Crossing the Rainbow Bridge

This Rainbow Bridge, however, is not the one leading to Asgard, rather I refer to the bridge over which you must cross to reach the American border at Niagara Falls.

On 1st May Isaac & I drove down, through what can only be described as England-style traffic, to the nearest border crossing to us in order for me to complete my 'landing' as an immigrant. The plan was to get to the border, ask to be 'turned back' so I could go straight back to the Canadian border, complete the paperwork and then spend the night at Niagara Falls to celebrate being newly Canadian. As we queued for the US border I began to get sweaty palms and butterflies and, upon handing over our passports, I explained to the guard that I was there to land. "Park over there, follow the crosswalk to that building take the elevator to the 2nd floor" he told us in a rather perfunctory fashion, and, not wishing to be shot or whatever it is the Americans do to people who do not obey in a timely fashion, we hurried along to do just that. Upon entering the building I realised I had not collected our passports back from the guard and checked this with one of the many other border guards hanging around the building, seemingly without purpose, and he confirmed that was all above board and correct. We took the elevator - sorry lift - to the 2nd floor - which is of course actually the 1st floor - to find ourselves stuffed in a room with around 150 other people, all of whom appeared to be unsure of what they were supposed to be doing there. No one official was available to ask, but a small sign informed us to 'take a seat and wait for our names to be called'. Due to the number of people both sitting and standing we were unable to take a seat but began waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Every so often an official would come to the door and say a name and a country of origin, and another person, couple or family would disappear with them, but the order in which this happened seemed to have no rhyme nor reason. Some people had clearly been waiting for much longer than us, then others who came in behind us were called in almost immediately. After a couple of hours we managed to secure seats and I got chatting to the couple sat next to us. She was English, married to a Canadian, and had had Permanent Residency for a year. They had decided to go over the border to do a spot of shopping and had been sat for over 3 hours waiting for reasons they knew not why (later on, Isaac pointed out that the fact that they were black might have been a factor, something that hadn't even occurred to me.) After 2.5 hours of waiting our names were called and we went in. The officer was brusque but efficient, and asked if I wanted to do this the 'easy way or the fast way'. I said fast please! He said if we paid $6 he'd admit us to the US and we could turn left and left again out of the border station to return immediately to Canada. The alternative was to refuse us entry, but this meant that next time I try to enter the States I'd have to explain WHY I was refused entry, and my many dealings with American customs in the past meant I knew this could only mean trouble. So $6 was paid, we collected our passports and entered America for approximately 30 seconds.

I had expected that it was the Canadian side of the deal, with all the paperwork that needed to be completed, that would take the majority of the time, but not so. On approaching the Canadian border I was greeted by a lovely older officer, who gave me a big smile and, when I explained I was here to land, he exclaimed 'Oh how exciting!' He gave us directions to the office and we went inside. There was no queue so we went straight up to the desk, whereupon a surly faced woman told us we needed to take a seat until we were called up. We sat, and immediately got called up to the same desk by the gentleman next to her! He took my passport and Confirmation of Permanent Residency and said he'd do some paperwork while we sat. A few minutes later we were called back, I signed a couple of bits of paper and was told that everything was done! The only thing left to do was complete a 'Goods to Follow' form, on which I listed everything I could think of (following an agonising mental tour around my garage back home) that I might want to bring over to Canada, which meant that I would be able to import them duty free.

After checking into our hotel, a walk around town, and the procuring of a few pictures of me doing 'Canadian things', we went for dinner and promptly began falling asleep over our ribs, the whole excitement/boredom continuum of the day proving a little too much for us both. And so it happened that, five months to the day since I sent my paperwork, I became a Permanent Resident of Canada.