It might have been a mistake to book an entire week in Niagara Falls, Ontario.
The volume of water, the height it plunged, the roar it made, the mist it produced, were awe-inspiring – for about an hour. Two hours, if you went back at night to see the colored lights.
The second day we discovered Clifton Hill, three blocks of pavement rapidly ascending from the edge of the gorge. Its sides were lined with dozens of shops whose sole purpose was to relieve tourists of their money.
Not Starbucks, Henry’s Coffee Emporium – lovely stained glass, wish we lived at 708 Fulton.
To begin: In reverse, on the banner outside the window, are the words ‘Clifton Hill.’ I’m not crazy(er than usual). There may be a Clifton Hill somewhere else, but I thought of Niagara Falls, since we’ve been there several times. There is no ‘Fulton’, St., Ave., etc. in Niagara. Don’t let my slightly dystopian tale affect any plans. The place is well worth visiting.
The Falls are magnificent, from either side of the border. The city is clean and well-run, and has much to offer. Clifton Hill is like a little microcosm of Las Vegas, or a permanent carnival set-up. It has wax museums; the Ripley’s Believe It or Not, museums of the strange, shops offering kitschy mementos. It has a small Ferris Wheel, perched halfway up the hill. It has candy shops and purveyors of all types of food, some of it fried, which is good, but not necessarily good for you.
Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.