It's All Downhill from Here

Our Southbound trip was winding down towards Florida. While we had no special interests on this last leg into Florida, our campgrounds provided amusement. For one thing they both were on an honor system. Anything trusting the wandering populace is rather unique in this day and age.

Our first night was at a Shriner's Hall in Macon, Georgia. To be precise the Al Sihah Shrine Temple Center in the “oasis of Macon, desert of Georgia” - - on Mecca Drive, no less. I wondered if the charitable organization now regretted the 1870's fascination with the exotic orient and their Masonic founder's choice of that imagery for the group. Mecca Drive brought you to large attractive modern meeting hall. In the center of the ample parking lot stood a massive statue, like Ozymandias before his fall. 

Located in a park behind the center was the campground. It was a spreading grassy field with full amenities and a beautiful pond. There was no one on duty and note on a mailbox stated to put $10 in the mailbox. Not only one of the nicest campgrounds, we have seen, but also definitely the least expensive. There were a few families camped in big rigs; children were playing in the field. It was an unexpectedly lovely place for the evening. Al Sihah means the perfect ones and turned out to be a perfect evening.

Driving down from the piney barons and rolling hills of Georgia, the terrain gradually becomes more and more flat. The panhandle has of a subtropical climate, than the true tropics of South Florida. Between the panhandle and the keys it is 12 hours if you were to drive straight through. We would be breaking the trip up into three, four hour legs. There are some minor gradations passing for hills in North Florida but it they are light woods, gentle fields and horse farms.  

As we reached Central Florida, it became apparent that the only change in the ground level is landfills. There is no natural variation in the terrain. Here inland, if you see flocks of birds like seagulls swooping around you can look for the sea. What you will find is a  domed grassland not a sand dune - - It's a landfill. Other wise it is flat, flat, flat. The sole other distinctions breaking the level skyline are the cell and TV towers. With such level terrain, the immense towers have a broad spectrum. The towers appeared to be vertical landscape, erected judging by the signage, by the local towns. It was amusing to consider that the only respite from the flatland, were public facilities for refuse and communications.

Our next overnight was as unexpectedly odd as the Shriner's was pleasing. As we entered the long state of Florida we knew we just needed quick parking spots before heading home. A spot midway between Macon and a friend's house in Vero Beach, to be precise. Multiple calls to a conveniently located park's owner had elicited contrary reports, “we have no space, we do have space”. Finally it was determined that because our trailer was small there was a spot for us. We could tuck ourselves behind their sign. The place was billed as a rural bucolic location. You did have to drive miles off the highway, around about on a dirt road, only to pull up alongside the highway! The sign in question was highway billboard! As the fee was also $10, to be placed in an envelope by the wash house, it would be just fine for an overnight. But what a contrast to the preceding evening.

It was a quick trip the next day to visit an old Maryland friend now living in a gated community in Vero Beach. He took us for a drive from his manicured community through the slightly funky “old” Vero to a casual seafood place built out on a pier in the fishing town of Sebastian. With the peculiarly memorable name of “Squid Lips”, it had to be good. Indeed it was excellent seafood in a great location, both the “right over the water” site and the town of Sebastian being charming. Overnight as guests and the next day, Marathon.

Post Irma Postcript

Hurrican Irma had covered the state of Florida. Coming ashore about 30 miles south of our place in Marathon, near Big Pine Key, it had wandered it's way North up the long body of the state. As Irma's storm spread was over 100 miles wide and Florida is only 100 miles wide, the entire state was effected.  While driving through the north and central parts of the state, there was some storm damage. Six weeks after Irma nothing was notable, just a standard storm. Arriving on the Keys, Irma's damage and continuing cleanup was very apparent.

Grassy Key is only a quarter mile across. At one point  projections had the Hurrican coming ashore in Marathon. The 30 miles difference had slowed the peak wind down somewhat. Never the less, after six weeks of diligent removals, the Keys were still recovering. Piles of refrigerators, freezers, ovens, doors, windows , siding and whole roofs lined the road. The cleanup was still underway.


