Flying into Toronto from the south, you might get lucky and see Niagara Falls. You need a west-facing seat, of course. And you best hope the Ativan has thinned in your bloodstream enough to allow your sagging eyes to recognize what amounts to a bit of mist. But if you know where and when to look, you can't miss the Queen of the Cataracts, rumbling away just 50 kilometres from the CN Tower -- two wonders of the world separated by half a lake.
Today we tend to look at Niagara with disdain. Tourist trap. Motel wasteland. Kitsch paradise. This is a place where the various wax museums seem to spill out into the streets and claim the town in suspended animation. The heart-shaped jacuzzi tubs are mostly empty now, residual metaphors of a place down on its luck. These days you go to Niagara to gamble, to revive old love in a falls-view suite. And you always come back broke.