Heading Down East: First Stop, Niagara.

Niagara Falls. Haven for honeymooners, a check on the bucket list for mature travelers. While we may still be in love, we are past the honeymoon stage, and not quite to the more mature traveler category. We are in that category that is smiled and cringed at in equal measure—the traveling family of five.

I already knew from past experience that Niagara is a dream town for the diehard tourist—Ripley’s Believe-it-or-not, Planet Hollywood, wax museums, casinos, towers, you name the cheesy destination, they’ve got it. The last time we came this way we had two toddlers, and it was a freezing cold, cloudy October day. We pulled up into the lot, parked immediately and walked to the falls, where we were almost the only ones visiting.

So this was a bit different. It was sunny and super hot, and the rainbow in the mist was full and defined. Lovely. The force of the falls is breathtaking, and the mist like a rain shower was a joy in the hot weather. People crowded the fence along the riverbank as far as we could see. And for the pleasure of staring at a world-renowned national landmark, along with a public parking spot and five ice cream cones, we paid $46. Hmm.

But wait. We did also have the privilege of finding 23 state license plates in the parking lot, along with 6 Canadian provinces. This wouldn’t be such a big thrill if we didn’t know we were competing with friends, who we’ll be meeting up with in Maine next weekend. They have a 2-day head start on us. But we already have Alaska, which has got to count for something. There is a deep divide among people who play the license plate game—do you count plates on commercial trucks or not? If it was just us, we might not count that Alaska plate. But this is serious. (Please don’t tell Kurt and Katy that we got it from a truck).

There’s a lot of diversity at Niagara Falls, more than we’ve ever seen in one place. People of every skin tone and nationality stand in the spray and gawk at the same tumbling waterfall. That is equally as interesting as the falls themselves.

We’re on our way to the East coast, to summer first in our place on Cape Cod, and next on our place on the coast of Maine. In fact, we take our place with us, as it is a tent stowed in the back of the van. This first night the tent is staying in the van, and we are staying at the Moonlite Motel, an old 50s style motel. The manager upgraded us for free from the family room to a two-bedroom unit since no one is renting it tonight. Brian’s wooden shoes are clacking tonight. Our two biker neighbors headed out for some wings, offering to pick up something for us, and the manager's darling little girl keeps coming over to chat me up until her family calls her away again.

What it lacks in luxury it makes up for in cheapness. And the outdoor pool is great to wear out kids who’ve been sitting in the car or a good portion of the day. Brian’s catching up on his magazine, and I’m reading over a manuscript from a friend, a manuscript that will someday be a fantastic novel. The French Canadians who are sitting outside near us look slightly puzzled at the loudness of our three playing Marco Polo. Their daughter, on the other hand, is sitting elegantly poolside, dipping in and out of the water every so often. We bring class and dignity wherever we go. We’ll do our best to represent both the Midwest and the nuclear family. East coast, here we come.