People were hauling out the ruined detritus of their lives and piling it at the curb. Huge garbage tips with attached cranes went up and down the residential streets clearing the debris and piling it along the main roads for sorting and disposal. With such a limited landscape, the collecting, piling and sorting made for a slow process. 

At a public meeting, the Emergency Manager commented that under the circumstances nothing would make everyone happy. Given that one suggestion for dealing with the debris was to "just dump it in the ocean". The resounding chorus of groans, dismissed that concept without further comment. Aside from compounding an eco-disaster, anything you dump in shallow shelf around the Keys eventually comes right back to shore! Never the less, the call and response demonstrated the divergence of views.

Our neighbors had sent us pictures of our house. We knew our house had only sustained minimal damage, screens blown out of the lounge walls and a couple of cracked window panes. It was not until we arrived in our neighborhood that we realized how fortunate we had been. Mini tornadoes had touched down erratically.   As one drove around our block, one would see a completely cleared area alternating with a relatively intact tropical grove. A house without any roof, standing next to another relatively undamaged. One of the these min-twisters had cleared a portion of our back yard but hopped right over the house. 

Our house had been surrounded by an acre of tall tropical hardwoods, two story and more tall dogwood, ironwood and mahogany. The high hammock of tropical trees had taken the brunt of the storm, slowing the wind speeds. Every tree had been twisted off at about 12 feet from the ground. Some of the twisted limbs hung upside down on the remaining trunks, but most had been strewn across all the open yard and entrances. These were not fallen branches but whole tree trunks. Our marvelous neighbor, Matt, who operates a nearby eco-friendly water park had cleared the trees blocking our drive. Sustained wind speeds in Marathon were clocked at over 100 miles per hour. By all rights if the hammock had not taken the wind, we should not have had a single intact window!

Before the storm hit, Rebekah had driven down to Marathon from Miami, secured the potential projectiles around the house, turning off the power and water, and dashed back to Miami to evacuate for a week. No one was permitted back onto the Keys for weeks. Even full time residents had to stay out until the water supplies and power were relatively safe.

Bekah returned to check the house only after the boil water advisory was lifted. Even, then another month later, both electricity and water would surge and fall. Those secondary effects resulted in a dead refrigerator and clogged pipes. Considering the 30” flooding our neighbors experienced and the seaside houses literally lifted up and relocated across the highway, we consider ourselves lucky. 

It is now over six months since Irma, many homes and businesses are still shattered or rebuilding. Those whose houses were washed away and received FEMA temporary housing [RV trailers] were at one point told they would have to return the RV in June. Some of those, now have been dispensation to stay for another year. Even so not everyone can arrange financing and rebuild. FEMA provides loans and grants but the property must be to current building code. Some areas now are require homes be on stilts to preclude future flooding;  a great idea and the reason our home escaped major flooding. Unfortunately, many homeowners can not afford the increased building cost. 

The storm had battered  all the trees. It was weeks before we could clear the yard of the fallen limbs. Francis had been naturalizing epithetic orchid plants, attaching them to the lower tree branches. When we first arrived it appeared the orchids were all dead, battered by the storm. Nature does bounce back remarkably. Within weeks the plants had new growth, put out shoots and begun to bloom. It will be years before man's structures have rebuilt from Irma but nature can recuperate quickly.

Smokey Mountains into the Cherokee Homeland

The largest forest and biomass East of the Mississippi River, the Smokey Mountains get their name comes from the natural fog that hangs over the range. Although there have been forest fires, it isn't really smoke; the fog is actually caused by the trees! Their vapors create constant mists which float between the ravines like plumes of smoke. 



How beautiful to drive through the mountains just as the leaves begin to turn. Travelling South we had the experience multiple times. The Poconos had just had their first frost and lighht snowfall as we departed, the russet leaves had already fallen from the oak trees in our yard. Along the Blue Ridge, it was mostly still green with a few turning leaves in the higher elevations. Climbing into the Smokeys, the leaves again turned from green to gold and red. The mountain passes were breathtaking. Undulating views from the summits down into the valleys. We paused to appreciate each turn of scene.

