During Tuesday dinner, Julie raises an unusual issue: once my sister and I enter Canada, can we get back? My atlas said that a driver's license was all I needed to get into Mexico or Canada, and I had no problems walking into and out of Tijuana during a San Diego visit back in 2004. Unfortunately, it never occurred to me that a U.S. citizen with a driver's license would face trouble re-entering his birth country. I don't know where my birth certificate is, and the last time I needed a passport I was roughly this size.
So there's a concern that we will face serious problems if we carry no proof of our citizenship. Maybe not as bad as Bridget Jones stuck in a Thai prison, but hey, the thought crossed my mind. Fortunately, the resources at our hotel gave us some assurances. The desk clerk informed us that he only endures a delay when he comes back into the States without his passport, and a Google search of border rules explained that passports, while recommended, were not required until December 31, 2006.
My sister suggests that, for future travel, we get current passports.
"But I don't want to be on the grid," I reply.
We reach the Canadian border late Wednesday morning, where the checkpoint guard politely asks us to drive forward to the customs office. No mounties in sight, but we decide to comply. We get barraged by questions expected (Do you know anyone in Canada? Where are you staying?) and weird (Where did you go to school?). When I showed the customs agent our stapled, chronological itinerary, she seemed duly impressed. We were free to enter.
We stopped at the tourist information center for, um, tourist information. Good call. We saved money by prepaying for tickets to the Capilano Suspension Bridge and Vancouver Aquarium, picking up a guidebook with dining coupons, and finding a place that sells same-day stage tickets at half-price.
I bring up consumer economics because there's a common misconception about Canada. While it is true that the U.S. dollar is of greater value than the Canadian dollar (20 of one exchanges to 24 of the other), it does not follow that visiting Canada comes cheap. Maybe in past years the spending was easy, but no more.
Basically, visiting British Columbia is an exercise in conversion math. The initial thrill of seeing a gas station list its price as 98.9 cents was eventually tempered by the knowledge that such a price is Canadian currency per litre, not U.S. dollars per gallon. So we decided not to get gas.
"The speed maximum is 80 kilometres per hour. It should take us about 30 minutes to get to downtown Vancouver."
"But did you calculate that in Canadian minutes?"
We arrive in Vancouver. At the ticket office we bought discount passes to The Imprentice, a reality show parody by the Vancouver TheatreSports League. Then we checked into the Listel Vancouver hotel, the priciest lodging of our trip. (I made the choice because it was ideally located on the Robson Street shopping district, had secure elevators, was considered the arty hotel, and is 100-percent smoke-free.)
After some local window shopping and dinner at Sala Thai -- again, too upscale for my taste, and the peanut sauce was bland -- we headed to Granville Island for the show.
The Imprentice stars an ill-coiffed Donald Trump type who will choose one of six performers as his apprentice. He divides them into two teams and gives each team some odd improv assignment, and the audience is prompted for suggestions. It's all extremely cheesy and low-budget, but works very well.
No comments:
Post a Comment