Crossing into the US

Since I just crossed the Canada/US border today, I thought that a post about the actual border crossing as I encountered it might be pertinent.

The border crossing itself is located between Thunder Bay and Grand Marais right near Pigeon River. Pigeon River used to be a portage route and later trading post for the first voyageurs in the area before they went a little farther North East to where Fort William was founded on the Kaministiqua river. Now Pigeon River is an abandoned conservation area where the remnants of a camp ground facility are slowly falling apart over time. It's a lovely place to go hiking, scenic views from the hill and a waterfall to boot, and I am forever tempted to swim across (which, of course, would be an illegal crossing). Not this time, though. We had a destination to get to. And a border to cross.

Passports at the ready, my mother, father and myself drove to the check point where all kinds of technological apparatuses are aimed at the vehicle, including a camera which flashed as we pulled up to the window. Names, passports, reasons for entering the United States, and the relationships between each other were all handed over. Because my father is a Belgian, he was forced to park the car and go into the small building to be finger printed. Since this trip was my idea, I went with him.

It was surprising how very oppressive the space was when we entered. Photos of the president alongside a bald eagle flying against the stripes and stars were on the wall. Warnings and threats of what is done to smugglers or illegal weapon carriers are everywhere. About seven officers all geared up with bullet proof vests, army boots and guns sat around watching as one officer questioned my father and I about the reasons for the trip while he filled out paperwork and took fingerprints and a retinal scan of my father's eyes. To go to Duluth. Overnight.

What was surprising to me (since I was merely the onlooker for this process- having had the option of not coming into the building at all) was the number of questions directed to me personally. "Why is it important for you to go to Arizona for your thesis?" because it's a creative thesis, I'd like to see a desert, and I've got a meeting with a graduate coordinator at the Arizona State University "Who is at the Arizona State University that you're meeting with?" The School of Theatre and Film graduate coordinator "Why can't you do this in Southern Ontario?" Because it is a specialized area of interest, and there are certain texts I can't access from Canada "Do you have copies of your correspondence with ASU?" No "Why is this trip necessary?" I'm checking out the university down there, doing some research and having a holiday with my Mum "You're doing your Master's in what?" English Literature "Why do you have to go to ASU?" Because it's a specialized program. "What school do you go to?" I'm doing my MA at the University of Guelph "Why were you in Thunder Bay?" My parent's live here, and I'm visiting right now "Why didn't you fly from Toronto?" We were already in Thunder Bay and the flights from Duluth were more practical "Who is this woman and why doesn't she have your last name?" That's my mother's passport and she just preferred her own

Thank god he didn't interrogate me on what my thesis was about. Can you imagine having to explain to a border guard who is already being overly inquisitive (and not in a pleasantly curious kind of way) why borderland theory, identity performance and illegal immigration is even remotely important? Or why several texts on my reading list are banned in the state I'm travelling to?

This is going to be an interesting trip. I was going to take photos while I was at the border, but considering I was already getting so much attention, I thought it would be prudent to avoid drawing any more attention to myself.

Stay tuned: tomorrow I have to get through airport security.