Travel Thursday: At the border

From what I can tell, not every border crossing is this nice.

The first time I ever crossed the U.S.-Canadian border was my senior year of college. It wasn't much of a trip. A few of us were visiting one of my ex-roomate's friends in Buffalo, and we decided to go to Niagara Falls, because that's what people do.

There was only one complicating factor. Our group was three Americans ... and a Canadian. She had lived in the United States since she was a child, but was never naturalized, so it got the border guard's attention to hear "America ... America ... America ... Canada." I'm not sure what the guard thought we might have been up to, but when she pointed at us and blurted out, "I'm with those guys!" he let us pass.

In the several times I've gone to Canada (or the one time I've gone to England) since then, one thing that hasn't changed is that I get very nervous at the border or Customs, even though I'm no threat to anybody and don't do anything illegal. Although there was the one time I was fortunate someone read her guidebook ...

When my then-girlfriend (now wife) and I drove from where I lived outside Albany, NY, up to Montreal, I nearly got caught daydreaming at the border, thinking that since she was driving, the agent would ask her all the "Where are you from?" "How long are you staying?" "What are you here for?" questions.

However, he also wanted to know what I was up to, and I really wasn't paying attention. Lucky for me, he realized I was more flustered than dangerous, and an international incident was averted.

But while we were in Montreal, I had the genius idea to buy some Cuban cigars for my brother, who liked to enjoy a stogie once in a while. Obviously, I know we have a trade embargo with Cuba, but Canada doesn't, so why not? (Did I mention that this idea was pure genius, if by "pure genius," you mean "really stupid"?)

Lucky for me, the guidebook-reader of the two of us said it's illegal to even bring things in from a third country, which put a much-deserved kibosh on that idea. Otherwise, I might still be in a prison somewhere.

A few years back, when we went to Vancouver, we stopped at the duty-free shop on our way back to Seattle and headed over to the Peace Arch, which is in the picture above.  As we walked over, we were very careful to stay exactly on the path to the road without cutting any corners, and we made very sure to use the crosswalk. Jaywalking may be cause for a small fine elsewhere, but we didn't really want to take the chance of what it would lead to at a border crossing.

Coming back from Quebec City into northern Maine, since we were staying in Augusta for the night before heading back to our home outside Boston, the border crossing is little more than a booth. Whoever works there must be really bored.

But the thing I found fascinating was that once we crossed the border, the next town was roughly 10 miles away, and there was nothing but woods on either side of the road. It struck me that this particular stretch of road, about as close to the middle of nowhere as you can find, existed for only one reason ... to get people to and from Canada.

It literally had no other purpose.