On the road to Canada to chase a delusion
It started so simply. I saw pictures of Nova Scotia Canada on the internet. I said something stupid like “Shut the front door!” Because the scenery looked so breathtaking that I could not believe it was real.
I don’t mean breathtaking scenery like waterfalls and multi-million dollar homes on white sands beaches.
I mean breathtaking like a place where people actually live that isn’t a year-round tourist trap and yet you look outside and there you are, it’s gorgeous. Real, yet visually appealing in an unreal way.
I wanted to be there so badly that I literally drove to Nova Scotia from Santa Monica, California.
I’d always wanted to take a road trip along the Route 66 corridor and see the USA from my Chevrolet. Well, a Ford actually, but close enough.
I was sure the trip would help me learn about America the beautiful and disabuse me of the delusion that Nova Scotia was some sort of land of down-home waterfront perfection for regular folks.
By mid-July 2026, I was zooming heedlessly through Michigan on my way to the Port Huron crossing to Ontario, Canada.
I did not receive an auspicious welcome.
The last person I saw in the USA was a perky young woman who took a modest amount of money from me to make the crossing. She was as chipper as a chipmunk. Maybe more chipper than that. Chipper as a cheerleader. Chipper as a cheerleading chipmunk and about as cute.
And then… the dreaded Canadian customs man. He behaved as though he spent virtually every moment of his working life muttering this phrase to himself: “Oh GOD, not another human!”
Canadian customs man was not pleased to see me but not so displeased as to try to prevent my entry. He didn’t have to because if the wildfire smoke didn’t deter me, almost nothing would. This is what the glorious Canadian sky looked like mid-afternoon:
You may remember the Canadian wildfires from July that gave Toronto the worst air quality in the world for a few days (those being the days I was in the area). In other words, climate change made visible.
Trump, in his Trumpian way, took the opportunity to start an argument with Canada that both sides lost. He’s a genius that way.
Canadian Stereotypes
At any rate, any stereotypes of Canadians as polite, friendly, and welcoming was being overruled by Canadians being grumpy and smoke-drenched. The Canadians resolutely refused to mention being covered in ash and coped by being close-mouthed. Can’t blame them.
They were not proving to be particularly friendly drivers either. (Side note: the driving rule in Toronto seemed to be ‘if there is any possibility you can cut off another driver, do so immediately.” Since that seemed to be the rule, I started following it. C’est la vie.)
To be honest, Canada seemed more American than America. As I drove through 7 patriotic American states, I saw a total of maybe 7 American flags. By the time I’d driven an hour in Canada, I had seen something like 343 Canadian flags.
The USA is supposed to be a land of immigrants. So many immigrants that it’s a national emergency. So many immigrants that red states like Oklahoma vote overwhelmingly to deport them in droves.
I did not see much diversity in Oklahoma by the way. I am not going to claim there aren’t any immigrants in Oklahoma, because there are some, but truthfully there are hardly any. If Oklahomans are complaining about immigrants, they are just wussies.
Meanwhile, Canada, which does not advertise itself as an immigrant nation, had so much obvious immediate diversity that I might as well have been in California. Truly. There are proportionally 3 times as many immigrants in Canada as in Oklahoma. And they have not declared a national emergency.
I’m not saying every Canadian loves the fact that one of out every five people in Canada came there from somewhere else. But Canada has not thus far freaked the fuck out and elected a madman. So score one for Canada on that front.
Fast Food!
Canada was also more fast-foody than the USA, and I did not think it was possible to be more fast-foody than America. But it was, and in the most delicious way. To wit:
That’s shawarma. It’s actually a kind of Mexican shawarma.
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It’s just a raw fact that there should be shawarma everywhere in the US. There is not enough shawarma in America. There should be every type of shawarma it is possible to create, and it should be readily available anywhere in the US. But it isn’t. There is no shawarma capital of America.
There is a shawarma capital of Canada. Which, again, made me think Canada is more American than America, with more fattening food.
I’m not saying Canada is actually fatter than the US (US still No. 1 in that category!), I’m just saying they’re trying harder.
Strip Club
To further puncture Canadian stereotypes, there was a strip club outside my motel. I did not see any strip clubs next to my motel rooms in the US. I guess you could say Canadians cater to the business traveler’s every need? A different kind of politeness than I was expecting.
So shawarma, strip clubs, and smoky air. Welcome to Canada.
Not perfect by any means. But who needs perfection when you’ve got shawarma?
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