Travel is a cultivated and varied appetite. For most, it remains a moderate indulgence, though in later life, free from professional and familial obligations, it often transforms into a more prolonged alternative to life at home.

Recently, however, our approach to travel has shifted. The primary catalyst for this change is the political climate in the United States, where we have spent the past decade exploring. Compounding this is an increasingly unfavorable global landscape, with rising safety concerns reflected in official government advisories. The widening divisions between religious and racial groups have further estranged nations from one another.

As a result, we have begun reconsidering our once-frequent journeys south, opting instead to limit our travels to Canada. The final blow to this evolving preference came with the discovery of a newly enforced Executive Order requiring all non-citizens staying in the U.S. for more than 30 days to register with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services:

The Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) (8 U.S.C. 1302) mandates that, with limited exceptions, all aliens 14 years or older who were not fingerprinted or registered when applying for a U.S. visa and who remain in the United States for 30 days or longer must register and submit to fingerprinting.

Once registered, non-citizens must carry proof of registration at all times. Failure to comply may result in civil and criminal penalties, including misdemeanor prosecution and fines.

For an aging Canadian who once lived as a child in Washington, D.C., and who still has family—an uncle, aunts, a great-aunt, a niece and cousins—in the U.S., this requirement feels like a profound rejection. Worse still is that it arises under President Trump’s directive to Protect the American People Against Invasion—a phrase as inflammatory as the policy itself. Coupled with his tariffs, his ambition to absorb Canada as a de facto 51st state, and his casual reference to our Prime Minister as “Governor Trudeau,” this conduct reflects a remarkable lack of diplomatic decorum.

This 30-day restriction is particularly galling for those of us accustomed to extended three- to six-month stays, especially when we have already secured NEXUS cards—government-issued credentials that required prior registration and background checks. The message from the U.S. government is clear, and regrettably, we will heed it. Worse still, the damage may linger long after Trump’s tenure ends, leaving scars on the relationship between our two nations.

This conclusion is all the more painful because, while cycling on the beach today, I was reminded of the inherent kindness of everyday Americans. Unprompted, a gentleman from Detroit assisted me in maneuvering from the firmer beach sand to the boardwalk—a simple, generous act emblematic of the best of his countrymen. Earlier, I watched a lively pickleball match at South Beach Racquet Club, where my neighbour Carolina from Lands End played with three companions.

Later, at Sea Pines Beach Club while resting on a bench, I found myself in an impromptu conversation with an elderly woman—originally from Norway, long settled in Wisconsin, now residing in Shelter Cove—and her daughter, both amused respectively by my tricycle and my spectacles until interrupted for luncheon by the arrival of the father, having just parked the car. And as I pedaled home along South Sea Pines Drive, I passed a stream of cyclists—parents, grandparents, children—all offering a wave or a cheerful greeting.

These encounters stand in stark contrast to the cold estrangement imposed by the government. It is unfortunate that such bureaucratic divisions will not only reshape our future travel but also, inevitably, color our recollections of the past.