Flowing energy rushes toward the edge, a slave to its inevitable fate. It builds and builds and builds some more, unwilling to compromise.
Suddenly, it slips.
For a few precious seconds it suspends high in the air, engaging in a soundless symphony.
Then, it falls.
The finale is deafening, like cymbals clanging against the bottom of an unforgiving pit. This masterpiece draws us in – millions year after year.
Niagara Falls.
Embarking on a road trip to Montreal made this a no-brainer overnight stop for us. Mr. H and I booked a crappy chain hotel on the Canadian side, followed our trusty electronic maps, and strapped Ken Follett the cow in his seat.
Along the way we admired Provence upstate New York…
Ten lengthy hours after leaving Milwaukee, we arrived.
It was dark. And the border crossing at Niagara Falls, Canada was completely FUBAR.
Labor Day weekend. Border strike. FUBAR.
There’s something bittersweet about driving across North America, making it to your destination in decent spirits – cramping with hunger, aching from head to toe, delicates lodged in places – and being trapped with all the other bleary-eyed, naive tourists in this…
…for a freaking hour.
Naturally, Mr. H. wasn’t havin’ it. I love him even more for rescuing us from our gridlock hell to nowhere. My hero!
Destined to sleep in our truck on the side of a potholed street, we stumbled into a nearby hotel and luckily they were able to accommodate us. (Nothing like flushing money down the shitter on that unreachable hotel on the Canadian side, eh?)
As usual, we made the best of the situation. We lowered our standards and gleefully stuffed our faces in the familiar chain restaurant attached to the joint.
Mediocre fried food. Cold beer. We were saved.
Feeling tipsy, our sanity obviously questionable, we decided to go to the casino across the street to drink our touristy sorrows away and people watch. We’re not gamblers, so this environment fascinates us.
After a while, what initially seemed intriguing became ho-hum, borderline depressing, and our eyes became heavy. So we stumbled back to our hotel, scented with cigarettes and defeat.
The next day, despite our irritation with the whole charade, we went to the damn falls. We were a tough crowd, but Mother Nature won us over with her minxy appeal.
The credit card bill, the slot machines, and the traffic disappeared in that moment.
Niagara Falls…are they really worth it? The blood, the sweat, the tears?
Hell yeah they are!
Britt Skrabanek 