We're on the road to Canada after packing up camp in the rain...a driving rain with overcast skies. Still, we're off ahead of schedule driving up along the coast of Maine.
Around 10:00AM, we're in Calais, Maine...gassing up in the U.S. and switching my cell phone plan to Canada. Everything is going great...no hint of the impending doom awaiting us.
At the Canadian border, the Customs agent asks if we're carrying any alcohol and tobacco...I reply, "Yes", and start listing our cargo...eight bottles of liquor, thirty bottles of wine. At that, he rolls his eyes and tells us to pull over to the Customs office. Two young ladies start asking us about the "cargo", and I continue to lay it out...liquor, wine Margarita Mix (with Tequila), etc. The two young ladies appear incredulous at the fact that two people could be carrying so much. They keep telling us how expensive the duties and fees are going to be.
My philosophy in these situations is to constantly reassure the authorities that a) I understand and accept completely the "state's" authority to regulate imports and assess fees and b) I understand and accept completely my obligation to pay the fees and duties. So...I keep telling them to "total things up" and I'll be happy to pay. But, after two hours or so, I realize that these "reassurances" are being interpreted as "arrogance"...that we're trying to "buy our way out" of the situation. We're there for over three hours while they completely unload the Escape and the camper. We're questioned over and over on where we have lived, what we do for a living, why we are coming into Canada, etc. There is much discussion between the two female agents, much looking at the regulations, much use of a calculator. It is clear that they have some deep moral objection to alcohol.
Then comes the "bad news". Because we did not declare a few cans of beer and because we declared thirty bottles of wine but actually have only twenty-eight, we have made a "false Customs Declaration". The penalty for this is confiscation of the goods, but they are going to "go easy" and let us off with a warning. I protest this because we never had a chance to finish our declaration...we were "cut off" in mid-sentence...and...having declared the liquor and wine, why would we be trying to "hide" a few cans of beer? I also know that this "warning" will go into the "system", and I'll get searched every single time that I cross the border...like next year on the way to Alaska.
My protests are to no avail...and the worst news is yet to come. The duty on all this is a modest $20.00 or so, but New Brunswick has very "Draconian" fees...180% fee on liquor and 150% on wine. Then...they present us with the total amount owed...
You'll want to be sitting down for this...$463.00 (Canadian).
We pay and, around, 1:30 or 2:00, we're back on the road. The rain continues to pour, and we are several hundred miles from Kouchibouguac National Park...our destination. So, we make an "executive decision" to skip Kouchibouguac and head straight for Fundy National Park...only 150 miles or so. We also decide to book a cabin in the town of Alma, outside the Park, and avoid the unpleasant task of setting up camp in a driving rain.
In Alma, I pick up a three pound lobster...a beauty! And, safely settled in to our cabin, we relax with a cocktail (a very expensive cocktail at this point). I boil my lobster, and Ed makes chili. We each get to shower and change clothes...and...we each get to sleep in a "real" bed.
A rough day, but a much smoother night.
Ed's Sidebar, Days 9,10:
Driving from Boothbay to Bar Harbor, I forget
about churches' tax status,
about miles that need recording, about hours of gasoline.
I forget the demand for information, the supply of detail.
I forget the ways of the sun, except to say
my moon is a model citizen of the world.
A general rule of camping:
you will lose everything at least once.
Today we mount an expedition to the showers. Our plan is in place:
1. Replace reading glasses, dispose of errant bat.
2. Locate map of Park.
3. Get in car, bring towel.
4. This plan will fail.
5. Tomorrow is another day.
The last warm shower here was 18,000 years ago. I think delirium is setting in.
Garbed in two shirts, a T-shirt and jacket, wearing jockey shorts, boxer shorts and warmup pants, I put on my ski cap and hiking socks to climb into my sleeping bag. My fingers curl in the chill as I write this. I feel we may not reach The Pole, Roald.
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