Our next campground was buried deep in the Cherokee Homeland. We had to drive there twice. The GPS route was actually closed and we had to back track and take another route. It was with great relief that we finally found our way. Down steep hills and long sinous rills, we drove past signs with location names in both Anglo and Cherokee characters. Streets with tribal family names and small farms abounded. I didn't know much about the Cherokee, beyond Sequoia's development of a written language and the trail of tears.

In driving through Oklahoma, we had passed by one reservation after another. The Great white Fathers broke numerous treaties. With catastrophic consequences most of the original inhabitants of the initial colonies and those tribes encountered during America's manifest destiny expansion had been “relocated” under the 1830s Indian removal act to lands in Oklahoma. Drive Route 50 cross country and you will see their revenge, one casino complex after another. This area of the Smokey Mountains is not a reservation; this is part of the original Cherokee Homeland. The tribe, now known as the Eastern Band, still in residence had managed to keep their lands and avoided the tragic forced march to the barren mid-west. It appeared here that the overall quality of life and cultural identity had been retained. How did they accomplish this?

Aside from the pervasive signage in the Cherokee language, one evidence of the cultural strength was the new school complex we passed on our way and from the campground. It was a beautiful campus. Located alongside a flowing stream, it discreetly combined the current trends for enhanced security without sacrificing any educational welcome or the rural settings. The architecture evoked the mountains and repeated themes common in Cherokee graphics and basketry. The curriculum includes an extensive cultural program, with the Cherokee culture integrated into areas, Cherokee language and history, traditional song and dance, a Heritage week and an emphasis on honoring Grandparents and Elders. Not all serious stuff, the culture is in the sports program too. The teams chant a Cherokee war song before games. It must be effective as a large sign proclaimed that the Lady Braves were the State Basketball Champions.

The Cherokee Museum of History traces 13000 years from paleolithic pre-colonial culture, to initial contacts with Europeans and into subsequent American history. All told from a perspective quite different from the conventional history books. Since these were the peoplewho had suceeded in maintaining a continuous history and identity, the depiction seemed quite fair and balanced, and absolutely fascinating. One extensive display was the first Cherokee impressions of London, when they went to England to meet with the King. To our modern eyes, the Cherokee's opinion of the foppish 17^th century dress seem right on target. The Cherokee suede breeches and moccasins are still worn, not so with powdered wigs and codpieces.

The detailed explanation of Sequoia's interest and process in developing their written language was a semanticist's dream. He was brilliant. He was illiterate but recognized thata written language would help ensure the Cherokee cultural identity. He taught himself to read in English and derived a syllabary suitable to the spoken conventions of the Cherokee language. Each character represents a full phoneme, as the spoken language combines consonants with vowels into syllables. In addition, the written symbols are elegant and beautiful in appearance.

The section of more recent history, the sad tradition of broken treaties and duplicity made me want to loudly announce that my forbears were not involved - - being as they were similarly being chased around Europe. There had been three main tribes of Cherokee on the homelands. One group seeing the writing on wall, sold out. While the lands were not actually theirs to sell, they sold out to the White man, pocketing the proceeds and purchasing good arable land in the Midwest. This enabled them to relocate with some degree of dignity and live in comfort. Another group refused to concede and were force marched with a great loss of life. The remaining tribe took the oath of American Citizenship, and as citizens put a portion of their lands in a trust now known as the Qualla Boundary (under a white man) which preserved their rights to their homeland and to great extent their culture. This schism in the Cherokee lasted until the 20^th Century, exacerbated by differing attitudes on slavery during the Civil War. The tribe also has a cultural dinner theater experience. The Museum was sufficient food for thought.

On our way out of the Smokey Mountains National Park we stopped at the Oconaluftee Mountain Farm Museum. There is a visitor center and a collection of historic log buildings which were gathered from throughout the Smoky Mountains. A residential home, a horse barn, an apple house, a spring house and a smokehouse are on display. While not extensive it is unique, indicating how laborious was farming life last century.


