Gramps meets the US border patrol

Gramps and I have just returned from a little road trip. We did the Niagara Falls/Palmyra loop, a triangle that many Clevelanders have recommended to me. While explaining to Gramps the popularity of the triangle, he asked "what's the third point on the triangle?" He wasn't getting it. "Cleveland," I responded. He paused. "Oh."

Niagara was pretty amazing, I'll give you that. And even though I was super, super sick, I smiled non-stop from my spot at the very front of the Maid of the Mist boat. And for those few moments, I didn't even mind that I was the only one who had managed to become soaking wet from head to foot, because being right in the middle of that horseshoe of falls was something I'll not soon forget. It wasn't until afterward (when I was walking around the streets of Canada in wet clothes, thinking that a hot bath and sweats looked infinitely more appealing than any of the attractions on 'the street of fun at the falls') that I really started to fear for my well being. Although I suppose at that point, pneumonia would have only added to the excitement.

Of course, the most noteworthy experience when it comes to Canada is always the crossing of the border. I had explained to Gramps that they always make you feel like you're a criminal, but even he was surprised by how intensely we were questioned when entering Canada. The fact that we were the only ones out of the dozens of cars we had seen go through who were asked to pop the trunk was a little annoying, but it was nothing compared to what happened when we tried to get back into the US.

I actually thought we were doing better, when suddenly we were asked to surrender our passports and our vehicle and go inside the border patrol office. When I went back outside to give them my keys, I was about shot down and told firmly to go back inside. I'm not sure what tactic this is (something about the definition of insanity comes to mind), but they sent worker after worker in to ask us the same questions. Each of them wanted to know what we were bringing in, what was the nature of our relationship, where we both lived and when we would be back home, where we both worked, etc. They didn't like us very much. Not sure if it was the old guy and young girl thing, the fact that it was Gramps' rental we were driving ("Don't you have your own car?" they asked me), and the fact that we couldn't tell them for sure where we were staying. In our defense, we had no idea how long the falls take, and so didn't know whether we'd stay all day or already be in NY by nightfall. Apparently spontaneity is not allowed when your trip involves a border.

What really got us into trouble I think is that Gramps is chatty. He always has to be saying something, especially if that something seems like it would be helpful. When they asked what we were bringing into the country, for example, his response was a hurried and shifty, "We don't have anything, we don't have anything." He was just trying to make it easy for them. As if they would hear that and think "OK, good. These people don't have anything. Next car please." But his effort to not be suspicious made us appear totally suspicious. Not to mention the man is always carrying way more cash than the average person. Particularly when on vacation. So his (very honest) response to the "how much money are you carrying" question probably didn't help our situation any either.

We were admitted back into NY after 30 minutes of interrogation, and enjoyed a wonderful remainder of the trip taking in all the historical sites in the Palmyra area. Pretty amazing. What's also amazing is the border experience kept popping back up in our conversation on the drive home. Gramps confessed he almost "got smart" with one of the lady workers who kept asking us what we were bringing in. Let's just be grateful he didn't. I can only imagine how that would have gone down. As it was, we rolled into town this afternoon with enough time to hit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, take a nice walk on the pier, and enjoy gourmet grilled cheese at a Cleveland original. One would expect nothing less from the third point on the triangle.

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