Vancouver, unvarnished

On the right side of this blog you can see the post per year. I started off with 57 posts in 2008, more than once per week! And I started the blog in June, so it was more than twice per week. Back then I had been used to livejournals and used this more like a diary than anything as I visited Beijing and Dublin. I somehow had another 27 posts in 2009, when I stayed in the US, and another 28 in 2010, when I graduated from college and spent another summer in Beijing. I had some political think pieces in there, some random sports takes as well as more diary-like entries. Over time the posts became rarer, more polished - I daresay better - and less spontaneous. I still really enjoy travel writing, but there's not much of an audience any more and it's mostly for my memories. I've stopped that unfiltered recap of a fresh event.

But today I want to start again. I write this from my couch in Vancouver on a Sunday night and I want to publish it within Sunday. I've had some insightful experiences, mostly on the difference between Americans and Canadians, and I want to drop them off here without any refinement.

I arrived here a week before the Canadian federal elections, and ended up at a political event that weekend where Naomi Klein was the star speaker. It was a fascinating experience hearing her and the Vancouver audience discuss the threat that the US now posed to Canada. I realized quickly that Canadians were as well versed on American politics as Americans - in fact the only difference is that Canadians also follow Canadian politics. Many people I've met here understand who the swing senators are and can name the Supreme Court justices. It's the most one-sided relationship ever. Canadians know a lot about Americans and Americans know nothing about Canada. The election itself was pretty interesting to me as well, with the Liberals going from dead in the water to repeat winners with the American influence reshaping everything. The Canadian Nationalism that has arisen now in response to annexation threats is distinct, not as powerful and aggressive like American Nationalism, but more like someone standing tall and replying "don't bully me!" 

I went to the cinema and two of the previews were ads centered on Canadian nationalism. One was for Molson, the other the Real-Canadian-Superstore. There are images of the maple leaf, great prairies of wheat, ice hockey goals and smiling faces. I feel nothing when they play these patriotic messages. However, if you replaced the same ad with the stars and stripes, it would stir up some complicated emotions in me. This touches on a complicated topic that I'm not quite able to articulate on how Canadians and Americans are so close, but yet fundamentally separate countries. 

I am an invisible immigrant here. We share so much culture that no one can guess from talking to me that I am not Canadian. But I need a visa here, and a new bank account, and all new ids and logins and everything. Americans joke about how Canada is a "separate country" but it 100% is, even though there isn't much culture shock. I've long wondered whether Seattle is more similar to Vancouver or Boston. Two months into my time here, I still can't quite say. The climate is nearly identical between Vancouver and Seattle and the outdoorsy habits of the inhabitants are also indistinguishable. But the presence of completely different chains - Tim Horton's, Rexall's, Canadian Tire Company, A&W - does make for a different life experience. Our borders are artificial but extremely consequential.

Floors are higher in Canada but ceilings are lower. There are the same problems as in the US, as in Seattle, with homelessness and fentanol and inequality, but they're not as bad. As I write this I realize I can't back this up with data and that my opinions are largely based on my pre-existing political biases, but they're updated by my in-person anecdotes here. There are fewer homeless folks, better subways and buses, cleaner air. But ambitions are also lower. In America, startups dream about taking over the world. Here their goals are more modest - lead the Canadian market and take a bit of the American market maybe. Canada is just a much smaller country (population-wise) and much less full of itself. The high ceiling in America creates an ethos which encourages people to gamble, not because the odds are good, but because the winners get so rich and their stories get so exalted that they inspire followers. Here expectations seem more grounded in reality.

Vancouver is a great city. Its connection to water and mountains is very similar to Seattle, but it's got better public transportation and Asian restaurants. There's a good life to be had here.

My Immigration Story

Have you ever been denied entry to Canada? 

When I clicked Apply on a job posting for “Data Scientist — Hybrid, Vancouver”, I didn’t think I’d end up answering yes to that question. Nor did I think that that situation would give me some of the harshest anxiety of my adult life as I sat in a customs and border patrol processing facility in Vancouver airport during the worst stretch of US-Canada relations since the War of 1812.

Shortly after I applied in August 2024, the company realized that they needed me to become a legal Canadian resident in order to receive government reimbursements to my R&D salary. This meant moving to Vancouver. The role was such a great fit for my background — data science and building energy modeling — and my job hunting had been so hellish that I decided to go for it. The company pursued an accelerated visa process through the Global Talent Stream (GTS), where a candidate qualified in high tech work could enter Canada and start working in under a month. This life change could happen quite quickly. We concluded from the rules that after acquiring a visa, I needed to spend half the year in Canada plus one day to qualify as a Canadian resident. I could potentially live a dual Seattle/Vancouver life. None of this worked out according to plan. 

