With disturbed sleep, and a slight alcohol headache, we decided to catch a later bus than first planned to Niagara Falls.
It was for the best in the end, because Niagara was a ghost town. It resembled Blackpool, with all the attractions cold and empty, waiting to be glorified by the summer and the hoards of tourists once again. The hotels and rides were also looking a little decrepit and rusty. Add this to the reams of souvenirs shops that appeared tired, and which were also closed, and the ‘Blackpool look’ was complete.
Once we had walked from the town down to the Falls themselves, we took all the mandatory photographs and then basically had about two-and-a-half hours to kill. We went behind the falls, but where we would have seen the might torrents crashing down, we saw bubbles of ice.
We searched for somewhere to get a coffee, but everywhere was closed. Eventually we got to Tim Horton’s, and even that closed it doors on us when it didn’t realise we hadn’t left yet! The highlight of that part of our adventure was that I actually won on the Tim Horton’s ‘Roll the Rim to Win’ promotion! Okay, so it was just another coffee, but it was a moral victory all the same.
Once we had surpassed enough time in Niagara to wait for the bus, we headed back to the station. The bus was nearly 1 ½ hours late. In the meantime we had to contend with a rude station attendant, a drunk, racist hick and a young, single mother. So the comparisons with Blackpool continue.
Once we actually got on the bus to Buffalo, we were finally on our way to America. Customs did their best to make us miss our transfer for the bus to Washington, and once we actually did arrive in Buffalo, the differences between Canada were obvious.
Instantly Kate and I felt a bit more unsafe, and even the bus driver warned us, “don’t go outside in Buffalo. I’m not saying it’s bad, but Buffalo is Buffalo.” We didn’t go outside.
The New York bus was absolutely packed. We managed to get a seat next to the sloshing noises of the restroom and the banging of the broken door. Also, there was motor-mouth Jones on his cell phone in the seat next to us, and a girl who was doing wonders for Britain’s credibility down the bus. She was a typical prima-dona with her inflatable neck cushion and eye-mask to sleep. Also, she marched around the petrol-station when we stopped half way like she owned the place. She got on my nerves to say the least.
The 16 hours that we spent on buses between Niagara and Washington was tough. We were cranky, sleep-deprived and insanely bored. However, it was all made worth as we came into Manhattan for our New York transfer. The sun was rising up on the horizon and all the buildings were silhouetted in a brilliant pink sky. It was a sight, and the first time ever that I was pleased that I was awake at six o’clock in the morning.
It was for the best in the end, because Niagara was a ghost town. It resembled Blackpool, with all the attractions cold and empty, waiting to be glorified by the summer and the hoards of tourists once again. The hotels and rides were also looking a little decrepit and rusty. Add this to the reams of souvenirs shops that appeared tired, and which were also closed, and the ‘Blackpool look’ was complete.
Once we had walked from the town down to the Falls themselves, we took all the mandatory photographs and then basically had about two-and-a-half hours to kill. We went behind the falls, but where we would have seen the might torrents crashing down, we saw bubbles of ice.
We searched for somewhere to get a coffee, but everywhere was closed. Eventually we got to Tim Horton’s, and even that closed it doors on us when it didn’t realise we hadn’t left yet! The highlight of that part of our adventure was that I actually won on the Tim Horton’s ‘Roll the Rim to Win’ promotion! Okay, so it was just another coffee, but it was a moral victory all the same.
Once we had surpassed enough time in Niagara to wait for the bus, we headed back to the station. The bus was nearly 1 ½ hours late. In the meantime we had to contend with a rude station attendant, a drunk, racist hick and a young, single mother. So the comparisons with Blackpool continue.
Once we actually got on the bus to Buffalo, we were finally on our way to America. Customs did their best to make us miss our transfer for the bus to Washington, and once we actually did arrive in Buffalo, the differences between Canada were obvious.
Instantly Kate and I felt a bit more unsafe, and even the bus driver warned us, “don’t go outside in Buffalo. I’m not saying it’s bad, but Buffalo is Buffalo.” We didn’t go outside.
The New York bus was absolutely packed. We managed to get a seat next to the sloshing noises of the restroom and the banging of the broken door. Also, there was motor-mouth Jones on his cell phone in the seat next to us, and a girl who was doing wonders for Britain’s credibility down the bus. She was a typical prima-dona with her inflatable neck cushion and eye-mask to sleep. Also, she marched around the petrol-station when we stopped half way like she owned the place. She got on my nerves to say the least.
The 16 hours that we spent on buses between Niagara and Washington was tough. We were cranky, sleep-deprived and insanely bored. However, it was all made worth as we came into Manhattan for our New York transfer. The sun was rising up on the horizon and all the buildings were silhouetted in a brilliant pink sky. It was a sight, and the first time ever that I was pleased that I was awake at six o’clock in the morning.
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