Private: Canada

Aside from once, when I was working as a counselor at an overnight camp in Maine one summer and spent an entire day off driving seven straight hours to get to the border with a few counselor-friends (including the adorable gum-chewer of a girl I was dating at the time) packed into the tiny white first car I ever owned, where, just inside the Canadian border, we got out at a steakhouse and had grilled chicken Caesar salads and then packed ourselves back into the car and drove seven straight hours back, arriving at the camp just before sign-in curfew, I have never been to Canada.