For various reasons, it wasn’t until January that the my company received a completed “Labour Market Impact Assessment” (LMIA) that greenlighted me to apply. I submitted my application the following day and was advised that the process would take 2–4 weeks. A month later, the visa hadn’t arrived, but I had my Nexus interview scheduled for Sunday afternoon, February 2. Nexus is a trusted traveler program that allows Americans and Canadians to cross the border in an expedited fashion and also fulfills Global Entry and TSA-precheck. I had originally applied for Nexus in 2023, and through a combination of a horrendous government website and no real urgency from my end, was finally two years later sitting for my interview. These interviews take place at land borders, in my case Blaine, WA. Since Blaine is almost 2 hours north of Seattle but less than an hour south of Vancouver, it made sense for me to stop by Vancouver afterward and get face time with colleagues. In the post-pandemic age of remote work, this seemed pretty straightforward. 

So that Sunday, I drove northward into a blizzard in my new Honda. The Nexus interview involves talking to American and Canadian officers paired sitting loveseat style in a large booth. The American officer was straightforward and nice to me, patiently nodding as I explained the quirks of my situation, i.e. my work with a Canadian company and visa application. It was the Canadian officer who unexpectedly started playing bad cop. “Have you gone to the office in your capacity with this company before? What did you say when you entered the border?” Upon my stuttered response, he continued, “If you are going to enter this trusted traveler program, you have to be extra above board. Any non-compliance with the law will be met with extra hard penalties.” He succeeded in scaring the shit out of me, but when I told him I planned to cross the border imminently for work, he advised me to tell the border everything I just told him and they’d find a category to put me in. 

So at the border, I word saladed out everything. “I just did my Nexus appointment, I’m on a contract with a company in Vancouver, I also have a visa application in progress, I’ll be in and out in 3 days.” The border agent typed a bunch of info in, asked me why I had temporary plates, then told me to pull over into their facility lot. Inside the facility, a TV was playing the Canadian news, non-stop coverage on the US tariffs which were poised to start that Tuesday. Suddenly it dawned on me that I was trying to enter Canada from the US at a very bad time. Officer Singh appeared friendly when I approached and explained my situation. It made his sudden aggressive question, “Do you see any inconsistencies with your story!?” all the more jolting. He accused me of not waiting for my visa to process, of deciding to go into the country anyway. I tried to argue that the visa was for a permanent job offer, but I was currently employed on a contractual basis, and remote contract employees can go into the office all the time. I was shocked because Americans and Canadians can cross as tourists at any time, and here I was being above board because my Nexus officer told me to. The officer continued scolding me, telling me I’d need formal invitation papers from my company. I was nonetheless stunned when he dropped the rejection verdict on me like a hammer. 

Traveling overseas as an American has always afforded incredible privileges. I've actually lived in four countries without ever applying for a work permit. Fear of immigration is a worry for other passports, not for ours. But here I was, being escorted into a U-turn away from the land of Canada, given a piece of paper that deceptively said “Permission to Exit Canada.” I then had to speak to an American officer, who asked “Are you bringing anything of value back from Canada?” Bitch, I didn’t even go to Canada, I thought. I handed him the paper, and he said, “well you have to pull over.” And then I suffered the humility of leaving my keys in my car while drug dogs sniffed through it, and passing the portraits of Trump and Vance on my way into US immigration, wondering if these officers had been red pilled, all while wondering how to explain this to my coworkers. All told I spent an hour in a half in North American custody, before glumly driving back to Seattle through the blizzard. 

The tariffs were paused for a month, and but of course they happened to resume the day before my company held an all hands in Vancouver. My visa still hadn’t arrived, but I looked up more rules, and got the papers together in order to qualify as a business visitor. I drove to the border again, and this time engaged in a long discussion with an officer. The previous rejection was discussed in great detail, and I realized they had a different interpretation of my situation. Having applied for a visa put my status in a completely different light, and ultimately this officer politely decided I did not qualify as a business visitor and rejected me again. I don’t know how much the tariffs ultimately affected what happened to me, but I believe that the first time, they set the officers in a bad anti-American mood. My situation was in a grey area that was up to an officer’s discretion, and I believe on an average day I would have been let in. But having been denied on a bad day, I now wore a scarlet letter that would lead to continual denials. 

 A month later I was told my company could not continue to retain me as a foreign contractor. Additionally, we had received a clarification from the government that my visa was meant for working in Canada. This meant I could not work remotely from the US, at least nowhere near the half time that I had planned for. I would have to move move to Vancouver. Furthermore, they had hired an immigration consultant who could not tell me why my visa hadn’t been processed yet, but advised me to fly into Vancouver and apply for a new visa there. None of this made sense to me, but apparently that was a legal avenue we could pursue. So my heart was pounding when I land in YVR, and declared to customs that I sought a work visa. The dreaded question about my previous border experience came, “Hello bonjour - have you had trouble with us before?” And then many other questions revolving around how I already had a visa application in progress. 

