Prelude to Niagara Falls ‘06

Every alternate year from age three to age eighteen, my family trekked from Bucksport, Maine to Houston, Texas to visit my father’s parents and siblings. This was before the advent of discount carriers (or, at least, before discount carriers served the Bangor market), so all but two of those trips began and ended with four or five days packed into the car.

Rather than drive straight through on the fastest route possible, my parents opted for a more meandering path. Every trip included at least one historical monument each way. I think it was as much for them as it was designed to enlighten my sister and me and enhance the journals we were assigned by our teachers in lieu of the normal homework. Sadly, those journals are long gone, buried deep in the Bucksport landfill, so I can’t quote them today.

We saw many sights on those trips. I vaguely recall civil war battlefields, the beaches of Biloxi, Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, caverns in Tennessee, the steep, brake-burning hills of the Shenandoah Valley, and the Smithsonian Museum (Air & Space, as I recall).

One trip took us along the Mississippi, through St. Louis, across Illinois, Ohio, and Indiana, and into Western New York. Once there, we spent an afternoon at Niagara Falls. This was the marquee sight of the road home.

If pushed a month ago to describe the visit, here is what I would have said.

I remember lots of kitschy tourist-trap shit. Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, a Guinness Book of World Records museum, crappy souvenir shops, chain restaurants. Sure, I thought the Ripley’s place was pretty awesome. For some reason, I think of a car assembled from pennies, but I’m not overflowing with confidence on that point. I remember the crowds. Crowds did not intimidate me at that age, though they probably should have. I remember rainbows in the mist. The “Canadian Falls” were huge, and the “American Falls” down the river were pathetic by comparison. I remember taking that to heart, and not liking it. I was a Reagan ten-year-old. I knew Niagara Falls was famous as a romantic destination. I probably got that from World Book, since I always flipped through the AAA TripTik as soon as it arrived in the mail, looking for each boldfaced city in the encyclopedia. In that regard, I haven’t changed---only now I start with Wikipedia. As we leaned around other gawking tourists, I remember thinking that I didn’t see what was so romantic about falling water. Then again, I was only ten years old, and chock full of misconceptions.

Last week, I returned to view the Falls again, through adult eyes, girlfriend’s hand in mine. I was excited for the opportunity, but nervous. What if my childhood memories held up?