I have survived yet another trip to the Great White North. I don't know why I keep going back there, except that it's probably the only foreign country that I'm ever going to visit. The last trip up to Canada we ended up in hours of traffic due to a mobile home fire. The mobile home was on a giant truck and thus took up several lanes of traffic. The trip prior to that Peter and I nearly died on a 100 year old wooden roller coaster of death. (A long story.)
So why go back?
Nothing better to do, and someone else paid for it.
I'm just glad to be back in "the States" where French translations are not mandatory, road signs all say miles not kilometers, and America isn't a dirty word.
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