In my experience, the people of Québec don’t spend much time ruminating on Vermont, their smaller neighbor to the south.
“Oh, yes, I know Vermont,” said a kindly older Montréaler with whom I shared a table over the winter at country-music joint the Wheel Club. “In fact, I’ve actually been there,” he said, brightening. “I went to Jay Peak one time in 2004.”
I am occasionally tasked with explaining, to a surprised Québécois, that yes, I am familiar with the rudiments of maple syrup. Wait, they make maple syrup in Vermont?
Traveling teaches that what’s foreign isn’t frightening but fascinating.
We might not reside in Mrs. Butterworth’s country, but Vermont is nevertheless part of the United States, which has been making itself very hard to ignore lately. President Donald Trump’s trollish approach to tariffs, and repeated suggestions that Canada should become America’s next state, have sparked outrage from British Columbia to Newfoundland. Canadians are taking action by canceling trips to the U.S., boycotting American goods and dubbing Americano coffee drinks “Canadianos.” The latter is perhaps an own goal, as watered-down espresso is objectively the worst form of coffee. As to the rest: I stand in solidarity with Canadians’ righteous protests of our government’s appalling behavior.
Where does it leave American travelers? There’s plenty of anxiety on our side of the international border. The r/Montréal subreddit is full of Americans asking, over and over, if it’s still OK to go north. The answers vary, as answers do. Some express annoyance at non-Trumpist Americans seeking a kind of personal absolution from Canadians for their president’s misconduct. Leading with “But I didn’t vote for him!” might be a faux pas. Overall, though, user Impossible_Panda3594 sums up a broad consensus: “Just don’t yell ’51st state’ or ‘god bless our president’ and you will be fine. We’re not mad at the Americans individually.”
In my multiple trips to Québec since Trump took office, I’ve felt as welcomed as ever, particularly when I make the effort to speak some French. (Even a little bit helps.) I’m grateful, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve visited countries where U.S. efforts have toppled promising regimes, propped up dictatorial ones, started wars and blighted the landscape with bombs. Traveling with open eyes offers harrowing history lessons. Without exception, however, I’ve been met with warmth and grace upon arrival.
Travelers are not owed such hospitality, which should never be assumed. Yet my experience suggests that many people around the globe possess sufficient nuance and compassion to treat visitors first as fellow humans, rather than as avatars of a political party or flag or ideology. An instructive lesson for divided times.
That’s one reason the political situation won’t keep me at home. Here are some others: As America’s international relationships fray globally, I believe withdrawing can only reinforce Trump’s politics of isolation and xenophobia. Traveling, more than anything I know, teaches that what’s foreign isn’t frightening but fascinating; I still think the best way to understand what’s happening in our world is to see it for myself.
Don’t get me wrong: No amount of cross-border road-tripping will calm the crisis of an increasingly aggressive America or address the administration’s disdain for international norms. That’s our task as citizens, not travelers. But visiting and supporting Québec is one small way to signal appreciation and support for our neighbors at a strained moment — and an opportunity to show up as better ambassadors for this country than our leaders have proved to be.
This article appears in The Summer Preview 2025.
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