I thought about driving across Canada on the southern border. First, because I had hoped the weather might be cooler. Most people I've talked to have said the states are a lot hotter. I've been watching the temperatures and I don't think so.
Then I got to Alberta and after a few miles of glorious rock mountains (see photo above), the landscape starts looking like Northern Montana or central North Dakota. Flat prairie fields of yellow, dried-up grass or agriculture. Boring. I thought I might as well do the USA route to the east with better access to food and Walmart boondocking. So I headed south from Lethbridge along Highway 4. I was practically the only one on this highway all the way to the border. I think other drivers knew better than to cross at this location.
I've crossed the border nine times so far. Never had a problem, never a delay, and never an inspection. I only encountered one American border agent acting like a bad-attitude asshole. The border at Coutts was huge. Most of the borders I've crossed have been small with a building that is about the size of a large shed.
This Montana asshole border agent was bathed in cologne. He started by asking the same questions: Where are you from? Where are you going? Where did you come from? Normally the next set of questions are along the lines of, "Do you have any alcohol or drugs? Do you have any weapons with you?" Instead he asked, "What do you have in your van?" It threw me. Does he want a list of every item in my van?? So I looked at him quizzically and asked, "Do you want me to list everything?" At that moment his brain seemed to ignite, a light came on in his eyes, and he said, "We do random inspections and you've been selected." Did he not like an answer I gave? Did he not like my tie-dye t-shirt? "Drive to the left, park, and someone will come out and do the inspection." I was kind of excited. I just saw this as an opportunity to write another blog post!
So I drive to the left. Not sure where to park so I just park. And wait. Every border I've been to has signs that read, "DO NOT EXIT YOUR VEHICLE." So I wait. And wait. And wait as instructed. I tend to be one of those people who has too much respect for authority and will follow directions in detail.
Finally I got sick of waiting so I left the van and went into the building. This was a risk. If I wasn't supposed to, would they arrest me? The woman at a desk behind the counter asks if I am the person who is the inspection victim. (No, she didn't say it that way.) Duh. I tried really hard to be quiet, friendly and civil, but I said loudly, "I had no idea what I was supposed to do! He said turn left, park, and someone will come out."
She says very assertively, "He told you to come in." Now I did not want to argue with a border agent who is about to inspect my vehicle. I've heard they can have you empty all it's contents and make your life a living hell. However, I don't appreciate the insinuation that I am old, hard of hearing, or have no memory. Don't gaslight me, bitch!
I tell her I'm glad she's doing the inspection and not the asshole. (I didn't call him that, but I was thinking it.) She asks, "Why?" as if she's caught me in a confession. I say, "Because he's bathed in cologne, I'm deathly allergic to it, and I don't want him near my van." She was fine with that and perhaps took it as a warning.
I continue to wait at the counter...I have no idea what the fuck she was doing for so long. After about ten minutes, she comes to the counter with a form and asks me questions: Where are you from? Do you live on a farm? Where did you come from? Did you spend time on a farm? Did you go hiking? Was the ground dry or wet? Do you have firewood? Seeds? Antlers? (WTF!?) Do you have food? This is in addition the normal questions: do you have weapons, drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, money...I have food. What kind of food? It seems food is worse than weapons or drugs. She reads a list of foods and I respond with either yay or nay. I'm so glad I didn't buy an avocado! I almost did! But I did buy chicken and a red pepper. Food I just bought when I was in Idaho because you can't really get good food in Canada.
Time for the inspection. She follows me out to the van. She's very friendly, cheerful, and conversational as am I. I ask her the proper procedure: does she want to enter through the front door, back or side? She says it doesn't matter so I go through the side since it has the biggest door. She tells me she needs to see the chicken package to ascertain if it's a problematic company or production location. I say, "But it's not in the package. I took the pieces out of the package to freeze them in single serving portions because I am single."
Oh no. Bad move. She explains about the bird flu epidemic in the states and says some companies that do business in Canada are boycotted in American even if they are American companies! So weird. She will have to confiscate it and the red pepper. I tell her the chicken is organic and expensive. I asked if she can eat them because I hate for them to go to waste. She says no. I bet they do eat them. I bet they keep all kinds of goodies for themselves. I only had half of a red pepper.
I lifted the frozen hamburgers and asked if beef was OK. It was. She also said it was really good I confessed and gave them up because if I hadn't and they searched and found them, I'd be facing a hefty fine. I just said, "Had I known I couldn't bring chicken back over the border, I would have never bought it in the first place!"
I thanked her, we discussed the wildfires on Highway 2, and then she said I'm good to go. I think it's weird she didn't search herself and left it to me. It makes me wonder if my disclosure on cologne allergies kept her from getting in the van or making too much of a stink. (Pun intended.) She did have a bit of a smell on her, but it was windy and she stayed upwind.
The next two hours as I drove through Montana I was a dangerous driver, distracted from ruminating all the would a, could a, should a scenarios, and extremely pissed off. I wonder if she would have let me flip a U-y and return to Canada to stay until I ate my chicken? Why didn't I ask if I could make dinner in their parking lot, cook the chicken, and eat it right there? I had the receipt. Maybe it had the company on it and if I showed her she'd let me keep it? None of these options were presented. What a waste of money!
My anti-Trump friend thinks the USA is a pit of sleaze and double dealings. I just hate they took my chicken.
Just over the British Columbia-Alberta border, before Alberta got boring |