We enter Canada: June 23, 2005
In the end, the immigration procedure was at the very lower limit of the
range of hassle I had anticipated. The immigration officers did not
kiss us on both cheeks, shout "Welcome home, future Canadians," or sing a
chorus of "O Canada!" (It would have been premature, in any case.
Perhaps they do that at citizenship ceremonies.) But they were cordial,
calm, and easy to please. Over all, the procedure was about as formal
and confrontational as purchasing a gym membership -- You don't qualify for
this deal, how about this other one? Sorry it's taking so long, we've just
had a rush of customers. (There were two RV-loads of Israelis whose
passports were about to expire, requiring some personal attention from the
immigration officer.) There was none of the atmosphere of suspicion
that hangs so thick over US Customs and Immigration. In fact, of all the
papers we brought with us, the only ones they even looked at were the passports,
the letters about the job offers from Queen's, the HRDC letter (which they
said I actually didn't need, because of NAFTA -- the people at Queen's have
a different interpretation), and Chaya's birth certificate. The list
of items we had with us were cursorily perused, because I handed it to the
official who was asking us what we might have to declare, but it was clearly
more than she wanted to know. The biggest surprise was on the issue
of common law marriage. I had expected a discussion that started with
a presumption of marriage, then we would explain that we are not married,
and would then be asked for the form, and some documentation. Instead,
she asked, "Are you married? Common law?" and didn't ask for any proof.
Whereas we ordinarily speak German at home -- except Chaya, who typically
insists on speaking mainly English -- Julia felt it would make a bad impression
on the immigration officials for us to be speaking a foreign language between
us, so we spoke English. Chaya was in no mood to change routines.
"We don't sprech Englisch. Wir sprechen German." She was also
upset that the woman took her passport away, and asked quite boldly for its
return.
Chaya has been challenged by the new circumstances. In particular,
for the past couple of months she has been telling everyone she meets, apropos
of nothing, "I'm going to Canada. There's snow there." I've been
trying to explain to her that it makes no sense to tell people that she
is going to Canada when she is already in Canada. She feels a bit
cheated by the absence of snow, but if you try to explain seasons to a native
Californian two-year-old, you may as well teach quantum mechanics.