50° and Mist
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Tour tales
We get to meet the most interesting people
I have the privilege of moonlighting as a Niagara Falls Tour Guide. As I tell visitors, I do it because I love sharing my city with people like you and the tips are good.
I tell the truth, not the lies the state wants us to tell about when the park was founded, but the truth about Omsted’s vision of a Reserve (sort of like a nature preserve) being abandoned, Robert Moses being a horrible human being and the state not sharing any revenue from the Maid of the Mist, Cave of the Winds or parking with the city.
We stand on Prospect Street before the tour starts outside the One Niagara Building. Cars zoom buy. The ugly building mars the landscape. Traffic is jammed heading into Lot 1.
“We need to get away from here as quickly as possible” I tell my guests. “I feel like I am in Canada where car-friendly infrastructure dominates the place and the only thing better is the view of all 3 waterfalls at one time and the wonton soup from Country Fresh Donuts.
The sheer majesty of the place makes it special but it is the visitors who bring it to life. That and perhaps a loquacious tour guide.
Sometimes it is guests on a tour that make it special but every once in a while, I meet a deep-thinker visiting Niagara Falls who makes me pause.
Monday it was Dr. Sirus Kashefi who I met as I waited for guests outside the Maid of the Mist gift shop.
Dr. Kashefi was resting barefoot next to his bicycle loaded down with camping gear. He spoke English as a second language (I never figured out his native tongue. He may have said he was Hessian Canadian. I don’t know what that is.)
He is “A NoMan NoWhere Cyclist” filming things and commenting everywhere he visits on his world tour. Here’s a link to his Ohio visit A Dream Fulfilled in the Heart of Ohio
He said he is on a 5-year tour. I asked him about his bike and he said it was Chinese, nothing special, all bikes come from China.
His bike was loaded down with gear. The frame had tape/padding and foam taped everywhere. He gestured at the hub and said it was always a problem.
He was headed to Canada for the night because it is easier to stealth camp. Police stateside hassle him too often.
Other guests from the weekend included a family from Columbia with with a mother and daughter, 20-something and 40-something with a great case of the permasmiles, spreading joy, holding hands and singing folk songs as they walked behind me, not speaking much English but fully engaged in a celebration of whatever it was in life that blessed them.
They reminded me of Mexicans I met in California. The white people seemed to hide in gated homes, leaving only to go to Costco, Walmart or the Megachurch where Bible study is Wednesday, youth group is Friday and Sunday for service and to deliver their tithe. Life is serious, filled with judgment and fear.
In California, I asked a dude named Luis, at a Cal-Fire recruiting table at a community fair, why the white people seemed so miserable and the Mexicans were happy. His words stuck.
“Oh man,” he said, “I got a good job. I got a house. I got beans. I got rice. I got beer in my fridge. Why would I choose not to be happy?”
I looked at him and said “you know, if I ever move to California, I think I am going to have to learn to speak Spanish and find some Mexicans to hang with. The Columbian women made me recall that. In a world where you can be anything, be kind and even when you can’t do anything else, smile if you can, even if you don’t speak the same language. A smile is universal.
Then there were the four burly electricians from Texas by way of Argentina, short, squat, with rough hands and not much English. They scrolled through work photos on their phones for me, sharing great images of the new Bills stadium where they have been proudly at work for their union for more than a year. They said Cleveland might be next. The Browns are getting a new domed stadium because people in Ohio are soft.
A group from Oklahoma showed up decked in Patriotic garb for the holiday, a 60-ish husband and wife and her 84-year-old mother and aunt.
They were part of a group of about 40. They fell behind early on my walking tour and never really caught up. 36 guests made it onto the one boat, the James V. Glynn. When they disembarked, the people from Oklahoma were nowhere to be found. 15 people were supposed to be walking to the Cave of the Winds, including my new Okie friends. I tell everyone on a walking tour that even if they didn’t buy Cave tickets, they are welcome to come to Goat Island and hear me talk about Luna Island, the white cedar trees, gulls, warblers, water shrew, Stedman’s Bluff, the Underground Railroad, Terrapin Point and daredevils. It doesn’t cost anything to go for a walk and enjoy every bit of this place even if you skip buying a Cave ticket. And I always say “hey, if you really enjoy my tour, gratuities are appreciated.” After all, I got a good job. I got a house. I got beans. I got rice. I got beer in the fridge. Why would I choose not to be happy?
I gave instructions to those who bought a boat-only tour and told the other groups when I would meet them outside the Maid gift shop. It’s like Disney. You can’t escape without having a chance to buy Made-in-China tchotchkes.
Then I sifted the crowd for my flag-garbed friends. They came in on the second boat. I explained to Sharla, whose name was on the booking, that our Cave reservations weren’t for another 90 minutes and the best thing for them to do was buy trolley passes rather than walking and then meet me on Goat Island under the Adams Power Plant Arch.
I hustled back to my other guests just in time for the leisurely stroll to Goat Island, leading them on the lower path to Luna Island and up to Stedman’s Bluff.
The Oklahoma friends found the trolley, spent $5 a person for a ticket (you can ride all day) and arrived in good time as I left my first group of guests to head into the Cave with their timed tickets. I tell everyone to sit in the back for the movie so they can be first in line for the elevator.
Without the trolley, and a guide to point them to it, my guests from Oklahoma could have had a miserable time rather than a joyful one.
Then there was a party of 6 from Essex in London here on a cross-country jaunt to celebrate a daughter’s college graduation.
Just inside the main state park, the patriarch stopped, shook hands and hugged a Jehovah’s Witness spreading their faith in the park as they do daily.
The husband explained they were of common faith. I knew almost immediately they would not be tipping. I didn’t care. They stayed with me post-Maid for more than an hour.
As the daughter drifted off to visit the tables of Tuscarora jewelry her mom joked she was a magpie, drawn to shiny things. Their sons engaged in conversation about daredevils and Nikola Tesla and listened intently as I told of the Underground Railroad and the contemporary Black Niagara Falls community.
I also had the privilege Sunday of spending time with a UB Honors student, a US citizen of Chinese descent who came from Auburn with his dad, who cooks in a Chinese restaurant. The student listened intently and asked questions about my day job as well as tour guide work.
Another couple from North Carolina were Maid and Cave. They had a kindness about them. She was an author who specialized in paranormal nonfiction. He was a bus driver still working because he enjoys it, with the energy of one of my Niagara Falls Sicilian friends. “Retire? What do you mean retire? I gotta die first. What am I gonna do? Go home and sit in my chair?”
I might be like that.
Today is Tuesday. I have work to do for Allstate, helping people with retirement planning, investments and life insurance. It pays more but being a tour guide is more fun.
So far this season, I have worked for Niagara Regional Tours, GoNiagara Tours, Buffalo Bike Tours and done a couple private tours for people who came to me from my friends in the community or the short term rental industry. You can always reach out. If you are interested in a private tour, email joegenco@gmail.com or call (716)-208-6007
