I had a nice time taking a day trip to Canada to see my kids. It’s kind of a long drive, but not all that bad by West Coast standards. My folks live in San Francisco, and they often drive up here to Seattle, so I don’t think I have much to complain about in that regard. However, I would really appreciate one of those fast, European-style trains that could make the trip in an hour and a half or so.
It’s been a while since I’ve been to British Columbia, but one of the things I remember about the place from my youth still applies: it is very British. However, it isn’t British in a crass, fatass manner, but rather in a more natural, healthy style. I’m not sure what Canadian men’s take on this is, but British Columbian women – despite being very Anglo – are not half bad. I’m sure many readers are aware of the SWPL acronym — “Stuff White People Like.” BC residents are SWPL without affecting it. That’s just what they are. I found this kind of endearing, despite my tribulations at the border (more on that later).
Although the climate in Vancouver is almost identical to that of Seattle, there were palpable differences between the cities. First, Canada is very white. Not to say that there aren’t minorities, but it isn’t the same. There are lots of Chinese, Hindus and other minorities in the Vancouver area. All over, in fact. But the working class is overwhelmingly white Canadian. This difference was obvious to me despite the fact that Seattle is one of the whitest big cities in the US.
Another thing that struck me was that the Canadian men are affable and gentle. There is little evidence of the bravado and menacing that is common in the states. However, in my recent experience, the women can be fairly harsh.
This part of the world – the Pacific Northwest – is kind of unique. Americans aggressively grabbed the best land and squeezed the British long ago — Thomas Jefferson sent Lewis and Clark out here to stake a claim to the good land, and then William Seward sealed the deal by buying Alaska from the Russians seven decades later. One result of this is that BC’s agriculture is squeezed into a small area just north of the border. I’d forgotten how many farms there were in the Fraser River valley, but drove past many yesterday. In contrast, Washington state produces huge amounts of grain and fruits east of the mountains in its inland west, which is far more fertile and productive than east BC due to the soil-depleting effects of glaciers during the last ice age, which stopped advancing just south of the border. So, Vancouver is sort of an island in the wilderness, boxed in by mountains, the sea, and the United States. Despite the handicap, the Canadians have done very well.
The final contrast I’ll mention applies to the officials. I had to cross the border twice yesterday, so I had the opportunity to compare officials on both sides.
For some reason, the Canadian inspector in the border booth decided I needed extra attention, so sent me to be checked out. I was assigned a couple of female agents, one of whom was in her twenties and another, must have been her superior, who was a broad, thick woman of about 50 with a bleached blonde crew cut and wire-framed spectacles. The latter was almost a caricature of butch. So, the two started grilling me, upon which yet another young female joined in, and then they went to search my car. I felt confident at first, but then it turned out that I had not inspected my car very thoroughly and had left a half-empty box of .45 ACP in the trunk from the last time I took target practice. This prompted more intensive searching, more harsh, rapid-fire questions, etc. Eventually, they let me go (ammunition is apparently not contraband), and even seemed a little contrite, but it was not a particularly pleasant experience.
One thing I sensed from the search was that the young women involved were making a big effort to be tough, but were perhaps in over their heads. As for the butch one, she seemed entirely self-assured, but it was a little surreal to have two young, fairly attractive women giving me the third degree. I’m sure they are adequate for most situations, but as in the case where Ahmed Ressam was caught by American inspectors at the same border crossing with a bomb in his trunk, I’m not sure they would have been ideal.
The American border was, as one might expect, militarized. There are thermal imaging devices, lots of cameras, and uniformed men with dogs going up and down the lines of cars. The beefy American guards were self-confident and relaxed, which gives one a calm feeling, as though you’d probably be fine if terrorists or criminals suddenly burst onto the scene (unlikely, but it definitely could happen). When I came to the booth, the guard asked me only two questions: “Where are you from?” and “What were you doing up here?” I told him I was from Seattle and visiting my kids, and he just said “see ya,” casually waving me through. It was nice to be home.