The spring house in particular, it was daunting to envision laundry days in the dark confines of the spring house. The log house was of chestnut, a beautiful wood no longer seen as the chestnut blight of decimated the American Chestnut in the 1930s. 

The geometry of the barn's post and beam construction was a wonderful symmetry, reminding me both of the traditional the Cherokee basket motifs and of Frank Lloyd Wright's organic Sumac and Wheat designs.

Gateway to the Smokey's via Enormous Silliness

Some places are so absurd, you just have to shake your head and laugh. The first time I went to Las Vegas, I had that reaction. It is just ridiculous. Pigeon Forge beats Vegas cold. Dollywood and Dolly Parton's Stampede Dinner theater with rodeo shows every night, I expected. Nigfhtly LumberJack and Hatfield and McCoy Feuds, ditto  

It was the giant buildings in weird shapes: an upside-down mansion with upended plaster palm trees; shops that featuring entrances like enormous shark's maws; a crime museum shaped like Alcatraz; A replica of the Titanic crashed into a concrete iceberg! You enter through the iceberg, by the way. Miami mansions, San Francisco prisons and British ships with North Atlantic ice floes, seem a bit out of place in the Tennessee mountains! Why are there live sharks in the mountains? Just observing these establishments was entertainment enough for me.

Our RV park was quite the opposite aesthetic, a lovely secluded campsite along a creek. Just across the creek was the Pigeon Forge High School. The marching band was practicing every afternoon and we had the added benefit of a free concert. The creek itself was quite scenic. With mossy trees and the occasional wading bird. The contrast between our quiet bucolic spot and the hectic traffic surging through town was extreme, yet were only a few blocks from the main drag. Like they say, location, location, location.

One redeeming feature of Pigeon Forge was good food. We chanced upon a local family owned chain to try their well-touted smoke house Bar Be Que. The Johnson family of restaurants covered all the bases from fried chicken to ice cream to pizza. My heart and stomach were set on smoked meat. The restaurant had all the usual pulled pork and brisket, plus an ingenious adaptation of the drumstick concept. They smoked and served the pig trotters as drumstick size portions. Leaner than the usual shoulder or ribs, they were a perfect non-greasy portion. Even Francis found them hard to resist. The ample buffet of side dishes, were predictably heavy on dressings but never the less excellent.

Down the road from Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg is nestled in the foothills of the Smokies. In contrast to the crazy commerce gone wild, Gatlingburg was subdued and tasteful. Every hotel and cafe was appropriately rustic and the touristic promotion is a drive through the mountain roads to visit small hand craft shops. Most of the draft shops were fairly predictable, heavy rustic pottery and wooden tourist souvenirs, but some were distinctly local and quite representation of the mountain culture. Hand-tooled leather belts and bags would be a perfect and perfectly appropriate carry home. A couple of shops featured hand worked glass decorative objects. At Sparky's Glassblowing, the convivial owner made custom light catchers and Holiday ornaments while you waited.

My interest was particularly piqued by the traditional musical instruments. At Smokey Mountain Dulcimers, not only were the instruments beautiful but also had additional features to facilitate learning to play. Mark Edelman,the owner and artisan, had originated a marked fretboard, with designated finger placements and a music tutorial of common folk songs. He gave us a wonderful concert, demonstrating the varied tonalities of the different dulcimer types. While I yearned to make a purchase, Francis being a woodworker himself, insisted he will create his own. Another nearby shop had banjos and ukes, with the shop owners providing an impromptu concert for any passer-byes.

The next day we continued our drive through the Smokey Mountains to the Cherokee Homeland in North Carolina. We had a reservation at an RV park in the Homeland. Not, as I learned, a reservation on a reservation. This was the original homeland of the Cherokee tribes. The details of their history, I would soon learn about at the Museum.

Finally the Music!

