The Flagpole Route to Permanent Residency
The Flagpole Route to Permanent Residency
... or the Canadian version of "Leave to Enter"
This post is the second of four in a series inspired by Nolan Yuma’s:
“A support group for people who have to deal with bureaucrats.”
Nolan’s call to action tagged me along with other travellers including
M.E. Rothwell from Cosmographia
Michael from Brent and Michael Are Going Places
Lloyd from the writing grove
Chris from Chris Arnade Walks the World and
Yolanda from Yolo Intel
Check out Nolan’s post which lists a number of others you may want to follow for stories or travel, and maybe, just maybe, bureaucracy…
July 1st was Canada Day and we had extra cause for celebration this year. It was my wife’s first as a Canadian citizen.
We met in Copenhagen halfway through my gap year in Europe; the one that lasted four decades. The one that included twenty years in Norway, a decade in Denmark and another in Belgium. The one that included a 31-year career at a company that didn’t want to hire me.
The choice to leave Brussels and move to Canada was made in December 2017. We had six months to figure out what would come next.
We could have moved back to Denmark or tried our luck in Norway. If we spoke better French or were more daring and adventurous we might have tried our luck on the Riviera. Instead, we chose Canada and Kelowna. The country I was born in and the city I was raised in.
My parents had aged since I flew out of Sea-Tac airport in 1987 while I was still half hungover from high school graduation parties. It was time to move to Kelowna and put an end to my mother’s stories about the son that left and never returned.
In the late ‘70s, Kirsten was also a globetrotting explorer. She and a friend travelled to Chicago in ‘79 and, when they couldn’t find an affordable car there, they made their way to Calgary and purchased an old VW van with a Canadian flag cover on the spare tire that hung above the front bumper. (Fun fact: Just so you know, if a Danish person talks about a “VW rye bread” they’re not offering you a van-shaped sandwich; that’s what they call those iconic VW vehicles.)
Her trip took her from Calgary through the Canadian Rockies down the US West Coast and across to Vegas. They almost didn’t make it to Sin City as they came close to dying of dehydration due to a breakdown in Death Valley. Their journey continued through the South. Somewhere, they sold the van and travelled on Greyhounds, busses, not dogs, for the rest of the trip.
It was an adventure, one of the most memorable parts of which came very early on while they were driving through the Rocky Mountain town of Jasper, Alberta. That’s not surprising when you consider that in Denmark, Himmelbjerget (Sky Mountain), rises to a majestic height of 482 ft above sea level. The town of Jasper is at 3500 ft and the mountains that surround it rise to over 10 000 ft. No one is more impressed by the mountains than the Danes. (And maybe people from Saskatchewan that have lived life on the flat prairies…)
Befittingly, as thoroughly modern people in the late 90s, Kirsten and I met online. Had more than a few people been on the online dating sites in those early days, I never would have had a chance. Kirsten was totally out of my league but my cute Norwegian Danish writing and the fact that I was born in Jasper intrigued her enough to invite me for coffee. Two years later we were married and sixteen years after that a container ship was floating around on the seven seas with all of our belongings when we landed in Kelowna.
Compared to many countries, Canada has a very welcoming immigration policy but, make no mistake, Canada’s bureaucracy is up there with the best.
We started the process to get Kirsten a permanent residency permit in January 2018. At first glance, it looks easy. Click here, fill out the form, upload documents, click submit, “et voila”, eh?
After you hit the first “click here”, it’s like Lee Corso jumps in and yells “Not so fast!”.
The forms and documentation requirements can be a challenge. Especially for people that have spent years of their career travelling.
One requirement was to list every international trip each of us had taken during the previous decade. Luckily, I worked for a large global company that was no slouch when it came to its own bureaucracy. They pulled all of my travel records at the touch of a “click here” button.
On the other hand, we lived in Brussels and our daughter lives in Rotterdam. A Sunday lunch with Vibe and Guillermo = an international trip. How many times had we done that? What about driving to Champagne to buy Champagne? After painstakingly reviewing the “get info” tabs on iPhoto, we put together a list. Our travel documentation was about 8 full pages of single-spaced entries. At the bottom of each page, we added a brief disclaimer hoping that they would show us mercy if we’d forgotten a trip to the Aachen Christmas market.
