THERE IS NOTHING EXTRAORDINARY ABOUT NIAGARA FALLS,” SAID OSCAR WILDE. “IT WOULD BE REMARKABLE IF IT WENT THE OTHER WAY.”
YOU MIGHT SAY THE SAME THING ABOUT OSCAR WILDE.
I wake up to a sunny day by the shores of Lake Erie, which looks like a big blue ocean. Tonight we play the University of Buffalo Center for the Arts and then on to Ann Arbor, whoever she is. It’s a freezing morning here in Buffalo. There’s ice on the water of the fountain in front of our strangely named hotel, which is called Adam’s Mark. It doesn’t say who Adam’s Mark is. I never knew Adam was gay, but with all the rumors swirling around about poor Prince Charles, you never know who they’re going to out next. Last night Geraldo Rivera was positively out of the closet with joy, as he stirred up the rumor mill with the usual Brit rent-a-comment experts. Gerry, who looks more and more like a refugee from the Village People, was squirming with barely suppressed joy. Listen, take it from me, a man who believes that the royals should be let go for their own safety, Prince Charles is about as gay as a minesweeper. He’s about as bisexual as a buffalo. He’s a son of a queen, not a queen of a son. I’ve met Prince Charles on a few occasions socially—“Hello, Charlie boy,” Eddie Izzard said last time—and he strikes me as a very nice, interesting, decent man trapped in hell. That’s why I think all the royals should be let go, for their own mental health. Stalking royals has replaced deer stalking in the U.K. It’s a tabloid sport. Fox News has replaced fox hunting. Incidentally I think the correct way of punctuating that should be Fox News? (Italics and question mark compulsory.)
Peter, John, Skip, and I take a trip to Niagara Falls. It’s about a thirty-minute drive from the shores of Lake Erie where our hotel sits, athwart a constantly Dopplering freeway that sounds like a twenty-four-hour Grand Prix. You can see the smoke of the falls several miles away, a white cloud rising higher than the skyscrapers of downtown Niagara. We crossed a low bridge spanning the river, which churned beneath us in strong skeins of white water, and drove onto the island that separates the two branches of the falls. The water was moving very fast, occasionally interrupted by big black rocks, until it suddenly became ominously smooth, rushed forward, and then plunged into nothing. The river simply disappears. As we leave the car and walk toward the thunderous noise, the ice-cold water droplets in the air dampen and then chill us. It’s freezing, about twenty-two degrees here. We reach the viewpoint where we get a first glimpse of the dizzying white feathery falls. It’s a breathtaking sight, powerful and impressive and unforgettable. The constant sound of the rushing water, the strong updraft of the water clouds, the ever present rainbow, and the faint echoing shadow of a double rainbow just beyond it leave us speechless. The freezing-cold water from Lake Erie is tumbling down the Niagara River toward Lake Ontario on its way to the sea. Excited Japanese tourists race past us, snapping away. Although you don’t get the full, wide-angled panoply of the Canadian view here on the American side, nevertheless you are much closer to the water’s edge, and when we walk over to the larger Horseshoe Falls, the prospect is extraordinary. The sun is shining through the rising mist, making the river gleam as it races to its doom. On the tiny islands that divide the stream, the ferns are etched with white frost. At this point we are within five yards of the water as it ceases to become a river, and suddenly becomes a shower. You can barely see the Canadian side for the swirling clouds of mist, but way below, on a rocky promontory, tiny tourists in yellow raingear are strutting about like Lilliputians. At the base of the falls, the river turns sharp right into a steeply etched channel, where it is joined by the bubbling froth from the secondary falls and sets off bravely for Canada. Can you believe someone went over this last week? It’s madness to even step into the river it’s so cold. But to voluntarily go over the edge? Yet they survived! We step into the gift shop to get warm. The cold has gone into my bones, and my ears are frozen. It’s like being twelve again. They are selling daredevil videos of the people who make a living going over Niagara. It makes comedy look a very soft option.