Bristol is charming. It has that laid back country vibe with a touch of Southern hospitality. Everyone was saw was smiling, everyone we met was helpful. It did start to rain. First a drizzle, quickly becoming a warm downpour. Must be standard weather conditions as all the buildings on Main Street had awnings or overhangs. A long-haired gray-bearded fellow set aside his bike and took a seat out of the rain at the outdoor tables of a quiet cafe. He politely asked me for a light. As I don't smoke I suggested Francis, who promptly produced one. He was just sitting quietly there, chain smoking and watching the rain. We did briefly chat, bit damp for bike riding? You get used to it. It is sunny and warm in spite of the rain. No one from the cafe bothered him and he didn't bother anyone. Live and let live on the TN side of the street.

Down Main Street from the Cafe was a old soda fountain turned into a pawn shop. The service bar and counter had been retained, with all the equipment. The marble counter and vintage kitchen accessories entranced me. I wished I was more in the mood for a phosphate or ice cream soda, as placards promoted. Francis was more interested in the instruments and old tech equipment on the Pawn side of the place. He hoped to find an abandoned old Martin guitar or a forgotten Morse code key. Unfortunately everything beyond the soda fountain was just used and conventional. The most common items being the cabinets and cabinets of ubiquitous gold chains and gem stone rings.

Alternatively, both literally and figuratively, being on the other side of Main Street, the Virginia side, there was an Antiques and Collectibles Mall. It contained booth after booth of intriguing little things, hand made items and rustic furniture. Odd advertising memorabilia from past decades, crowded with WW1 and 2 historic treasures, examples of American craft pottery and domestic linens and vintage ephemera, including faded tourist post cards of Bristol and any other tourist attraction you can imagine. Large hand made country baking cabinets and wash stands were in rows with tall linen presses and broad low boys.

A few blocks off Main Street is the new Smithsonian Affiliate “Birthplace of Country Music Museum”. With a name like that, I was concerned it would be very commercial - - Grand Ole Opry / Dolly Parton. No so, it clearly has the Smithsonian touch. The history of American culture and roots music, features a variety of aspects, through excellent multi-media displays. There were audiotapes of performances; videotapes of learned discussions on fingering technique; historical timelines indicating pivotal historical events and the role of technology in the development of a unique American music. There were, of course, beautiful displays of vintage instruments and intriguing memorabilia.

The last display was heartwarming 360 degree montage video of a various popular and lesser known musicians performing “Will the Circle be Unbroken”. It was so evocative one could not help but sing along with tears in one's eyes. As the song played with the video feed, clips and information about the Annual Bristol Roots music festival were shown. In Bristol, the circle is certainly unbroken.

Not only in Bristol, but also in nearby Hiltons, Virginia. The site of the Carter family farm, in what was called Poor Valley at the foot of Cinch Mountain, is now the Carter Family Fold, a non-profit memorial music center. The original farm house and the log cabin in which A.P. Carter was born are on the site. More interesting, every Saturday night there is a roots music concert. We were fortunate to hear a fantastic group called Five Mile Mountain Road Five Mile Mountain Road out of Franklin County, Virginia. They played bluegrass and old time classic country. Their lead, Billy Hurt, played fiddle with Seth Boyd and Brennen Ernst trading off on guitar and banjo and Steven Dowdy on bass; in addition, they threw in a little piano on occasion.

It was all foot tapping music for dancing. The crowd at the Fold was ready to dance. Before the band played, I kept hearing syncopated clacking. Was someone practicing the spoons? No, they were getting ready to country clog! As soon as the band started to play the dance floor was full of folks. Some were doing sophisticated country swing couple dances; but many were just clogging and tapping to their own rhythms. In tap shoes, workboots or Birkenstocks, they were following their own terpsichorean muses. One woman, who appeared to have come with the band, faced the stage and was in constant movement completing rapid complicated clog patterns. Another, I must admit looked more like a candidate for Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks than a conventional dancer. Many just did a slow soft shoe maneuver round and round the periphery of the stage. There were young belles and bucks in flowy-flowery dresses or low-slung jeans, both worn with cowboy boots. There were older couples and Grannies dancing with their grandkids. In was an all ages family friendly affair. The good vibes and welcoming good humor were pervasive.

