Crossing the Canadian border by car this past June was different from when I’d last done so in October 2019. Back then, I drove along the West Coast to cross at the Peace Arch, one of the busiest checkpoints along the U.S./Canadian border. Multiple lines backed up and intertwined as vehicles approached the rows of customs booths. Judging from the facial expressions of those waiting, most of us weren’t surprised by the crowd. We were just a little exasperated that our inevitable crossing into Canada was taking so long.
This time I crossed the border in New York. WAZE diverted me from the busy Champlain crossing on I-87, leading me along back roads to enter Lacolle, Quebec from Overton Corners, NY. There were no snaking lines here. The only other car in sight pulled away from the customs booth as I stopped and awaited my turn to be ushered forward.
The customs officer was a Québécois, jovial and enviably bilingual. He started with a joke about how eager I’d been to roll my car forward to his booth. He breezed through a few standard questions about where I was going and how long I planned to stay. Then he veered into questions I’d never heard at a border crossing before: how long had my husband and I been married? Which one of us was the patient one (one of us had to be for a marriage to last so long)? There were a few obligatory questions about weapons and dangerous substances, but they were tossed out as if the answers didn’t really matter, sort of like when my neighborhood wine store asks me (an obvious product of the last century) if I have I.D. This official was more interested in whether we had sufficient medical insurance in place to cover this trip …
…which is when it hit me. The difference between this border crossing and my last went beyond the fact that this was not a popular crossing point. Our customs officer didn’t believe there was a chance in the world that we were dangerous. Why? Because in his perception, we were old. Cute, basically harmless old people just sort of meandering across the border for a little holiday. He was more concerned about senility and medical coverage than he was about whether or not we had an arsenal stashed in our trunk.
I wanted to jump up and down and yell, “Oh, yeah? I could STILL be dangerous if I wanted!” But that seemed like a bad move.
Besides, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
In 2019, I still dyed my hair dark, resting in the illusion that it somehow made me more vital. I’d reached the Peace Arch after driving across the U.S. from the East Coast to Seattle and was about to drive back through Canada. My perception of my own capability was riding high. In fact, I had every intention of taking another massive road trip the following year.
But a lot happened in the years following that 2019 border crossing. Loss, births, weddings …life-altering events come at you no matter where you are, and back then, we absorbed each change against the frightening backdrop of a global pandemic. Why shouldn’t someone in 2026 perceive me differently from my six-and-a-half-years-younger self? I WAS different.
At least that perception thing cuts both ways. The way others perceive us can be startling, but my own shifting thoughts and understanding are what allow me to view each trip through a different lens. I see things I missed before, discover details that once seemed irrelevant.
I wasn’t quite ready to leave the customs checkpoint. The encounter felt like a fun welcome to Quebec. Besides, I’m convinced that with a little more time and conversation, the customs officer might have figured out that like most people, I don’t fit the stereotype he conjured by merely noting the birthdate on my passport.
That’s the real gift of travel, after all. It keeps giving us chances to look beyond generalizations, both in the people we meet and in ourselves.
I switched my odometer from miles to kilometers and pulled away from the booth. Sure, people might perceive me differently than they did six years ago, but I see the world differently now, too. And, honestly? Trying to stay the exact same person forever is highly overrated.
What if I reassure you that he might indeed have felt you were dangerous, but was well practiced in covertly hiding his suspicions? No? Not buying it, I expect…
As you know, I just took a big international trip that was an echo and tribute to a trip we took 30 years ago as newlyweds. We were absolutely “cute” back then! This time we seemed mostly invisible and boring…here comes another middle aged American couple to gawk at our ruins.
Though the border guard where we landed in Europe (Munich) was classically flinty and suspicious. I suspect he was probably just tired of tourists and working in a grey windowless corner of the airport and hemmed in by a plexiglass box.