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I Moved to Canada and the Country Is Burning — Again
A fossil-fuelled system where ‘fire season’ isn’t a season anymore. It’s the default.
It’s been a month since I moved to British Columbia, Canada. Entering the country is easier than getting a phone line, and crossing the border definitely felt like stepping into a parallel world — polite, paved, and composted. This is Noah’s Ark of nationalities. And in general, people are welcoming, but it’s hard to make eye contact, and there’s always a lingering price tag attached to every question.
EVs are alive, humming past as if fossil fuels were just a bad dream someone else had, and it smells like money everywhere. But the power lines here sag through the forests. Even here in Whistler, where the snow weighs down on cables like wet laundry, they haven’t buried them.
Why haven’t they buried them? Why does a place this rich feel so fragile?
Garbage is sorted with surgical precision, and there is a lot of responsibility and education. I just love those paved trails — you want to ride your bike all day, and most do. Still, there seems to be an unspoken competition to crown who has the Most Unnecessarily Big Truck that feels so American.