Bristol and Hiltons would be reason enough to make a trip to Southeast Virginia. In addition, there is an entire heritage music trail called the “Crooked Road”, through this region of Virginia. It is full of concert venues and historic homes. I hope we can return someday and explore it further but on this trip we were headed farther South. We wanted to see the Smokey Mountains but would the tourist traps of Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg  be an amusing or a horrifying gateway?

Finally Heading Southbound

We set out from Shohola in early Fall. What could be nicer than a drive through the mountains as the leaves are turning? Heading West, we proceeded South through the Blue Ridge to New Market, VA.

The rural highway winds through the mountains past farms, close cropped after harvest or full of ripening corn awaiting harvest. The old stone barns occasionally contrast with modern structures, or hybrid creations where the farmer has adapted the original stone foundation with a high tech cantilevered metal super-structure. The undulating greenscape, just beginning to turn brown, is punctuated by the odd tree and clusters of dairy cows relaxing alongside small streams or cow-ponds. A few horses made their appearance. Clearly they are not dusty work horses but appear to be well bred and well groomed, waiting for equitation and dressage practice.

Endless Caverns is not only the name of a very nice well-run campground in New Market, VA but is the site of a natural wonder. Discovered in 1879, two boys literally went down the rabbit hole while rabbit hunting and discovered the caverns. The six mile warren of underground narrow tunnels and vaulted caves, is now open to the public through safely guided tours. While the overall limestone formation is much smaller, the individual stalactite and stalagmite formations rival those of Mammoth Cave or Carlsbad Caverns in the National Parks. The private owners of Endless Caverns have sensitively developed the subterranean features as a tourist attraction by erecting a camping resort on the surface. A feature of which we took good advantage.

What a nice place. There are well sited pull-offs suitable from big rigs to little tents, scattered attractively through the woods. With much untouched undergrowth and trees, you don't notice your neighboring campers. Unless, of course, you feel sociable. With the shared interest in travel and a bit of show and tell, you can always develop a good conversation. Our little teardrop, dwarfed by the 40 footers with their half-dozen slide out partitions, always engenders curiosity. If your style is “camping” is a two-bedroom two-bath mobile and you just gott'a have your own washer and dryer, then we must look crazy or at least minimalist. This camaraderie of RVing is the feature which attracts Francis; personally, I'm more interested in the passing scenes rather than the passer-byes.

Endless Caverns, in spite of the interesting looking junk shops in New Market and an educational walking tour through the caves, was just an overnight on this trip. We were in a hurry to get South to Bristol, in time for the Saturday night show at the nearby Carter Family Fold.

We arrived in Bristol, TN towards dusk. It had been a long but pleasant drive through the mountains. We had a reservation at a camp ground called Shadrack, located outside of downtown but on the main road through Bristol. In our usual effort to avoid the major highways, we had approached our destination by way of a number of back roads. This gave us a scenic tour of rural VA and TN but we were getting tired and ready to park ourselves for a few days. Where was this campground? The main road seemed to have several names, Raceway, Volunteer as well as the usual County, State and Federal road numbers. If we could find a landmark, we would get our bearings. We drove along not seeing the campground signage and pulled over across from an enormous structure. This was a landmark, for sure. It was Bristol Speedway. We were definitely in the South, NASCAR!

The very pleasant young woman on the phone at the campground had no idea where they were located. Are you on route 116? Isn't that the route number for Volunteer Parkway? Are you on the same road as the Speedway? Are you North or South? Every query had the response “Not sure”. Finally after consultation with the other office staff, she was able to respond that the campground was closer to downtown Bristol than the Speedway. We needed to go towards town. Whew! Such are the small adventures in RV camping.

