What a trip: seven flights, seven states, two provinces, two
countries, 12 beds, five horses, one engagement party, one wedding and two
showjumping wins! The past three weeks have been a cornucopia of spectacular
natural beauty, fantastic food, über-air-conditioned
hotels and terrific company, with plenty of true love as the
cherry on top. I have travelled from California to Michigan via Arizona, Saskatchewan
in Canada via Colorado, Ontario and Maine via Massachusetts and New Hampshire
and finished with a flight from the Atlantic to the Pacific. En route, I sailed
into the teeth of Niagara Falls, to Mackinac Island at sunset and down the
Kennebec River to the haunted island of Seguin. I rode Western style
across the grasslands of southern Saskatchewan and drove a carriage around the
woodland tracks of a Maine peninsula, marched with the Royal Canadian Mounted
Police and feasted on home-battered Northern Pike caught only hours before. I
say again, what a trip!
Happy traveller: on Lake Huron, Michigan, at sunset
I will not even attempt to tell the whole tale in one blog,
so this is merely part one: the magnificence and monstrosity of Niagara Falls, ice
wine and J. B. Priestley at Niagara-on-the-Lake and indulging in fudge on
Mackinac Island, Michigan. It began with the spectacular sight of lightning viewed from above when flying into Detroit. Billowing mountains of cloud were lit up with flashes of gold, the sunrise battling with the fury of the thunderstorm in a breathtaking display. Slipping through the clouds, the green of Michigan was startling after the tinder-dry brown grass of California. If only they could build a giant pipeline across the States!
Green grass! What a sight. Rain clouds and lushness on Mackinac Island, Michigan
In 1864, Abraham Lincoln signed the Yosemite Grant to
protect the glorious Californian valley from the ravages of commercialization.
The signing was prompted in part by what was already happening at Niagara Falls, where opportunistic landowners were wringing every penny from tourists
eager to gaze on the six million cubic feet of water that crash over the edge every minute.
I can only thank God that the powers that be took the warning and saved
Yosemite from a similar fate. Today, Niagara Falls is a grubby town crammed
with amusement arcades, all-you-can-eat restaurants and lumbering tourists spending
fortunes on tat. It is almost impossible to take a photograph of the Falls themselves
without snapping some concrete edifice in the background, usually adorned by neon letters trumpeting the presence of a casino.
Since 1925, the Falls have been illuminated at night in a somewhat garish display
Fireworks over the Falls, with additional lighting provided by hotels,
fairgrounds, casinos and other assorted money pits
Thankfully, however, my first dire impression diminished as we took the (overpriced) funicular railway down to the edge of the Falls and leaned over the rail to absorb the might of this thundering river just feet below us. The name Niagara Falls actually refers to three waterfalls, American Falls, Bridalveil Falls and Horseshoe Falls, the latter being the most impressive. Passages behind Horseshoe Falls were excavated as long ago as 1889, when lantern-holding guides led Victorian tourists close behind the water, and the tunnels that afford the same view today were dug in 1944. The noise of the water is awesome, even with about 10% of it diverted for hydro-electric power. Taking a Hornblower boat cruise into the jaws of the Falls themselves is thrilling, if damp, and is a ‘must-do’ in the words of the ubiquitous advertising material. Looking at the swirling green waters, it is hard to imagine wanting to throw oneself over in a barrel, but such are the numbers of daredevils wanting to attempt some sort of stunt that applications are now restricted to one a generation, roughly 20 years. The last was in 2012, when Nik Wallenda crossed from America to Canada on a tightrope. (In a celebration of red tape, customs officials checked his passport the moment he stepped onto firm ground.) Astonishingly, the first person to survive the journey over the Falls in a barrel was 63-year-old Michigan schoolteacher Anne Edson Taylor, who, for reasons unknown, took her cat with her. It survived, too, but probably took some time to forgive her. Sadly, the river below the Falls, considered one of the most dangerous stretches of water in the walls due to the pitiless whirlpool quarter of a mile wide, saw the death of the first man to swim the English channel, Shropshire-born Matthew Webb. He attempted to crown a career of endurance swimming by attempting to swim across the whirlpool and save his family from destitution with the resulting royalties. He failed.
Anyone for a swim?
A solid wall of water: the view from behind Horseshoe Falls
American Falls from the Hornblower cruise. In winter, the rock piles at the base
freeze and form the base of weird and wonderful crests and pinnacles of ice
In the teeth of the Falls, taken from under my oh-so-stylish blue poncho!
