When the Going Gets Tough...

18/5/11

It took us approximately four days (with a two-day stay in Graham, WA to visit Steff's Aunt Joyce--thanks for the accommodation and the tour of Olympia, Joyce!) to get to the Canadian border. 

The scenic route from Portland to Tacoma

This lake appears to have been a forest?

Mount Rainier!

Joyce's house and big-boned hound

Seattle!

It took us five days to actually get into Canada. Here's why:

We got up on the morning of the thirteenth in Skagit County, WA. We were unspeakably excited: today we would touch foreign ground, and begin a major component in our trip. Today signaled a new beginning for us--new experiences, new cultures, new people, new skills. We drove giddily to the border at Blaine, WA, getting increasingly excited with each sign we passed that announced the upcoming US-Canadian border.

Time crawled, and so did Willie; we sat, positively trembling in anticipation in line at the crossing.

Our turn arrived, slowly, but surely. 

"What is your business in Canada?"

We told the man, visiting friends and family, camping, traveling, volunteering on organic farms for a short period in between.

We were handed a yellow slip and told to go inside the customs building to await our fate. We parked and entered the great looming structure, confused but still pleasantly excited.

Shepherded to a counter on the left, we found ourselves confronting a harsh-faced man with deep seams along his cheeks, forcing his lips into a tight, stern scowl. 

"You're working?"

"No, volunteering. Are you familiar with the WWOOF programme?"

"Yes. Do you have a work permit?"

"No…We don't require one." We looked at each other, obviously puzzled.

"Do you have paperwork for me that proves you don't?"

"No, sorry."

"Please have a seat." He directed us towards a row of hard plastic chairs at the other end of the room.

We sat for ten or so minutes, anticipation quickly giving way to apprehension.

"Werman and Howie."

We rose. We were timid and unsure of what to expect next. 

"Work in Canada is defined as anything which takes opportunities from Canadian citizens, or for which the individual receives renumeration, monetary or otherwise," he told us. "You cannot enter Canada without a work permit."

We looked at each other. Having researched the matter extensively prior to our arrival in Canada, we knew him to be wrong. 

"I think you'll find that WWOOFers are exempt," we informed him tentatively.

"Can you prove it?"

"We don't have the documentation with us, but--"

"Then my decision stands. You won't be entering Canada today."

"We could show you online, on the immigration websi--"

"Internet access is for immigration officers only."

Desperation began to set in.

'WWOOFing is not stealing jobs from Canadians--"

"It is."

"It isn't, we promise! What Canadian would volunteer five hours of hard physical labour for ten days, expecting nothing in exchange but food, a bed, and a cultural experience?"

"You're taking an opportunity from a Canadian citizen."

Sigh.

"So is there anything we can do to remedy the situation?"

He looked at us suspiciously. "Not today. Come back with a work visa." Staunch and unyielding. 

"Can we get one in the US?" we asked.

"No."

Incredulously. "So we'd have to return to New Zealand to get a visa?!"

"Yes."

This left us momentarily dumbfounded. We tried another tactic.

"We can't cross the border today. How do we improve our chances next time we attempt entry?"

Now he glared. "I have decided that you won't enter today" (yes, we know), "so this failed attempt will show up in the system next time you attempt entry. It is highly unlikely that you will be allowed to enter Canada in the future, without a work visa."

We've been working for two years in order to save up and travel around Canada, we told him. We bought a van! We researched this thoroughly before we tried to cross the border, we reasoned, and WWOOFing is legal. We can't re-enter the States for longer than another two months on Nancy's visa, we concluded.

"I don't care. I have made up my mind for today."

He escorted us out of the building, and the country.

Shortly thereafter, we found ourselves in Blaine, WA, at a complete loss. 

"What the hell do we do now?"

A library, once again, came to the rescue. Steff printed off all the documentation we thought we might require, and then some. We called WWOOF, our farm hosts, and everyone else who might be of some help to us, then found a marina to camp out in. We went to sleep, exhausted and spectacularly crushed. 

On the fourteenth , we rose early. Today, we told ourselves, we would cross into Canada. On the way, we stopped for coffee, where an older couple told us of a much smaller crossing further east of Blaine. "It's more relaxed there," they assured us, with some degree of sympathy.

They were right. There was no wait, and when we approached the officer booth, we were met with a wide grin. 

"From Auckland, eh? I love Auckland! Been back several times! I have friends in Browns Bay!"

Then she checked her computer. "What happened yesterday, ladies?" she enquired, her tone gently reprimanding.

We explained and were once again sent inside to be grilled, by a third border official. This time, however, our new officer friend followed us indoors to give us a rundown of acitivities we might enjoy in Vancouver. Encouraging, definitely.

Forty minutes and a lot of paperwork later, we were hightailing it (north, this time) away from the border. We had arrived in Canada!

Oh, Canada!

We were beginning to feel the same way.

...Then our car broke down. Our trusty, beloved Willie spluttered and lurched her way into residential White Rock, BC. Panicking, we used Tow #1 (of a possible 7. Thanks, AAA) to get to a VW mechanic. 

Not to worry, it was just a blown air hose. And all was well in the world. 

Until Willie broke down again. After Tow #2, and a lot of clamps, silicone, and cable ties (that air hose just wanted to be free!), we were on the road again. Our mechanic took pity on us poor, impoverished travelers; all up, we were set back $50. Thanks, Kevin's Auto Clinic!

Here we are, celebrating our arrival in Canada:

At THE White Rock for which the town is named, with our good friend Alex

Looking back at Blaine with glee!

Another odd thing happened following our arrival in Canada: we went feral. Our accommodation plans fell through somewhat and we were unexpectedly made quasi-homeless. Suddenly, we were showering in campsite sinks and walking to the supermarket every morning to use the facilities without a second thought. Steff climbed onto the roof, much to the alarm of our tame and housed neighbours, to fix a slow, seeping leak. 

Duct tape saves the day, again.

We snuck into an adjacent construction site port-a-loo while the builders went out to lunch. We became scruffy and probably fairly fragrant. Now, dear readers, we are true vagabonds!

As our stay in White Rock draws to a close, we prepare ourselves for our journey to Gabriola Island and our farming experience. 

Customs and breakdowns and squalor, oh my! What will our intrepid journeywomen encounter next? Tune in next time!

A parting thought: do any of you readers have any border-crossing horror stories? Share them with us; post a comment at the bottom of the entry!

The Quest Quotient by Nancy Howie and Steff Werman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at thequestquotient2011.blogspot.com.