I was 8 the first time I escaped the US. Some family members and I traveled to New York for a wedding. At this point in time, I remember exactly nothing about the wedding, but I do remember how I pestered my dad to go to Canada. This was pre-2001 where adults only needed a driver’s license and kids didn’t really need any ID to cross the border. So on a random Sunday in June, before heading back South, we went North. And this is what I remember: speeds were measured in kilometers per hour, signs were in English and French, and Ottawa was the most magical place I’d ever been with its soaring Peace Tower and its magnificent castles set atop a perfect hill. Of course, Parliament wasn’t cinderella’s castle, but it was still awe inspiring. It was the first national capital I’d ever visited and even on a Sunday, it was full of people enjoying the first few days of summer. Sadly for my future bank account and any relationships, an impromptu trip to Ottawa at 8 set me up for a lifetime of wanting to have an adventure.
35+ years later I find myself in Ottawa again. Since that first visit, I’ve managed to visit a few other countries’ capitals (including my own). Parliament Hill is still kind of magical. I know a lot more about government than I did when I was 8. US/Canada relations are slightly better than they were say in 1812, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not keeping an eye on Canada’s 2025 election. [one Fascist dictator in North America is more than enough]. I’ve always taken a little bit of pride–when I’m outside the US and people say ‘you don’t seem like American’, and never have I felt more excited to be mistaken for Canadian than I was last week whilst wandering around Ottawa.
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