When travelling across the European Union, North Americans often encounter situations that feel quite unfamiliar compared to life in the US or Canada, borders being a prime example. My American clients frequently remark that while driving through continental Europe, they barely have time to accelerate before they’re in a different country. It’s true, Europe is compact, and this applies not only to distances but also to the size of its sovereign states, EU members included. Take France, for instance, the largest country in the EU, yet still smaller than Texas, the biggest of the contiguous US states. If France were a part of Canada, it would only rank as the seventh largest province or territory. Poland, my home country and the sixth largest in the EU, is slightly smaller than New Mexico, which, coincidentally, is also the sixth largest US state, just ahead of Arizona.
Where there are countries, there are borders, and the more intricate the history, the more tangled those borders tend to be. A particularly striking example is the border between Belgium and the Netherlands in the town of Baarle, where Belgian exclaves and Dutch counter-exclaves create a total of 30 separate parcels of land. This peculiar arrangement dates back to medieval treaties and land swaps between feudal lords. At the time, such divisions mattered little, there was a shared language and culture, and the only real distinction was which authority collected taxes. Modern integration within the Benelux region has greatly simplified things, and for visitors’ amusement, the border is clearly marked on the streets, even where it runs through homes, shops, and cafés. But the arrangement proved more than a curiosity during COVID times, when Belgium and the Netherlands enforced different restrictions; imagine living in a house where stepping into your kitchen meant crossing into another country with its own set of rules on staying inside or going out.
The border shared by Canada and the United States is not only the longest in the world, measuring 8,891 kilometres (5,525 miles), but also one of the straightest, at least in theory. From the Pacific Ocean to the Great Lakes, it’s meant to follow the 49th parallel. But when it was marked in the early 19th century, surveyors relied more on mathematics than modern technology, which resulted in slight deviations, sometimes several metres/feet off, in either direction. While this boundary may seem uneventful compared to the fortified southern U.S. border with Mexico, it has its quirks. Instead of a wall, there’s often a 20-foot (6-metre) wide cleared strip of land, aptly named the “border vista” or “The Slash”, that stretches through forests and over hills (except in older segments in New England and Quebec predating the border treaties). One of the strangest places is Canusa Street, where the yellow line down the middle of the road is not just a lane divider, but the international border itself. American houses line the south side, Canadian ones the north, and yes, I’ve driven there. It’s a surreal experience, as every time your wheels cross the centre line, you’re technically entering another country.
By the way, entering the U.S. from Canada by car turned out to be a bit more traumatic than expected. Apparently, there was a new document required when driving a rented Canadian vehicle, and our British passports were taken by a rather unfriendly immigration officer who directed us to an enclosed inspection area. Fortunately, once inside, a much kinder agent explained the situation and helped us complete the necessary forms. The contrast on our return to Canada couldn’t have been more striking. Although we were again missing some documents, this time related to Covid, since we had left the country for a few days and we needed to fill the forms again, we were simply asked to pull over “somewhere there” and come back inside to sort it out. They offered us Wi-Fi access, and we spent a relaxed 30 minutes chatting with the officers, telling stories about ourselves, Polish, but also British, living in London. It was a completely different atmosphere, and a reminder that border experiences often depend on the people you meet.
Somewhere near the eastern end of that long border road lies a small village in Vermont, tucked between Interstate 91 and US Route 5, called Derby Line. It’s known for one particularly unusual building: the Haskell Free Library and Opera House. Or should I say it’s located in the Canadian town of Stanstead? Let’s stick with Derby Line, it was the Vermont-based Haskell family who donated this unique structure to serve both communities, one American and one Canadian. What makes it remarkable is that, according to Wikipedia and the locals, it’s the only heritage building in the world deliberately constructed to straddle an international border. Recognised as a historic site by both nations, the Haskell is not only a symbol of cross-border cooperation, but also a functioning library and opera house, where you can, quite literally, borrow a book in one country and read it in another.
The Haskell Free Library and Opera House was founded in 1901 and officially opened its doors in 1904. Named after Martha Haskell and her son Horace, who funded the project in memory of their family, the building reflects their cross-border heritage, Martha was Canadian and her husband, Horace’s father, was American. Their vision was clear: to provide equal access to both communities, which is why the structure was deliberately placed on the international border. Adding to its uniqueness, the building houses both a library and an opera house. Interestingly, while the book collection and all the opera seating are on the Canadian side, the entrance and the stage itself are in the United States. Despite straddling two countries, visitors holding either a U.S. or Canadian passport can enter without reporting to customs, provided they follow a clearly marked route on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, that privilege doesn’t extend to travellers like me, so I had to use an official border crossing a few miles to the east. I visited the Haskell shortly after most Covid-related restrictions were lifted, though not all, at that time, the local checkpoint was still limited to area residents only.
Inside the building, a black line on the floor marks the international border, running straight through the library and opera house. Because the Canadian side lies within French-speaking Quebec, the library’s collection includes both French and English books, neatly co-filed on the same shelves. Surprisingly, it’s not confusing at all: English-language books (from the U.S. side) have their titles printed top-down on the spine, while the French titles (from the Canadian side) are printed bottom-up, following the convention in France and Quebec. This small detail quietly preserves clarity in a shared space where two languages, two cultures, and two nations meet.
We never expected such a place can exist in this part of the world, which is exactly why it landed on my must-visit list if I were ever nearby. As it happened, both my husband and I are huge fans of Schitt’s Creek, the beloved Canadian TV series, and since our birthdays fall close together, we made this trip to visit the show’s filming locations aa a gift to each other. We also spent time with a close friend of mine in North Tonawanda, NY, the kind of friend who’ll drop everything and drive hours to help you after a road accident, whom I hadn’t seen in years. From there, we planned a round road trip: starting in Toronto, passing through Niagara Falls, Acadia National Park, and Montreal, before returning to Toronto. I couldn’t possibly miss the chance to take a relatively short detour to the Haskell Free Library and Opera House. Was it worth it? A road trip always is.
