From Canada to America

Two days ago, on Halloween, I left Canada, and drove the Jamboree into the United States. I had spent exactly four months in Canada. I am not yet completely sure how long I'll spend in the US, but this next stage of my little journey will certainly take at least two or three months.

Crossing the border went something like this. I pulled up to a very short line of two cars in St. Stephen, New Brunswick / Calais, Maine. After nearly a 45 second wait, I was able to pull up to the booth and show my passport. I was expecting all sorts of questions, delays and searches. So when they questioned my travel plans, logged in my passport details, logged in my license plate, confirmed my citizenship status (Canadian), my residence status (Netherlands), and that I was, technically, still employed and not seeking to work in the US, I wasn't surprised when they then asked me to just pull up ahead, turn off the engine and could they please come on board to take a little look around?

Of course. A lot of smiles. They asked if I had any citrus fruit and, admitting that I still had a lemon rattling around in the fridge, I handed it over to Homeland Security. Three people came out to check out the Jamboree, I think more out of interest upon seeing that it really was just me, all by myself in here, with my bikes and my wall of local beer labels and my story about my year off, than any official reason. When I showed the lady in charge of food and substances the contents of my fridge and explained that I'd cooked all veggies and eaten all fruit, except for that incriminating lemon, before arriving at the border because I knew they wouldn't let me in with it, she took a casual glance, smiled and said “well done.”

The other lady didn't so much ask me questions, but engaged me in a pleasant conversation about where I worked, how many other teachers I knew in the US and Canada who had taught overseas, and what else I planned to do with my year off. She ended her part of our encounter with “I wish I could have a year off and travel around North America.”

All of this while the kindly gentleman (no I am not joking, he was in no way burly or surly or grumpy) who had my passport was processing it inside. He came back out, gave me my passport back, and wished me well on my trip.

This took all of ten minutes. And that was it, I pulled the Jamboree out of the parking space, waved a goodbye, and drove into Maine.

I drove for about three hours along the coast of Maine which in so many ways still resembled Atlantic Canada. What was different: less French (although this is still, technically, Acadia, so there is some); no CBC radio – radio 2 Drive is my most missed programme; Tim Hortons gave way to Robins Donuts; and the obvious pickle of working out how many miles an hour I am going and at what point around 30 degrees is closest to freezing. I've never been good with these American conversions.

I pulled into Bar Harbor, a highly recommended spot by several people along my journey so far, just before supper time. I stocked up on groceries and wine, and found a completely illegitimate parking spot for the Jamboree on the edge of town in the lot of a motel that looked very much to me to be closed for the season. I left a note for the motel owners on the windsheild of the Jamboree, just in case they came out and got upset at its imposing presence in the lot, claiming that I'd only stay the one night, I'd just pulled into town and so many campsites are, like in Canada, now closed here too, and that I'd offer to pay them if they thought that would be appropriate for the spot for the night.

As it turned out, the note lay fluttering in the wind under the wipers well into the next day, and nobody even looked towards me twice.

It was Halloween, and the kiddies and their parents were out in costume, collecting treats and apparently having a grand time. Halloween! Real Halloween! I love it! It also became very quickly apparent to me that several adult versions of Halloween were planned in the town's bars, and so I found myself, within hours of arriving in the States, caught up in a whirlwind town party, surrounded by the best of the creative and homemade costumes. The most memorable include a couple dressed as H1N1; a ladybug; a guy who I'd swear was famous because he was only wearing a wig and looked exactly like some actor's face that I remember and is stuck in my head but for whom, unfortunately, I can't put a name to even yet; Laverne and Shirley; an Irish Willy Wonka; and my favourite, Bob Ross.

Good thing nobody wanted me to move the Jamboree; the amount of beer I consummed with my new Bar Harbor friends would have made that quite illegal.

How convenient was it when I woke to discover the YMCA across the street from where I slept? Hello, Shower! And so that story goes on...

My last night in Canada was spent beautifully in a campsite right on the New Brunswick coast, so close to Maine that I could swim there if I wouldn't have had to drag the Jamboree through the water with me. I walked along the coast and reflected and felt Canada in all it has done for me over these past four months; indeed, over my lifetime. I left with mixed feelings; this trip on the road has brought me back to Canada and my Canadianness in a way that I kind of imagined it might before I began. I lingered as long as I could, and even took pleasure in the cold nights.

I love it. I love Canada.

And so for now, I will seek the sun in another great North American adventure: the drive down the I 95, the east coast of America. An adventure that, now that I've had a taste of here in Maine, including some gorgeous hiking and biking around Bar Harbor, I'm looking forward to even more.

Yes, I'll keep blogging it all. No need to stop reading now, Susan. :)

Peggy's Cove NS to Bar Harbor Maine