After two days of hard-core playing, it was time for some tourist shenanigans, so off we went to Niagara Falls. Those of us who were passengers on the way to the Falls truly learnt the meaning of the word “terror,” as our drivers attempted to break the land-speed record for a Toronto Express Way. Several of us were spotted clawing the back window in an attempt to escape, much to the concern of other drivers being left in our wake.
Niagara Falls itself was epic, a huge expanse of natural beauty, surrounded by Westernised tourist crap. Maid of the Mist, amongst other activities was offered to us, with Rob insisting on negotiating a discount for our large group. Twenty minutes later, our juniors were able to scam their way in at Childrens prices, and the rest of us sucked it up and paid full price.
Maid of the Mist, a boat that sails right up under the falls, required the wearing of plastic recyclable ponchos. Apparently this was beyond some of the parents, who either couldn’t get them on, or got completely stuck in them altogether (with one incident so extreme that it landed the culprit with a Moo Moo Award). Some of the juniors wore their ponchos, but apparently had their mouths open, later announcing that polluted Niagra water tasted “nice.”
After experiencing the delights of Niagra, we decided to go for lunch in a restaurant overlooking the top of the falls. Coxy discovered that she’d lost her watch in the last few minutes and proceeded to scour the restaurant for it, only to sidle back to the chair a minute later, admitting sheepishly that it was in her pocket the entire time. Next on the list were “Bear Claws,” an apparently delicious Canadian dessert. They are really donuts in the shape of a fat chick’s hand, covered in your topping of choice. They left a lot to be desired, just like a fat chicks hand.
For anyone who hasn’t been to Niagra Falls, part of the experience is the ridiculousness that is Clifton Hill. The main street, it is literally like a Vegas in the middle of the wilderness. It is an absolute disgrace that something so vulgar could be built next to something so naturally beautiful. Clifton Hill came with its own peculiarities. A pink haired woman apparently found it appropriate to wander around in nothing but a micro bikini with the Canadian flag printed on it. Apparently strippers are patriotic these days. This was only topped by the appearance of Wiggles, Lesko and Heather who all sported ridiculous fur hats and other paraphernalia. Wiggles had some success with her get-up, picking up multiple Sergios throughout the day.
Hard Rock café was where we eventually settled in for a few hours. Rob became excited about the opportunities presented by the good looking male singer entertaining us, and hurried to invite him to sit with us. He popped a chair between Coxy and Bel, despite Coxy’s claims that she was not actually single, and Bel’s assertion that she wasn’t actually interested. Rob did in fact get the singer over to sit with us, and proceeded to be the only one to talk to him for the next twenty minutes. It was only after Rob gave the singer his phone number with an invitation to “hook him up with music contacts in Australia,” that we decided to break it to him that the singer was in fact gay, and Rob had just successfully picked him up.
Speaking of singers, the next band took the stage with camel-toed excitement, Red Necks the likes of which Frankston has never seen. Shelley felt an immediate affiliation with these bogans and decided to join them on stage, gyrating enthusiastically for the next five minutes, taking up a tambourine. At the end the singer passionately thanked “Joey” for her assistance on stage, and acknowledge her as a member of the band. Everyone now calls Shelley “Joey.” See Facebook for the footage.
So after ten glorious hours we finally headed home, slightly delirious and happy that Rob only managed to get us lost once on the way back.
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