I sat waiting apprehensively in bus terminal-like seating, diddling at NYTimes Games, alert when periodically called by the agent. All I could do was try to remain calm, but I was not sure at all whether this would succeed. I could not allow myself to think through positive outcomes – instead I steeled myself for being forced onto a flight back. In front of me, an Indian man was being lectured quite aggressively by a female customs officer via a translator. “Christopher?” I was called again to my officer. “We can’t process this case. We have to let the IRCC process your existing application.” The fate I had been fearing had occurred and I was nearly resigned to it. I pulled out my final cards though, and asked to speak to the supervisor. The supervisor repeated the same message, but I pulled out the signed form denoting the immigration consultant as my legal representative and asked them to call her. The supervisor took my form, verified the signatures, then told me to wait. He went to his office, came back out and told me they’d double check the rules. 

I sat back for another half hour. “The last time you came here, you said you were a visitor. Why did you open a bank account? Why did you get a driver’s license?” My ears perked up at the interrogation of the Indian man. Because his responses were in Hindi and the translations were too quiet for me, I heard a one-sided account from the officer. “You didn’t open the bank account? Then who did? Why would you leave your wife and child behind in India, where you have a job, and visit Canada, which is very expensive?” Trying not to eavesdrop but very much intrigued, I caught sketches of what certainly sounded like someone working illegally. 

Finally my original officer asked me about my job history, pointing at how the name of a company on a tax form didn’t match my resume. I took this to be a super positive sign - they were actually evaluating me on my credentials. I was able to log into Rippling and pull out my pay stubs, with the company’s legal name and it’s “doing business as” name. I went back to my seat and the Indian immigrant drama. 

“You bought this very nice looking necklace for yourself? Are you sure? It’s very feminine, it doesn’t really suit you.” 

Damn I thought, this customs officer is judgmental. Is that really how it’s done? It was fascinating to see the immigration process, normally a long drawn out process with documentations evaluated behind the scenes, taking place live in front of me. 

 “Christopher?” My turn again. “What country did you go to college in? What language is your degree in?” I walked up and had to suppress a laugh. “I went to college in America…”, I said truthfully, “and my diploma is in Latin.” I knew ever since graduation day that this might be a problem. I peered at the black and white copy she had, and not only was everything in Latin, but the cursive font and image quality rendered everything utterly unintelligible. 

I pulled out hard color copies that my parents had thoughtfully given me only a week before. Staring at this one, I noticed even “Georgetown” was nowhere to be seen – it was translated as Collegii Georgiopolitani. The officer asked, “Would a Spanish translator be able to read this?” I laughed, and replied, “I don’t think so.” I couldn’t believe this was happening, but I could read Latin (thanks to my high school, not Georgetown) and pointed out my Master’s of Science (Scientiae Magistratum). “When did you graduate?” Dumbfounded, I had never examined my diploma closely and didn’t know, was there a date on it? And then I realized that one of the bottom lines, XXXI AUGUSTI ANNO DOMINI MMXI, was my graduation date in 2011 (in the year of our lord). Pointing this out, the officer seemed to decipher the numerals and accepted that I really did have a Master’s degree. 

Her last question to me was, “Have you ever been in trouble with the police? You’ve traveled extensively around the world – have you ever been in trouble with the police in any country?” I would have loved to have flexed - “50 countries bitch" - but it seemed prudent to acknowledge factually that no, I had never had police problems anywhere. My Cambodian visa chose that moment to detach and fall out my passport. 

It was almost 3 hours after landing that I was presented with a fancy 8.5” x 11” sheet of paper granting me work status in Canada. I felt intense joy and relief and a pittance of annoyance that this wasn’t a visa I could stick into my passport. The officer instructed me to pay a $150 visa fee for my troubles. I headed to the cashier, and literally seconds before I arrived, the Indian man beat me to the line. I was shocked, apparently he had been let in. The cashier was an elderly Chinese man, and instructed the Indian man to pay with credit. 

“Cash,” was his reply. 

“Credit.” 

“Cash.” 

“Credit please.” 

“Cash.” 

“Credit.” 

I watched hopelessly as the two men struggled to work a transaction. The original case officer came back, told the cashier, “This man needs to pay customs on a gold necklace that is a gift for a Canadian citizen,” and I got some conclusion on that story. Further non-credit payment ensured, and the officer called the translator back. Finally after a solid 15 minutes, the Indian man pulled up a picture of a credit card on his cell phone. He handed his phone over to the cashier, who revealed his age and could not zoom in on the card numbers. The translator stepped in to apply the zoom in, and the cashier manually entered each number into his machine. I felt my newly Canadian soul die a little bit. Finally the transaction processed, and the man was free to enter Canada to definitely not work. 

“That would have gone much faster if he didn’t lie,” the translator said to the officer as they walked away. “Yes he is such a dumb-dumb,” she replied. 

I tapped my credit card and immigrated into Canada.