Jonola14

LOCATION: Niagara Falls (Canada).
DATE: 01/08/01.

TIME: 13.00

After a brief visit to Buffalo County Library to do some e-mailing, we moved on. Quiff comes across his hostel room key which should have been handed in when we checked out earlier...

We catch the bus with the Kuwaiti gender benders in the direction of Niagara Falls, intent on swiftly finding accommodation and then venturing out to continue with our mission, our country is relying on us.

Crossing the Niagara River involves walking across a footbridge to Canada. Quiff is concerned about his safety, as his vertigo sets in. Yet he is brave enough to stand on the edge of the bridge and have his photo taken by one of the batty boys. The Falls could be seen in all their splendour behind him. Excellent photo.

After interrogation at Customs, we ditch the shirt-lifters and consult the Bible about our accommodation. The Bible dictates that we stay in a former brothel just outside the centre. What we don't know, however, is how to get there.

It's bloody hot here. You can feel the mist in the air, the spray from the Falls, but the digital thermometer says it's 94 degrees. Our backpacks are heavy as we are yet to accustom ourselves to their weight and feel. Sweat is pouring off us, last night's alcohol is seeping through our pores, giving off a horrendous odour. We find out where our destination is and start walking.

At the bottom of a large, steep hill, we stop and ask for further directions. The graft of the walk clearly visible through the sweat on our brows. It's a used car centre or taxi rank or something along those lines. Payno stumbles up to a local and asks for direction from a burly grey-haired man standing alone in the heat, refusing to succumb to the humidity and move into the shade. "Where's Bridge Street please buddy?" Payno demands. "Bridge Street is a bit of a trek" he replies in a remarkably clean and familiar accent, a fellow Brit we assume, "but no problem for a couple of young English guys like yourselves." The inspiration was there, a compatriot believed in us, confident that we would not catch a taxi or 'peoplemover' to transport us to our destination. "Bridge Street is about a mile up the hill" the chap says. "SHIT!" is Payno's reply, oblivious to any embarrassment he may cause us and ignorant of any potential consequence or offence.

Nevertheless, we continue. Our British friend believes in us, we walk up the hill, pausing on occasion to stand in the spray of a sprinkler. For King and country, we are ambassadors of the British Empire and we will stop at nothing. We draw motivation from our exploratory predecessors: Livingstone, Columbus, Drake, and Raleigh. They would not have given up at such a stage. So close yet so far, only one small step to go. Then we can rest.

We finally make it. We're tired, we're hungry and we stink. Fortunately the hostel has spaces, so we shower and prepare ourselves for the evening. Quiff also overhears a conversation about the hostel being haunted. He comforts himself in the thought that, given the hostel is a former brothel, the ghost may be a young, succulent female wearing nothing but a come-and-get-me smile. Splendid.