Oh--Almost Forgot

On the way home from Paris, flying to Seattle via Detroit, Mme Metro and I met a Japanese student. She first drew my admiration for her ability to out-sleep hibernating bears. She nodded off on the ground at the Motor City airport, then stirred twice on the five-hour flight before landing in Seattle--asleep.

Turned out she was planning on waiting for a bus to bring her home, not an hour's drive from our house. Rather than strand her in the Sea-Tac airport, we decided we'd give her a lift. It was about two hours to the border, but Mme Metro and I had had a twenty-seven hour day by the time we got there, so perhaps I wasn't as concerned as I should have been about the border paperwork required for a Japanese girl on a working student visa. Or perhaps maybe not.

On a tangent: Throughout our trip, the guardians of US soil have been steely-eyed, iron-jawed, heavily armed bullies. No humour, no smile, and no sense that they're performing a public service; just official harrassment, day in, day out. For example: On the way down, the Man on the Line demanded my passport, despite the fact that Canadian citizens are not required to show a passport for entry into the US. When I inquired mildly whether it was required he said: "Well you'll need it to go to France, wont'cha?"

So nice to see they're making sure I've got it . . .

I note with happy exemption here the lady in the Detroit booth, fronted by a friendly sign reading in seven languages "Hold BOTH fingertips of your INDEX fingers against the pads. Look DIRECTLY into the camera" (a key feature of one of the respectful and tolerant policies of "Keeping America Open For Business" or whatever the slogan of the department of Fatherland Insanity is). Unlike any of her companions, she grinned broadly, wished Mme M. & I the best in our marriage, and waved me through after simply checking my passport. I'll never like their supercillious, sneering, bullying manner. But at least they're on the watch. At the Detroit airport I saw numerous men more darkly-complexioned than I, and a number of women in chador steered out of the main line to the "Extra-harrassment" line. But at least some sort of effort is being made.

Which brings me back to the Canadian border. I was bit nervous, carrying a fully-documented (or maybe not) Japanese stranger in the back seat. I needn't have been. The guy in the booth was a clean-cut aryan-looking bugger, with one of his steel-toed work boots propped on the counter between us. He was having a conversation with a friend who stood in the doorway. I proffered the passports and permits.

"How long y'been gone?" he asked diffidently, making no move for the different-coloured passports.
"Uh--Us," (I motion to myself and the Mme) "about two weeks, her," (motion into backseat at Sumi) "about three."
"Anything-to-declare?"
"No." He still hadn't looked at any of the paperwork.
"Okay," he said "drive on."

I drove through, looking for another point where we would be challenged, our passports read electronically, possibly the car searched. I was still wondering if I'd taken the wrong road--were they chasing me?--when we popped out onto the highway homeward.

"What the hell was that?" I asked my travelling companions "Are they working to rule or something?"
But answer came there none.

One thing is certain, if this is the sort of work they're doing, then the last thing I want is for them to have guns. Besides, if they're just going to let anyone at all through, when is it ever going to be an issue?