World Cup column: Almost everything is better in Canada than in the USA

The fate of travelers in the Northwest Pacific region, where Vancouver on the Canadian side and Seattle on the US side shared the games, was also one of regular border controls that told of very different hosts.

On the way south, the famous, harsh tone of the US border guard awaited you, who subtly suspect even journalists with a pre-obtained visa of not following the rules. The most dangerous “substances” that this World Cup reporter carries with him on all his trips are ibuprofen and nasal spray, but that doesn’t stop the inspectors from making specific inquiries several times. A latent nervousness is noticeable in such moments, especially in view of the fact that US President Donald Trump has also been the subject of the stories of the reporters involved since the round of 16 at the latest, which some common artificial intelligence in a US authority has probably read. This all leads to cautious “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir”. And a relieved “Good day, Sir” when we were allowed to continue our journey.

The scenery on the return journey was different. Late in the evening, after the round of 16 between Belgium and Senegal, the conversation with the Canadian border guard also involves the reporter job, but for different reasons. For minutes, a Canadian official carries on a conversation about the game, the circumstances, the role the reporters played in it. Not a single “sir” is mentioned during this time, instead it’s about the Belgians’ late comeback and the question of which games are coming up in Vancouver. Just when it is feared that the border guards would also like to have the offside rule explained to them, with so much enthusiasm for the newly discovered passion of football, he wishes them a lot of fun as they continue their journey, now again with Tom Cochrane as the soundtrack.

Life in Canada during this World Cup was actually a highway: full of wonderful encounters with friendly hosts who always thank their bus drivers when they get off and say “sorry” so infectiously often that at some point you find yourself constantly apologizing. It was a highway that sometimes led you to the USA, where the fast food shops may be better, but the human warmth cannot compete with its northern neighbor.