Something
went wrong in Niagara Falls. It's a place utterly defined by a piece
of stunning natural beauty, artwork of the gods, yet is framed by the
flabby vultures of casinos, savory as piles of crusted pus.
Good
morning!
That
was my feeling in Niagara, at least the first half, as it struck me
as a prime example of the overlapping and concurrence of the sacred
and the profane. What should be a temple to tangible spirituality,
awe, and gratitude is instead devoted to the counterfeit capitalist
god of the dollar.
The
town seemed to be dominated by aggressive-looking Eminems with bad
posture under oversized clothing who only left the house to walk
their pit bull to the corner store to buy more booze. I looked at the
towering casinos and wondered how they'll come down. Environmental
catastrophe, war, and zombie apocalypse are my best guesses. I love
the idea of their deliberate disassembly by a humanity that has
rediscovered its divine capacity and benevolently retires the
mistaken decadence of the past century...but I think zombies are more
likely.
On the
ride out I'd again marveled at people's ability to peer in and tap on
their cell phones for hours on end, and I suspected the zombies are
already here. They're not the risen dead, just the mentally and
spiritually e-mutiliated.
But
then I had lunch. As my blood sugar rose, my spirits went with it.
I
enjoyed my fast food, white bread sandwich provided by Tim Horton's
(aka the Canadian Starbucks) while sitting on the floor in front of
large windows tinted white by endless mineral deposit of evaporated spray.
The
first person I people-watched while I ate my “hearty” vegetable
soup was a girl of indeterminate age who flung three pieces of paper
over the edge. My jaw dropped, chicken salad splattering everywhere,
as I marveled at someone so immune to beauty that they would want to
throw their garbage into it.
But I
kept chewing, and noticed the father and daughter who threw snowballs
instead and watched them fall into the torrent, then clapped. And
there were the couples, kissing in front of the vista while a friend
took their picture, smiles all around. Or the honeymooners, holding
hands crammed in a pocket against the chill.
I went
outside, felt the spray on the back of my neck, and laughed out loud.
The
last piece of my perception was the town itself. I come from a
tourist destination too, and am well accustomed to hearing people
bitch about visitors. They don't know where they're going, jack up
prices, and take all the parking! Mah! MAH!
What
are we, a whole town of Dick Cheneys?
But it
seems to me that, as I mentioned in my last post, humans have the
capacity to choose their reality. You can bitch about the foreigners,
or you can take pride in the place you live, that people would want
to come visit it.
On my
walk to the falls I passed houses with giant “NO TRESPASSING”
signs in their windows, on their trees, and even guarding a vacant
lot. There was little sign of local life, and I wondered if they had
all either fled or been eaten in the casino buffet. “Mmm, roast
local, delicious!”
But as
I stopped to take one more picture of the beautiful chasm of the
Niagara River with its mineral green water and ice chandeliers, an
elderly lady coming up the path called out “Would you like me to
take your picture?”
Sure,
why not, I think I have about 4 pictures from the past 4 years of
traveling (when K is not with me). I thanked her.
“I'm
a local, and people have done it for me when I travel, and I'd be
glad to do it for you. Where are you from?” We chatted for awhile
about destinations, California, and the Falls. Canadians do seem to
be as nice as I always suspected (except when they're driving, even
they can't stay friendly in those mobile anger chambers) but this
lady takes the cake. In fact, I bet she bakes the cake, and every
day's your birthday.
Did
you know you have a Canadian grandmother? I've met her, she's rad.
She lives in an interesting town next to a beautiful natural wonder.
Toronto's been fun, but off to Iceland tonight...
