Thursday, September 21, 2006 Crossing to Canada

We left Bar Harbor this morning and continued heading up Route 1 towards Calais. The route is littered with tiny towns with more amazing houses. We assume these were bustling harbor towns at one time. They seem sleepy and most of the homes are for sale now. Beautiful old Victorian, Federalist, and Gothic style homes, some of which have been lovingly cared for, others of which are crumbling in upon themselves. Lunch in Machias at the Artist’s Café. I had a spectacular fresh crab salad with dill mayonnaise and potato leek soup, and Brett splurged on a crab and brie melt – very tasty!

Drove through the town of Perry, settled in 1758 and located at the 45th Parallel, half way between the equator and the North Pole. We crossed the border at 4:21pm in Calais (settled in 1604). I was very anxious about crossing the border due to our lack of vehicle registration and how packed our car is. The experience turned out to be anticlimactic though. The agent asked us the usual questions, where are you going? (To our response of “Oregon” he commented that we seemed to be taking the long way.) Where have you been? “Boston.” How many of there are you? We both turned our heads, looked at the packed suitcases and coolers filling the back of the car to make sure there was no one else with us, and then answered “just the two of us.” Do you have any alcohol or tobacco? This last question spurred a heated discussion between Brett and I about whether we still had a bottle of wine or not, to which the agent responded by rolling his eyes. Are you carrying any firearms? Both of us responded to this with equally emphatic head nodding, serious expressions, and loud “no’s.” He then asked us our license plate number, and when we replied that we didn’t have plates, but instead were traveling on a temporary trip permit, he nodded, made a comment that we purchased the car in Boston and are driving it home, to which we again emphatically nodded our heads again, “yes!” He then told us to “have a good time, eh!” and waved us through. WE’RE IN CANADA!!!! My palms are still sweating, another reminder that I would never make it as a criminal.

We continued to drive towards Fundy National Park. Thinking we might spend the night in St. John, we exited the freeway and started making hotel calls, only to discover that everything was full - several conventions going on as well as a big hockey match. Oh well, we hit the road again. Calling ahead to the Parkland Village Inn in Alma (just on the edge of Fundy), we were advised to stop for food before heading out into the woods, because "dinner would be over by the time we got to Alma." The inn keeper also warned us to watch out for moose as we headed through the woods on highway 114, commenting that "they've been calling them out."

We stopped for a quick bite at a little town that happened to be hosting some sort of religious convention. There were hundreds of cars parked along the roads, all of which had big wooden crosses hanging from their rear view mirrors and fish bumper stickers. Large families carried casseroles down the road as they made their way to the event. Needless to say, we drove quickly out of town.

The rest of the trip was made in the dark, anxiety ridden over hitting a moose. Fortunately, the only wild life we saw were some deer on the side of the freeway. Everything else was well hidden.