Over Niagara Falls In a Barrel

Above, left: Normal Girl framed by a rainbow; above, right: Normal Guy wondering if there’s a barrel vendor nearby.

Say the word “Buffalo” and I think: losing the Super Bowl, chicken wings, and snow (in that order). But Buffalo, NY is also the gateway to Niagara Falls. Normal Girl and I were not going to spend four days in Buffalo without making a voyage across the border.

Normal Girl’s hectic work schedule made it challenging to schedule the trip, but we settled on Wednesday (Sept 27). Somehow, in a rather shocking development, that day turned out to be the magical crystal-clear eighty-degree day Buffalo is so famous for... Honestly, our luck was impeccable; Thursday it rained from eight to eight and topped out at 55F.

We parked on the U.S. side because we weren’t sure about the rental car rules and because the front desk suggested we might save a few bucks.

“How far is it to the falls?” I asked.

“American Falls are two minutes that way,” the parking attendant replied.

“And Canada?”

“Follow the signs to the bridge,” she said. “It’s a five-minute walk.”

Memories from my youth suggested we should go ahead and walk to Canada. We followed the signs and one minute later stood on the Rainbow Bridge. Traffic was light, but the wind swirled, making our casual stroll something of a workout.

Above, left: view of the Rainbow Bridge from Horseshoe Falls; above, right: Normal Guy and Girl atop the Rainbow Bridge.

As we approached, the first signs of the tourist kitsch I recall from childhood came into view: a massive Hershey’s Kiss atop one building and a flashing neon electric guitar announced the Hard Rock Café. Several tall hotels boasted their brand, and those hosting casinos made sure everyone knew.

As we waited in line for the cursory glance through our passports, I noticed everyone was speaking French.

“We’re in Canada,” Normal Girl replied to my observation.

“But this is Ontario,” I said.

Judging by the bilingual placards in the gift shops and duty free boutiques, I guessed French to be lot more prevalent across the nation than I knew. It is kind of amazing, actually, how ignorant most Americans are about Canada. I’m from Maine, for goodness’ sake, you’d think we would have learned a lot more in school about these things. I embarked on a rant about this as we stepped through the back door of passport control, but then the first clean view of the falls came into vision, and I cut myself off.

Above, left: American Falls; above, right: at the edge of Horseshoe (Canadian) Falls.

Instead of an outdoor shopping mall, we stepped into a handsome garden, and descended spotless stone stairs to a manicured cliff-top path.

There were blessedly few tourists; this mid-week-outside-tourist-season thing is pretty sweet.

A visit to Niagara Falls offers a profound lesson in perspective.

Part I: For a solid thirty minutes, we marveled at the beauty of the American Falls; an hour later, hypnotized by the raw power of the Canadian Falls, the former seemed little more than a trickle.

Part II: As we neared the Canadian Falls, thick mist coating our sunglasses and soaking us to the flesh, we finally found our rainbow. Until then, mere fragments of color lingered in the mist.

Keryn’s finger traced a fluid arc through the sky. “Look at the rainbow! Do you see it?” Sure enough, a grand rainbow stretched through the sky. The more I looked at it, the more complete it seemed. We took a picture (the one leading off this blog), and I was shocked at the clarity with which the rainbow was captured. When we visited in my youth, the rainbows didn’t make it onto the film.

My eyes followed the arc into the water, where I saw its terminus, a cluster of rocks two yards from the shore. Though the rocks shone yellow and orange, there was no pot of gold.

The creative side of me whirred: what a photo it would make if Keryn held the camera while I scrambled down the embankment, stood on those rocks, threw back my head, and spread my arms wide.

As we walked the shore, the rainbow’s end moved with us. Further from the shore, deeper into the white-capped swirl. Relativity in action. What would it have been like had I scurried down the hill and stood in the light? Would I have been bathed in red, orange, yellow, green...? From that vantage point, I would not have seen the colors at all. It all comes down to perspective.

We stood at the railing a long time, listening to the water. The other tourists dispersed, until we were almost alone. It was perfect.

Three tid-bits I have to share:

• Did you know that it costs $0.50 (quarters only) to get back into the United States? They don’t charge a penny on your way into Canada, but you have to pay to come home. We were kind of shocked by this, to tell you the truth.


• Do you realize how easy it would be to tumble over Niagara Falls? I guess that I assumed from the legends of daredevils who lived to tell the tale, that it would be rather more difficult to pull off. But the water is right there, ten feet away, rushing furiously over the precipice. There’s a fence, but it isn’t much, and up and down the rail, idiots with video cameras climb up to get a preferred shot. If you want to dive over the falls, no one is going to stop you. It is kind of scary, actually...


• Canadians maintain very clean public bathrooms.