NIAGARA FALLS


Now that we are leaving. Yes we are leaving NY and going to Barcelona… H and I have taken advantage of the JetBlue all you can jet promotion. We can visit our relatives before we leave—even the ones in Colombia! All for just $500. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Our first stop? Niagara Falls. We always wanted to see it—but never enough to pay for the trip and take the time off. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Our plan was to take the subway to the airport the flight to Buffalo a public bus to the falls. Walk around see what there is to see, have lunch and take the bus back to the airport and take the last flight back.

On the flight there we are in a row of seats between two Spanish couples that clearly know each other. They think nothing of talking to each other as if our row wasn’t there. And all of a sudden I remember. Spanish people are loud, and to Latin American ears their habits seem a bit abrasive and rude. I worry when it occurs to me that I have never had a Spanish friend—maybe I don’t like them… Then again maybe they will seem less loud when they are amongst themselves.

Is this move a mistake? We run into in them A couple of times in Niagara—or that is to sy we can hear that they are close. They have noticed we spoke Spanish and have asked for a our help knowing where to get off the bus etc; not wanting to spend the day with them we avoid them as much as possible.

Niagara is a very odd place. I have been to some tourist towns before certain sections of Ciudad Juarez, Nassau, Montego Bay and always been horrified at what tourism will do to what could be a lovely place. But I always thought that the biggest problem was the developing economy butting against first world economic power. Now I see that even in developed countries tourism does dreadful things. Niagara is covered with “family” tourist attractions which seems to mean several knock-off Madame Tussuad. (If you thought walking past Madame Tussuad as you hurried to get out Times Square was depressing? Try “Monsieur Tussuad”, or several other museums dedicated to wax creations of the worst criminals in history, or the most infamous people in the world etc.) but all is not wax museums loud electronic carnival barkers will try to usher you in to Ripley’s Believe it or Not, Hard Rock Café, several varieties of Haunted Houses or Fun-house type places all in super saturated colors and with neon lights on even though its 2 in the afternoon.
The food is also hideous. We found a falafel/shawarma place—I thought this was a safe bet because you can’t go wrong with falafel, right? I mean it can be greasier than youd like more or less tasty but its always all right? Sadly its not the case. I now know that you can really, really mess up falafel. Who knew?


But the falls themselves… they are beautiful. Standing over them on the Canadian side the water looks like glass right before it cascades down. The view is beautiful. WE went on the boat too. H was so sweet to humor me—but its almost the only way to see them from the bottom.
The line is ridiculously long even on this cold September day but it moves quickly. On our way down the hill to get to the boat we are pushed into a room so that they can take a picture of us against a blue screen this way they can superimpose us onto the falls later. We tell them we aren’t interested.
“It’s free. You don’t have to buy the picture”
“Yeah, no thanks,” H says again.
“It’s a great way to remember your visit to the falls.”
I don’t point out that it wont be an actual picture of us at the falls because even then we wouldn't want to do it, but it leaves me thinking how right Baudrillard is.

But specifically, I wonder how many people will take home a picture of them “at the falls” as a souvenir and how that picture will mesh, or not, with their memories. What will they think about when they see it? Of the line that passes through the room where they take the picture, of the boat ride, of the entire holiday, or of a moment that doesn’t exist the moment when they stood against the falls and someone snapped a picture of them?

Anyway, the trip was totally worth getting up early for, luckily, that is all it had to live up for. It was an anthropological marvel more than anything but the waterfalls are beautiful—they are worth a small detour, or an early rise, so thanks JetBlue for your sale.


Note that its not my picture either... more simulacra. On the other hand will I ever start taking photographs-- it seems unlikely.

We have gotten rid of almost everything now. Every day I take about ten books down and place them in front fo the building and hope someone will take them. So far almost every book has “sold” I am thrilled not to have to throw them away but have been surprised at many of the books that have found new homes. Most of the novels seemed like good candidate, but who knew that books about Russian peasants in the 18th century, Kant’s Critique of Judgment, or really dry literary theory would be picked up as well.

Today I sat in my much emptied apartment and cried as if my first love had left me. I have lived in New York for some 15 years. I leave NY in the fall, the same season in which I arrived to go to Sarah Lawrence. I do want to go, so why does this feel so sad?