The actual camping area was hidden down a steep hill behind the office building. The rows of campsites clustered down a stream fed valley. There were many trailers clearly set up as Speedway accommodations but there was just one other spot occupied by current travelers. It was a dry day and Shadrack was a lovely place to stay. The hillside hid the highway and buffered the highway traffic, all that one can see being the backdrop of the woods behind the campground proper. If it were raining heavily, staying there could be rather less pleasant. The high water marks on the semi-permanent trailers, clearly marked the frequency that the stream flooded. The sole other campers, told us that they stayed at Shadrack every year on their Southbound FL migration. They knew the place well. Yes, those were NASCAR racer's campers and, yes, the stream flooded! I had a vision of large men wearing too tight shorts with mullet haircuts and slurred curses as they waded their way back to their trailers after a day at the races.

Saturday we began our musical immersion. A tour through the new History of the Roots of Country Music Museum, in Bristol, TN was followed by a visit at to the Mountain Music Museum, which was in the process of relocating to Kingsport, TN. In addition, we enjoyed wandering through the funky little antique and collectibles and pawn shops which line Main Street.

Niagara - - two sides to the Falls

In Niagara we stayed with Yogi Bear. There is an entire chain of campgrounds with a Yogi Bear theme. Our experience had been that these are pleasant well run facilities with the usual amenities, which do provide a variety of additional children's activities. We would forgo the latter but take advantage of a shuttle bus from the campground to the Falls. Yeah, less driving and no parking! Our driver sported horseshoe mustachios to match the Falls.  

Niagara Falls on the US side is quite unappealing, crowded, filled with traffic and cheap tourist attractions. A series of highway strip malls filled with fast food and t-shirt shops degrading a natural wonder. Niagara Falls on the CN side is quite lovely. There are historic forts and naturalist attractions all along the river approaching the Falls. The Falls themselves can be appreciated from the top or the bottom. You can hike through tunnels to observation areas dug into the cliffside to see the water rushing down past you. Absolutely stunning and fascinating. Surrounding the actual Falls area has been controlled development. Walkways, paths and garden beds at the waters edge. Hotels and shops, all coordinated architecturally, spreading outward through the town. In the US it has been pure capitalist development, with it appears minimal oversight; on the CN side a non-profit was founded to develop the area and they have controlled the very extensive and successful development. It all looks very high end in CN, very much the opposite in US. Rather embarrassing for an American crossing the border.

From the Canadian side the Falls surround you in a dramatic horseshoe. It seems as though it is raining but it is just the delicate spray thrown off by the force of the volumes of water permeating the air. It is a 188 feet drop for the 150,000 gallons per second pouring out of the Niagara River. The saturated air moistens every environmental surface; you might as well be in a sub-tropical rain forest. It is no wonder that the plantings look so lush. Having wandered up and down, inside and out of the Falls, you might build up an appetite. There is an excellent restaurant featuring local products overlooking the Falls. We were lucky enough to get a seat at the window with a peferct central view of the Falls and the huge 3D letters spelling out “Canada” on the landing. This spot was where folks would congregate to take their commemorative photos. In addition to the awe inspiring sights and sounds of the Falls themselves. This is an area for excellent people watching!

As an international tourist attraction, there are groups of every nationality, creed and color. You hear a mixture of languages murmuring in the background and see costumes indicating far far distance lands. The stereotypical far Asian tour group taking constant selfies and photos. The East Indian families helping rotund Grandmas (Great Grandmas?) as teenagers with only slightly petulant expressions corral younger siblings. Granny in a somber Widow's sari or Salwar Chemise,the younger Wifes and Mothers in brighter versions and the males and children all in Western dress. Even a few clearly Muslim families with some of the women in full Burqa. To avoid weighing their covering down in the damp, they would lift the hem occasionally displaying a graceful turned ankle or a brightly colored dress. There were similarly apparent Orthodox Jewish families, the men and boy's yarmulke and the tzitziyot on their tallit katan displaying their religious allegiance. Their wives and daughters were discretely modest. Perhaps the most unexpected was a large group of heavily tattooed inner city friends, a rough looking gang. They set themselves around the big Niagara Falls letter statuary, incongruously posing displaying finger pistols and shooting each other. Their broad smiles undercut any actual aggressive implication. Everyone is awed by the force of the Falls and reflects their appreciation with demeanor of child like wonder. It is a place full of good cheer.