Americans, be warned: because Trump built his wall on the wrong border,1 I am in your country for a few days.
I’m in Maine to take in some of the popular ski resorts: Sunday River yesterday, and Sugarloaf today. It looked like yesterday’s ski trip would literally be washed away - coming after some agonizing customer service calls with my cell phone company to figure out why roaming data wouldn’t work, and my hotel’s hot water heater breaking down, the heavy rain made me wonder if I should just cut my losses and go home early - I persevered and found Sunday River operating as usual.
And what an experience it was. No disrespect to the humble hills in Nova Scotia, but I soon realized I wasn’t at Ski Wentworth anymore:
Sunday River set a high bar, and today we’ll see if Sugarloaf can clear it. As I write this, conditions look just about perfect.
As usual when I come to the United States, the locals I’ve dealt with have all been very nice, but they’re sadly ignorant about their neighboring country to the North. One guy on the chair lift yesterday insisted that there’s a province of Canada called - get this - “Prince Edward Island.”
Driving to Sunday River took me through the backwoods of Maine, and while the scenery was nice, I found myself visually assaulted by many reminders of a dark spectre that haunted the 2010s in America - nay, the world. Signs, flags and bumper stickers that reminded me of a period in American history whose mental scars haven’t healed, and which I fear could rise to torment us again because of a cultish fanatical following that refuses to leave us in peace.
In addition to all that New England Patriots stuff, I also saw some Trump flags.
As a Canadian in the United States for more than 48 hours, I am also presented with my country’s version of The Price is Right: buying enough stuff to get me as close as possible to the $800.00 limit for purchases I can bring home tax-free, without going over.
With the Canadian dollar mired at around US$0.74, I’m concentrating mainly on things that are unavailable or hard to find back home. The bargains are, as usual, alcohol, gasoline, and generally things that a bad for you. Plus over-the-counter drugs, which are ridiculously inexpensive on this side of the border. (For prescription drugs it’s the opposite, hence the lineups of Americans going to Shoppers Drug Mart for insulin and Canadians flocking to Dollar General for Ny- and DayQuil.)
I’ve also noticed how much your cell phone plans cost, and now I’m thinking about organizing my own version of a “freedom convoy” to Ottawa in protest at how badly we’re getting gouged.2 Now that’s a protest that would get 90% of Canadians on side. (The remaining 10% work for Bell and Rogers.)
Even with our dollar not worth much these days, cross-border shopping in Maine is still a booming business. I saw plenty of New Brunswick license plates at shops near the border. But it might be an even bigger business in Kazakhstan, where entrepreneurs have been selling car parts and electronics to sanctions-starved Russians:
With the Russians reviving long-dormant Soviet-era brands, I expect that trade to continue. Consumers will risk their iPhones being remotely shut down if the alternative is whatever the Lada equivalent of a cell phone might be.
See you next week. Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone.
Actually, I hear you Americans were ready to start putting up a wall on the Canadian border, only to find we were already building it.
From what I’ve read, Americans in turn are paying much more for cell phone service than their counterparts in Europe and Latin America. In fact, some people recommend travelers to the US order a Mexican prepaid SIM card which allows for calling within the United States.
Americans ignorant about their neighboring country to the north? Oh, come on now. Surely you jest. Can't be more than a handful of 'em, including the ones that a shopkeeper who my wife and I were familiar with in Mackinaw City, Michigan, told us about on one of our regular trips there a few years ago.
Her convenience store was located on a handy corner near I-75 close to the last exit before the Mackinac Bridge carried the interstate across the Straits from Michigan's Lower Peninsula into its Upper Peninsula. Seems folks headed north regularly stopped in with questions regarding whether or not they should exchange their money before they crossed over the bridge looming just outside her door into *Canada*, or what time did the bridge *swing over to the island* (Mackinac Island) and what time did it swing back to Canada?
Of course, more than a few were quite aware that when they crossed the Big Mac they would still be on American soil, asking where the best place was to buy *real Wisconsin cheese* on the other side.