One concrete addition to the town I don't mind is the Skylon Restaurant, 775ft up in the air with tables set on a moving band that takes 45 minutes or so to revolve 360
The American Falls in evening light
Zooming in on the Canadian Horseshoe Falls from the Skylon Tower
Even the Horseshoe Falls themselves are dwarfed by the clouds of spray
generated by six million cubic feet of water plunging 188ft every minute
A memorable place to have dinner!
For those wishing to escape to more refined surroundings, I urge you to drive half an hour to Niagara-on-the-Lake, a pretty,
leafy blend of Stratford-upon-Avon and New England. It is justifiably renowned
for the Shaw Festival of top-class theatre, and the performance we saw of J. B.
Priestley’s When We Are Married confirmed
its reputation. Spot-on Yorkshire accents, thoughtful casting and snappy
direction made for a hilarious performance, with even the most English of jokes
prompting a laugh among a receptive audience. A wine-tasting at Trius Winery was the
perfect culmination of an afternoon that began with pouring rain and high humidity
and finished in blazing sunshine. It was hard to imagine the kind of conditions
that render this the perfect area for the creation of ice wine, which is made from grapes
that have frozen on the vine, but winters are long here and snowdrifts can rise several feet. Temperatures between -8˚C and -12˚C freeze the
water in the grapes, but not the sugar, which means that the sugar is highly
concentrated when the grapes are picked. The resulting tipple is sweet and
silky, the perfect accompaniment for an after-dinner cheeseboard or, indeed,
classic British theatre.
The Royal George, one of four theatres in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario
The leafy main street with storm clouds building in the distance
Leaving the bright lights of Niagara behind, we crossed the
border back into the US and embarked on the long drive to Mackinac Island in
northern Michigan. We broke the journey with a meal at Tony’s Restaurant that was both
delicious and revolting. Even the side orders came with a side of fries! Fortunately,
my friends’ prior experience prompted us to get only two meals between four,
but we still boxed up leftovers that would have fed a family of
six. It is fun to indulge in such a feast sometimes, and I certainly needed no
urging to tuck in, but I can’t help thinking that it is places such as this
that make America the enormously fat country it is today. If Americans halved
their food consumption, the world would have no fear of running out of food as the
population increases, and we would be an awful lot healthier for it. Still,
Tony’s has an atmosphere and a sense of humour – evinced by its menu/newspaper –
that make it an institution, and long may it remain. But, maybe, hold the extra
fries?
Lunch for two at Tony's Restaurant. I kid you not.
I have to admit, these are genius!
The word 'starvation' isn't to be found in any
dictionaries in Michigan
The over-indulgence continued on Mackinac Island (pronounced Mackin-aw), where
fudge shops occupy a substantial square footage and rows upon rows of
delectable sugary treats are an irresistible temptation. I tried, and failed,
to remember my mother’s timeless injunction that ‘your eyes are bigger than
your stomach’. The confectionery is not the only reason Mackinac Island is
worth a visit, however – there is no motorized transport on the 3.8 square mile
island set in the blue expanse of Lake Huron and the clapboard streets and bustling harbour are as picturesque as you could wish. Horses and and bicycles are the
order of the day, with steady heavy horses pulling dozens of carriages and
bicycles left unlocked everywhere. The name means 'big turtle', awarded by native settlers 11,000 years ago, since when the island has swapped ownership several times: after being granted to the newly formed USA upon Independence, it was retaken by the British in the first engagement in the war of 1812. In 1814, an attempt by the Americans to recapture it was firmly rebuffed, but the island was granted back to the USA following the Treaty of Ghent signed on Christmas Eve that year. Now, the 18th-century fort that Major Patrick Sinclair built for the English stands as a solemn reminder of past conflicts above a town most notable today for its peace and quiet.
The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, redolent of long dresses,
afternoon tea and cocktail hour
Sunset behind the town
St Anne's Catholic Church
The way to travel
Strolling west along Lake Shore Road
Sunset over Mackinac Bridge on the way home
My time in Michigan ended with an engagement party on the
shores of Long Lake near the cherry capital of the world, Traverse City. The
sun shone, the homemade burgers vanished as fast as the father of the groom
could make them and the sand burnt our feet as we played volleyball (badly).
The most recent engagement party I had attended before this took place in the
noble environs of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, where the Champagne flowed and
the canapés were delicate and delicious. The two events couldn’t have been more
different, but both were joyful celebrations and enormous fun. After all, whether you’re drinking beer or
Bollinger, wearing high heels or flip flops, all that matters is having a good
time with family and friends. Here’s to true love!
Good ol' American patriotism on Lake Michigan
Jetskiing and tubing on Long Lake, Michigan: an engagement party to remember!
Bride and bridesmaid: Maxine and me!
Aww!
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