What about our relationship? Yes, we were married, but that wasn’t enough for the Canadian bureaucrats. Did our friends and family know of our relationship? Names and contact details, please. Was there a ceremony, e.g., a wedding? Who officiated it? Were friends and family present? Who? When? Where? Are there pictures? Upload them. Was Kirsten coerced into marrying me?
It was like they knew she was out of my league and they were giving her a chance to make a better life choice.
At regular intervals throughout the forms, Kirsten was reminded that if I was forcing her or abusing her or if she was in any way involuntarily applying for a residence permit, she had rights. She would be protected and I could be prosecuted even if she snitched on me after the permit was granted and was living in Canada.
I have been on my best behaviour ever since.
An immigration consultant reviewed everything before we clicked submit. She found a page we hadn’t signed. That could have dramatically delayed the process. Her assistance was worth her $200 fee. We signed the page, submitted the form, and the process began.
We arrived in Canada on July 4th, 2018. Kirsten’s status on arrival was “tourist”.
Six weeks later, there was a letter in the mail from Canada Immigration. Kirsten’s PR status had been granted. All she had to do to activate it was to enter the country from abroad…
but we already lived here.
It turned out Canada’s Border Services Agency officers are the ones that activate permanent residency.
Not a problem we thought. Our city has an international airport and international airports have Border Services officers. We went to the airport.
“I’m sorry”, the border services officer was stereotypically polite and began her conversation with an apology. “You’ll have to do a flagpole.”
”What’s a flagpole?”
Our brains were already racing down the route of word association.
Kirsten doesn’t practice yoga, but she loves to dance and comes from a family of gymnasts. Show her the pose or start the music!
That’s not what the border services officer meant. There was a much more literal meaning to the word “Flagpole”.
In the UK, they sometimes grant you entry by stamping “Leave to enter” in your passport. I know that sounds weird but at least they let you in.
In Canada, like the word flagpole, they are much more literal. To activate your permanent residency, if you’re already here, you literally have to leave to enter legally.
The polite border services agent at YLW explained it to us.
“Just drive to the border, tell the US border agents that you’re doing a flagpole. They’ll turn you around so you can enter Canada from their side of the border. It’s easy.”
Our nearest border crossing is just under two hours drive away.
We explained to the US agent that we were doing a flagpole to activate Kirsten’s PR status.
“No problem”, he said. “You’ll have to go to secondary. Park over there, I’ll take your passports inside.”
Inside, there were questions, questions, and more questions, and then the officer disappeared.
A few moments later he came back with our passports and a single page of paper in hand.
“Get your car. I’ll meet you over by the flagpoles.”
When we met him at the flagpoles, he handed us the passports and the paper.
It said Kirsten voluntarily accepted to have been denied entry to the US.
“Don’t worry”, the agent said, “it’s a formality. the Canadians need a document for their records. This is what we give them.”
We worried, unnecessarily it turned out, as subsequent border crossings to the US have been unproblematic.
On the Canadian side, we were again greeted with a pleasant, “You’ll have to go to secondary. Park over there. I’ll take your passport inside.” He took Kirsten’s Danish passport.
Inside, there was more paperwork and there were more questions. Again, after filling out the forms and answering his questions, the border services officer disappeared.
A short wait later, he was back.
“Congratulations and welcome to Canada! You’re now a permanent resident. Would you like a picture with the Queen?”
Kirsten said yes and the officer turned his attention to me.
“Hand me your phone.”
He took my phone, escorted Kirsten past the “Personnel only” barrier and snapped a picture of the new permanent resident beside a portrait of Her late Majesty.
Kirsten had left and entered. She was now a permanent legal alien in Canada. Well, at least she was until January 9 this year. That’s the day she took her Oath of Citizenship and that’s why we celebrated Canada Day with a little extra pride this year!
No more aliens in our home!
Happy Canada Day!
Stay safe, Always Care
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Another great addition! As far as bureaucracy stories go, this one’s pretty positive, but doing a “flagpole” is such a ridiculous rule. So much time, money, and energy into something that really shouldn’t be needed.
Also, “It was like they knew she was out of my league and they were giving her a chance to make a better life choice,” had me lmao.