There’s something about crossing a political boundary, taking me outside of all the borders I’d been crossing within my own country, that gave it a wildcard quality. Becoming a guest of another country felt vulnerable and precarious.

While the novelty of van life was thrilling, I’d set an exhausting pace. It’d be a few more months before I learned to slow my roll, and even longer than that to truly relish the lifestyle.

I was conflicted; I felt I should be publicly documenting this incredible new chapter of my life. However, learning how to live van life took priority. Discreetly at that. I wasn’t traveling in van life-friendly territory.

I wanted to see to Nova Scotia. Because the name conjured images of a remote and rugged land. Aside from my imaginings, I knew nothing about it except for its mention in an old Carly Simon song.