Leaving U.S.A. for Whitehorse, there were only two cars ahead to enter British Columbia, Canada before crossing over into the Yukon.
I didn’t understand the delay. I saw the first driver leave his car, go into the office, come out with more discussion going on before he finally drove into Canada. Next, the driver ahead of me followed the same procedure and I was wondering what was going on until he opened the back of his van and pulled out a rifle while his child sat centimetres away.
Oh yeah, that’s when I got it. Canada wanted to make sure USAr tourists took back their guns into the U.S. when they left Canada. When it was my turn, the customs officer took one look at me, my passport, my number plate and I was history.
I had to smile when I crossed back into Canada because there were the stones piled one on top of the other – a habit Canadians have as if trying to build miniature inuksuks. (sign posts built of stone by the Inuit so they could find their way home in the featureless winter Arctic).