Island in the Sun

Hear ye, hear ye! Nancy and Steff are now WWOOFers!

On the 18th of May, following our stay in White Rock, BC, we left for Tsawwassen (the "s" is silent.* Don't ask us, we haven't mastered the pronunciation of any Salish place names yet! We now forgive our friends from overseas for mispronouncing "Whangaparaoa".) 

*Correction, we have been re-informed by Claire that it is a common misconception that the "s" is silent. In fact in the original Salish pronunciation the "t" is silent. Our pronunciation impulse was correct this time!

Here we are, straddling the border!

The sign behind Nancy reads as follows: "WARNING! If you are entering the United States without presenting yourself to an Immigration Officer, YOU MAY BE ARRESTED AND PROSECUTED for violating US Immigration and Customs Laws."

Steff surfs the border.

 Here we are on the Tsawwassen-Nanaimo, Vancouver Island ferry.

Nancy freezes out on the deck.

We were treated to a dramatic light show...

...during the 5am sunrise. Note Steff's morning face.

The woods of Gabriola Island, BC. And the windows of the BC Ferry.

We stayed for 10 days with Claire and Jan (and their two poodles, Gemma and Simon) and Claire's 88-year-old mother, Jackie (an excellent roommate). Here are some of our adventures as WWOOFers at Praxis Permaculture!

View from the cottage we shared with Jackie overlooking the property (and Willie).

A great deal of the property is managed forest, and Claire was happy to give us a tour of the types of trees, including cedars, yews, Douglas-firs, balsam pines, and Arbutus (nature's naturist, shedding its bark to reveal the beautiful reddish brown wood underneath).

We spent our first few days planting trees, mulching trails, and shoveling poo, in between treks through the woods with Claire and the dogs. On our third or fourth day, we were invited to help at a boat-turning. A neighbour was building a Wharram catamaran in his backyard and needed help flipping the first hull. We showed up, along with everyone else on Gabriola:

Waiting for the crowd to assemble.

All lined up and ready to go!

Nancy and Jackie surveying the scene

We became good friends with Jackie. She regaled us with tales of her solo backpacking adventures (which she was sad to have given up at the age of 85) and of her time as a radar operator for the British RAF in WWII. Here she is, beating us all (the dogs included) up a steep hike to Sandwell Beach:

Our discoveries at Sandwell:

Purple starfish

Roasted starfish

An ex-crab

Some interesting metallic stuff that washed in with the last storm

A garter snake!

The beach itself (and some traveling bums)

This is Gemma. She was a tremendously lovable goofball.

In her designated seat in the truck

This is Simon, Gemma's more dignified older brother:

 More of our explorations outside of working hours:

First Nations totem poles are, as we understand it, traditionally carved from red cedar with ornate human and animal forms. These forms represent the ancestry of family or individuals.

Another day, another beach!

We discovered one day that inside one of Claire's compost piles was a nest of garter snakes. After some deliberation and coercion, we decided to pick them up.

"Hurry up, take the photooooooo!"

Steff was brave and handled the snake with her bare hands. This proved to be a bad idea, because it secreted something nasty onto Steff's fingers. After this photo was taken, Steff dropped the snake, and ran, gagging, into the house.

On one of our last days, we constructed a massive burnpile. The little pyromaniac inside Steff rejoiced.

Fire in the morning

Fire in the evening, fire at suppertime...Bonfires and singalongs--does it get any better?

A disgusting great honker of a slug!

Our last day at Claire and Jan's was our most physically demanding by far. We were forced to put long-unused and reluctant muscles into action as we felled (small) trees, lugged wood all over the show, and split trunks by hand. A lot of these trunks were from a black willow that had fallen into a muddy bog. Steff gave Gemma a run for her money in overall muddiness at the end of the day.

This is what "stacking functions" are, right, Steff? No? I'll get it one day...*

*From stackingfunctions.org: "Stacking Functions is a basic permaculture concept defined as obtaining many yields from a single element in a system."

Steff  trudging through the bog with some tree trunk. As you do.

We bid our farewells to Claire and Jan, and came away with fond memories. We were very grateful to them for their consistent hospitality, and for introducing us to and integrating us into the community of Gabriola Island.

We spent our night in between farms at a small campsite in Descanso Bay.

Sunset at Descanso

Rock formations 

A day of descanso at Descanso Bay, and back to work the following day...

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.

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.