Travelling riverside blues

10 A.D.

Yesterday afternoon passed lazily, dominated by powernaps and watching the football via a dodgy webstream on the netbook (Canadian TV doesn’t do soccer!) I took the opportunity to have a bath because I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to again. We also hung out our hand washing to dry. Speaking of clothes, are you getting used to seeing the same few outfits in the photographs over and over again???

We left the motel and headed into what we thought was the town for tea and Friday night beers, but the place seemed deserted, apart from the occasional Harley Davidson roaring down the empty streets. A local radio station was being pumped out through speakers hanging from the lampposts like something out of Fahrenheit 451 – what would Southport residents make of Dune FM blaring out across Lord Street as they went about their shopping?

When we stopped at the only bar for miles around, the waitress told us that Ontario is very strict with its liquor licensing and there were only two places she knew of where ale could be bought, and they’d be closing soon. So, leaving Tim to guard the table at the bar, I hot-footed it a couple of blocks to ‘The Beer Shop’ and bought...beer. And I may have crossed the border, but I’m still not getting ID’d...is that a good or a bad thing? The evening was notable for me breaking my duck at getting my leftovers bagged-up to go – I couldn’t eat much of the very tasty battered shrimp because I’d drunk too much of the refreshing root beer too quickly (gotta make the most of those free refills!) Other obstacles to happy munching are the three ulcers in my mouth and one on my tongue which came up a couple of days ago, presumably from all the hassles of getting ready to go on the trip. While they aren’t spoiling my enjoyment of the holiday one bit, they have kept me off crisps for the last three days (those who know me well can understand the scale of this crisis).

After sinking a couple of beers, we slept well on our separate double beds and rose at 8. We were out of the Crystal Inn at 9 to hit the only place to go in town – The Falls! The temperature was just swell as we took the windy road along the river, learning from the scattered information plaques that the breach point of the falls has receded by 3.66 kilometres in the last 12,000 years. One thing I have noticed since being in Canada is how clean and tidy the streets are. The houses are mostly made of wood and every single residence is a unique build; there are no apartment blocks, just motels, some of which look like they charge by the hour, rather than the night. And it’s true what they say about Canadians – they’re all extremely friendly people.

Before you get to Horseshoe Falls, you see American Falls, which is like the little brother falls, but still damn dramatic. We took a million and one pictures as we approached the elder brother. Altogether, almost three quarters of a million gallons of water explode over the edge of Niagara Falls. That is two awesome for me to contemplate. And for once the use of the word “awesome” is justified. It is bizarre to think that since 1901, 15 people have plunged over the edge, with 10 of them surviving. The scariest thing we’d be doing that day was taking a boat ride on The maid of the mist.

Just after midday (thought it felt like it had gone 3) we went to buy our tickets, revelling in the impromptu showers that relieve us from the sun’s rays when the wind changes direction and the gigantic tower of spray falls upon us. There are lots of people wanting to go on the ride, but the boat goes every 15 minutes and the queue doesn’t take long to go down. I am a bit concerned about my phone getting soaked and conking-out, but joining the blue plastic poncho brigade alleviates my fears. I’m not exactly an off-the-rack shape, but in this case one size fits all.

The boat ride is a jolly old laugh as we sail past American Falls and get right under Horseshoe Falls, squealing with delight as our ponchos do their job and keep us dry from the liquid white-out that’s a hundred metres away. It doesn’t last long, but we all get some great piccies and video footage. Once back on dry land we leave the edge of the falls and head towards the town proper, grimacing at the tacky casinos and fairground attractions that give the hordes of tourists something else to do once they’ve become sick of waterfalls. But I wasn’t bothered about slot machines or ghost trains, I had far greater concerns, having just run out of hairspray...