Niagara Falls: More Than Just Waterfalls

Author : ScottyRobel
Publish Date : 2021-04-08


Niagara Falls: More Than Just Waterfalls

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge; this is the nice view people come to see.

The view of the Falls is majestic and they make sure to offer plenty of scenic views for picture taking, or at least views designed to show off the obnoxious colored lighting illuminating the Falls at night, a man-made contrivance that adds a gaudy touch to the wonder-of-it-all akin to braiding plastic flowers into the mane of a champion stallion.

Not that this tourist-oriented intrusion particularly matters. You could never truly experience the Falls by gazing out on it from the top, no matter how close to the edge you got or how many laser light shows the powers-that-be decided would up-tick its tourist value. No matter what new gadget, gizmo or "interactive 4D experience" finds its way, the best way to experience the Falls is decidedly low-tech, and that's by riding the Maid of the Mist.

Riding the Falls

The Maid of the Mist is actually several ferry-sized boats on the Canadian side, that will take you past the American Falls to the larger Canadian Falls. The boats go into the heavy mists but not quite under the Falls itself, all for $19.75 Canadian or $15.50 US (€12 euros, £9 British pounds).

To get to The Maid of the Mist, walk through the unimpressive exhibits, head down a steep set of stairs, grab your flimsy blue poncho, board the boat, ignore the guide pretending they care about the history of the region, pull off your hood and brace yourself.

Flimsy blue poncho or not you're going to get soaked as the Maid pulls up to the Canadian Falls, so you might as well dive deep into the experience. After the Maid pulls in, it bobs back and forth for a few moments as the Falls beats down on you from three sides. During this time bare your face to the Falls, try to keep your eyes open, and thrust yourself into the sheer force of getting up-close-and-personal with that shockingly intimidating deluge that looks so nice on all those postcards.

The thing is... when you take The Maid of the Mist and you stand at the front on its upper docks your experience of the Falls will not be nice. You will not have a pleasant time. Plunked down there in the center of the Falls the sound is deafening, the spray hits you hard, and you need to work to stay standing. When you ride the Maid of the Mist and throw yourself into it with your full heart you put yourself at the mercy of a force that you realize is so powerful, so overwhelming, and so uncaring of you and your concerns that you can't help but feel humbled. Riding The Maid of the Mist may be billed as a "thrill" but it isn't the same as getting on a carefully controlled roller-coaster designed to provide you with a maximum of excitement without a hint of danger. Riding an old boat into the center of the Falls you can't help but acknowledge the lack of control involved in the whole experience.

The danger and unmentionably large and innately neutral forces exemplified at Niagara Falls comes into even greater light when the boat returns, you leave the boat, find your way back up to the edge, and then look out as the boat takes its next trip out to the center of the Falls. From this perspective you'll see that the "up-close-and-personal" experience you thought you shared with the Falls was anything but, that the boat can barely approach the Falls before it needs to stop, that the totally overwhelming force you just personally experienced was a fraction of a fraction of what the Falls casually tosses out day-in and day-out.

This realization puts the twin towns of Niagara Falls into perspective. Yes, the Canadian side's carnival-esque Midway is fun. Yes, the American side's incredibly dense concentration of Indian buffets is baffling. But compared with the natural force of the Falls itself, all of these catered and manicured experiences can't help but softly echo as a dull reflection of what life, life as the Falls itself communicates, life in its full and wild expression, life as a larger thing, really feels like.

Experiencing a massive expression of nature offers a surefire way to put the human world in perspective, offering a counterpoint to the vanity inherent within the structures we can't help but build, inside and out. I have a sneaking, persistent, yet untested theory stating this perspective-altering capacity found within wilderness lies at the heart of urban neurosis. Without a counterpoint, without glimpsing into a world that is not designed entirely for human comfort and human consumption, people go a little nuts. It's easy to feel you're at the absolute center of the world when you walk through cities cloistered entirely within their own steel-and-glass confines (Chicago, Berlin, etc.) while cities in regular contact with the great outdoors (San Francisco, Vancouver, etc.) tend to feature a population who go through their lives with a slightly broader perspective.

The larger the natural force, the more powerful its perspective-warping effects, so it should come as no surprise visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience.

Here's the Thing

When it comes down to it, I'm a city person. I've lived in cities most of my life and I currently rest my head in North America's neurotic-city-to-end-all-neurotic-cities, New York City. But I grew up in a relatively small town and throughout my youth I made plenty of trips out to the country to go hiking in the summer, to pick apples in the fall, and to make friends with the rain and snow.

That being said I'm not totally an "outdoors" person. I can count the number of times I've been camping in my entire life. I've never water skied or snowboarded; and I've never hunted my own dinner. I've never survived in the wilderness with nothing more than a knife and a half-full canteen, and I'll probably never do any of these things. So when I say that visiting Niagara Falls can be a life-changing experience I'm not coming from the position of a tremendous involvement with nature.

"Nice View"

When you first approach the Falls you might not find them particularly impressive. You can hear them the second you arrive in town, a dull roar that fades into the forgotten background of your perception and only disappears once you head home. But you can only see the falls from a few choice locations. On the American side, you can see the Falls from a relatively slender area on the side edge of the Falls that is roped-off with sturdy railing preventing you from getting even remotely close from a sure-to-be-fatal drop. The Canadian side allows a full complete front view of the Falls from across the gorge;



Category :art-culture

За час до рассвета 2 серия / смотреть сериал

За час до рассвета 2 серия / смотреть сериал

- 1946 год. Лейтенант Денис Журавлёв возвращается к мирной жизни и устраивается на службу в милицию. Его начальник – майор Шумейко по прозвищу Сатана - человек с тяжёлым характером, но решения поставленных задач добивается любой ценой. Журавлёв появляется в команде как раз вовремя: в городе орудует банда преступника по прозвищу Клещ, и чтобы поймать его, нужен неординарный план, который Журавлёв берётся реализовать. Однако скоро становится очевидно, что война, идущая в мирное время, когда непонятно кто друг, а кто враг, ещё запутаннее, чем война, с которой он только что вернулся...


Download Latest SAP C_TFIN52_67 Dumps

Download Latest SAP C_TFIN52_67 Dumps

- C_TFIN52_67 Exam, C_TFIN52_67 questions, C_TFIN52_67 practice test, C_TFIN52_67 practice exam, C_TFIN52_67 dumps, C_TFIN52_67 Exam Dumps,


Волк 13 серия + сериалы онлайн HD (31 декабря 2020)

Волк 13 серия + сериалы онлайн HD (31 декабря 2020)

- Вернувшийся домой домой после нескольких лет, проведенных в одной из тюрем арабского Востока, разведчик Александр Волк волей случая погружается в расследование убийства, произошедшего более 50 лет назад. 3 июня 1943 на Каменном мосту в Москве сын наркома авиастроения Володя Шахурин убил свою сверстницу Нину Уманскую, дочь посла СССР в Мексике. Тогда обстоятельства дела засекретили. Волк постепенно реконструирует события тех дней. Но чем больше он узнает, тем больше возникает загадок…


Мафия не может править миром  184 серия *** Русская озвучка  посмотри (22.02.2021)

Мафия не может править миром 184 серия *** Русская озвучка посмотри (22.02.2021)

- Рекомендовано к просмотру для поклонников сериала «Аданали». В главных ролях: Окт