It didn't agree with me. Interfered with my concentration and my work. And I'm doing quite well without it.

- And now, here I am preparing for my France trip, the first in -- gosh, how long has it been? Eighteen years or so. As usual, I'm agonizing as to what to pack. Weather in my home town in Israel is still hot and humid and sticky. Flip-flops and flimsy-sleeveless-dress weather. Whereas in Paris and the Loire valley it's cool (in Israeli terms...). At least I'm not worrying about which books to take with: I've got my Kindle with scores of books on it :-)

Pity I didn't leave myself enough time to brush up on my high-school French. Am trying to make up for it last-minute with the aid of Duolingo.

Au revoir, mes amis!

Back from Prague with my Medical Cannabis

Hi guys & dolls!
[Gosh, this sounds so politically incorrect!]

Anticlimax, just as I'd hoped in my previous post.

Leaving Ben Gurion Airport was fine. The two little cannabis bottles were nestled in my necessaire; I didn't tell anyone about them, and checking in was the usual mild hassle. (Oops -- just made a big mistake: looked at images of necessaires, which immediately made my old one look boring...)

As airports go, Prague Airport was quite satisfactory: modern, well-signposted in a language I understand, with plenty of duty-free shops and inviting eateries. But I had eyes only for Customs. With heart aflutter, I dragged my case over to the red zone, where three officials were chatting idly. They stopped their chat and one of them asked me, as if making sure I knew where I'd stumbled into: "Do you have something to declare?" "Yes," I said, "I have these two tiny bottles of medical cannabis oil... and a license in Czech..." He asked to see the items, I opened my case and took out the items. He looked at the oily bottles curiously, glanced at the paperwork, then explained in Czech to the other officials what it was about; I caught the word "marijuana" in Czech. I think they were more amused than impressed. Official #1 said it was okay, and waved me off.

The "all clear" has sounded. Sigh of relief. Now I could start enjoying my visit! Providing, of course, that my digestive tract behaved itself and my pains lay low, with or without medication.

I don't have to tell you that Prague is beautiful. Everyone else has already said so, and available online photos confirm it. All that was left for me to do was to walk, walk, walk and see for myself. More about that in my next post. Meanwhile, here's just one thing-of-beauty that appealed to me:

statue at Troja Chateau

As for traveling elsewhere in the world with medical cannabis, my 2 cents' worth at this point are:
- If you don't absolutely have to, don't. It's not worth the headache (and the cost).
- Find out at the relevant embassy exactly, but exactly, what the official rules are, and how strictly they are applied.
Good luck, bon voyage, and please share your experiences and conclusions online, for the benefit of other travelers. Thank you.

Traveling abroad with medical cannabis

Got your attention, didn't I?
Well, I sure hope so. Because it's a problem, to which there seems to be no single, unequivocally-right answer.

In Israel at least, there has been considerable progress with making medical cannabis legally available to those who need it. It still involves red tape, of course; it takes time; and you have to be lucky in your choice of physician. Moreover, quite often you don't have a choice, as one colleague complained: In her long struggle with devastating migraines, she finally got up the courage to ask her doctor about medical cannabis, having heard that it can help. But Doc insisted that it doesn't help against migraines, and then went on to say that he doesn't recommend medical cannabis because "he doesn't believe in drugs". As if the strong medications Colleague was taking were not drugs, and ones with some nasty side effects at that.

Unlike Colleague above, my pain doctor brightly suggested I try cannabis, totally of her own volition and out of the blue, it seemed to me. Her logic was simple -- to try to gradually wean me off more powerful and harmful drugs (the painkillers I was taking).  And so forms were filled in, time passed, I got my license from the appropriate department of the Ministry of Health, was referred to the appropriate authorized distributor, went for initial instruction, bought the stuff and started experimenting with it. If you want the whole story, drop me a line and I'll write a more detailed post.

But this post is about flying abroad with the darn stuff!

I assumed I'd need to prove I had a license. Luckily, I'm a translator; if push came to shove, I could translate the document into English and have the translation notarized. But I assumed someone before me had gone to the trouble, and there must be an English version of the document somewhere "out there".  Well, I assumed wrongly.

I began asking around. Someone mentioned having a friend who uses medical cannabis, and whose business took her abroad often. The Traveling Friend was consulted. In her experience, nobody in the States cares if you have an Israeli license to use medical cannabis in Israel; trying to take it into the U.S. with you is a no-no.

That was a disappointment. On to the next: another friend-of-a-friend is consulted. He, too, decided it's safer not to take the cannabis with him when going abroad. He tries to keep his business trips as short as possible, and takes with him an extra dose of his other trusted pain medication. Bother!

The staff at Tikun Olam, the distribution center I go to once a month, is very helpful, patient and attentive. I explained to the guy behind the counter that I already have tickets to Prague, and was wondering whether I could take my cannabis with me. The guy said he had no idea, and recommended that I ask at the Czech Embassy. How convenient of my pain doctor, cannabis supplier, and the Czech Embassy to live within such easy walking distance from my grandsons, whom I try to visit at least once a week!
So off I go to the Czech Embassy in Tel Aviv, where a very personable young man named Jan, a "consular referent", looks at me wide-eyed: No, he's never heard of such a request! This might be a good place to point out, that I am not using "grass", or "weed"; in other words, I do not smoke the stuff. Medicinal (and recreational) cannabis are available in a variety of forms, as you can see on the Tikun Olam website. My physician thought that the right form for me is drops: essence of cannabis diluted in olive oil. And I assure you it tastes like hell. I do not advise dressing your salad with it.  I showed Jan the little bottles, [they're tiny!] gave him my license to photocopy and certify, gave him my business card, and he promised to find out and call me.

Which he did. It is okay to bring into the Czech Republic up to 5gr of cannabis. Over that, I had better have my license translated into Czech, and make sure to pass through the red channel at Customs in Prague airport and declare my possession. My bottles contain a maximum of 10 gr each, but since I'll be taking started bottles with me, both together might come to 10gr.
Jan recommended a Hebrew-to-Czech translator and notary -- David Hron. I never got to meet him because he was away in Prague... But his lovely administrative assistant, Diana, took care of everything.

Now in possession of an official-looking document in Czech, a language I don't know a single word in (something I intend to rectify on this trip), I thought I could wipe the Tel Aviv sweat off my brow and proceed to the usual pre-trip dithering: Which tops/trousers to pack, which book to read on the flight, and so on. But I had to stop by at the distribution center to pick up (i.e., buy) my monthly bottles of cannabis oil. So I thought I'd update the guy (must ask his name) who advised me in the first place. He was genuinely interested in the information -- it might help future travelers. He did warn me, however, that I may run into trouble at my port of exit -- Ben Gurion Airport! The thought had never crossed my mind. He said I should phone the airport and find out; I was annoyed that he didn't know what the rules are at Israel's major international airport. I see how many people come to the distribution center. Surely  at least some of them have occasion to travel abroad. What do they do??? Whom do they ask? Who has all the answers?

Bottom line: I'm not calling Ben Gurion Airport. Come Sunday morning, I am taking my precious bottles with me, as well as the Hebrew and the Czech documents and spare Targin in case my cannabis is confiscated. If you don't hear from me soon after that, it may mean I'm spending my vacation in an Israeli or Czech prison. In any case, I promise to tell you what happened. (Sure hope it'll be an anticlimax!)