Canada

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Monday was an experience at the very least. We rolled into Canada in the afternoon, and the first customs lady greeted us with a “Bonjour.” It was the last friendly thing we heard from her. She asked us a million questions about why we were headed to Winnipeg all the way from Georgia, and why we had so much stuff if we were only staying 2 nights. We explained about traveling cross country and Rob’s visa needing to be reactivated, and at that she had us pull up our car and go inside to deal with customs lady #2.

Inside, we waited a while and then we were questioned first as a group and then individually. Dorothy the customs agent wanted to know how the three of us knew each other and for how long. Then, she asked how I was able to take time off from school and work, how much money was in my bank account, and what my intentions were in Canada. I guess, just to travel about.

We again waited again, and then were told the car would be searched. Awesome. Although we’ve gotten rid of a lot, the car was still jam packed. I actually felt bad for the dudes who had to inspect it. After about 5 minutes, we were told we could go outside, where the third set of customs agents had removed only 3 of our small bags. They already looked exasperated. Again, they questioned why we were in Canada and why we had so much stuff before just letting us drive on. I believe that the sheer amount of belongings they would have had to rummage through was above their pay grade. Easy enough for us.

As we drove closer to Winnipeg, I was so far unimpressed with the scenery. It looked exactly as it did in North Dakota- just flat farmland. Plus, the GPS doesn’t work in Canada and we had no 3G on our phones, so we were at the mercy of an actual paper map. First world problems.

We finally found our campsite and then decided to drive into downtown Winnipeg to walk around and find something to eat. As aptly described by a Canadian camp counselor, Winnipeg is in fact Canada’s asshole. The downtown pretty much lame (filled with thousands of buses and construction ‘round every corner), and to cross any street, we had to walk underground in these circle tunnel contraptions. It was starting to make sense why the customs agents questioned us so hard about our intentions. Why would three youngish humans want to go into that city?

The real experience began, however, when we found a little hole in the wall Caribbean joint on a seemingly abandoned street. We were served by a married couple, Muhammad Ali and his wife, who had a striking resemblance to Jaba the Hut. The restaurant was just one counter, and they chatted us up as they cooked our food in front of us. They had a random mix of jerk chicken, chick peas, and curry. It smelled delicious, but tasted only OK. Plus, most of the food was frozen pre-cooking. Rob ate goat, which I believe later came back to bite him in the ass. While we were in there, a lawyer came in, and we were abandoned by the couple while they had a meeting with him at the other end of the counter about some sort of flood in a building they owned. Since we could only understand about half of what they said anyway (they moved to the states from Ghana about 20 years ago, but their accents were still thick as hell), we only caught some of the story. Still, it was odd to have a legal dispute in front of customers.

After we finished eating, they didn’t seem to recognize that we wanted to leave (we were the only ones in there plus one other local who seemingly knew the couple from somewhere else). They just chatted us up about our travels, how filling their food was, and how they were going to make us wash dishes if we didn’t clean our plates. Fat chance. Our jerk chicken, goat, and shrimp was served inside these huge (I mean huge, like 8 x 8 inches and mayhaps 2 inches tall) pancakes with salad on the side. It was more food than I’ve been served in a long time. I think Muhammad’s wife had one or two too many in her day. We finally just stood up to leave and after more chit-chat at the register, we were on our way back to the car.

We had to circle underground a few times to figure out how to get back to the parking garage, where Rob’s credit card got stuck in the machine on the way out. When the parking attendant came to help us, he screamed some obscenities at the machine, but then let us park for free. Pretty sweet.

That night, we just huddled in the tent because P.S. Canada is cold. The next day was just cold and rainy, so we didn’t do anything much besides read, homework, and play Sporcle in the tent. We were kind of just counting down until we could go back to America- “where everything makes sense” according to Abigail.

We woke up super early to pack up the car (which Rob had meticulously cleaned the day before) and headed toward the border. We were a little nervous about Rob getting back into the country and his visa, but after only 15 minutes and some super friendly North Dakotan customs agents, we were back in America. And God Bless it.

Hm… they forgot to stamp Rob’s passport, so hopefully everything’s all good when he tries to fly home. Once in the states, we ate cold, leftover hamburger patties for lunch, and drove and drove until we made it to Montana. Coming up next, Yellowstone.

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