Situated right there in the middle of our bucket list was “Niagara Falls”, and the BF and I figured this past weekend was as good a time as any to head up there.  We seem to be making a tradition of leaving the city in the dead of winter to head somewhere even colder; out of the frying pan and into the fire becomes out of the snow drift and into the glacier.  Last year, for our first getaway together, we drove up to the Catskills in all their frozen glory on Presidents’/Valentine’s Day weekend.  This year we found a cheap flight to Buffalo and rented a car to drive to Niagara, about thirty minutes (and one country) away.

The weekend turned out to be a sort of comedy of errors, and though neither of us is a fan of errors we both wholeheartedly enjoy comedy.  After getting lost only once on the way there (Google maps is headed the way of Mapquest in terms of reliability), we crossed the border into Ontario, Canada–my first time in the country!–and promptly realized that both AT&T and TMobile are not Canadian-friendly when it comes to roaming charges.  So we stowed our phones and checked into our hotel, Sheraton on the Falls.  The Sheraton is connected to the Crowne Plaza next door by way of an internal walkway and a parking deck.  A parking deck that, we found, both hotels also share with an adjoining casino and indoor waterpark.  This information is relevant (though the desk clerk apparently did not deem it relevant enough to share with us) because it makes the $10 extra we would have paid for valet seem like a small sum compared to the twenty minutes we spent driving in an upward spiral until we finally found a parking spot in the top floor of the deck.  Then came the trek across the deck to a first set of elevators that we had to take down to the upper lobby level.  A set of elevators that was, without fail, full of chlorine-soaked kids and their exhausted parents fresh from the water park on the top floor.  In fact, the elevators were so full that we always had to wait for a couple of them to pass before we found one with room enough for us to climb aboard.  After disembarking at the upper lobby level, we passed the twenty-deep line of passengers waiting to ride up and rued the time when we would have to join them.

The second set of elevators greeted us once we made it across the internal walkway that connected the whole complex to our hotel.  Once we finally reached our room, we felt the fullness of our reward: huge space (New Yorkers appreciate square footage so much more than the next guy), massive jacuzzi, fireplace complete with fake (but hot!) fire, and a sliding glass door with a picture-perfect view of the Falls.  Paradise found.

Until dinner.  The BF had booked us a reservation at the hotel’s aptly-located thirteenth-floor restaurant, aptly named The Fallsview Restaurant.  Confusion occurred when he called downstairs to confirm the reservation, only to be told it could not be found.  But they had space for us, so we told them we’d be down at eight.

We got decked out, he in his long-sleeved button-down and I in my silk Banana Republic, and headed to floor thirteen for our early Valentine’s dinner.  And what should be waiting for us but an eighty-foot buffet and tables full of families with small children?  Including one kid who saw no problem with climbing on the back of my chair and hanging over my shoulder to get a better look at the Falls.

We ordered a bottle of wine first.

Then we hit the buffet, which the BF later described as “pretty atrocious”: salad bar, undercooked chicken, and tasteless macaroni and cheese, among other things.  I thought the best thing on the line was the grape jello at the dessert bar; the BF praised our self-made salads.  Both of us were confounded at how anyone could ruin mac and cheese.  All in all, we laughed a lot and left with the BF saying he had had better experiences at Sizzler.  The next morning, the hotel channel on our TV informed us that the Fallsview’s chef had been voted the best in Niagara Falls.  At that, we both let go of any hopes for a good meal during our weekend.

And rightly so.  The next morning, we slept in too late for the Fallsview to redeem itself with its breakfast buffet, so we headed behind the hotel (after the thirty-minute elevator process) to Perkins, the chain all-day breakfast eatery.  The BF had bussed tables at one of their fine locations in college and carried fond memories of free food.  We were seated in Sharon’s section, and after twenty minutes she actually came by to say hello.  Her form of hello being, “I’ll be with you people in a minute.”  We perused the menus, which included dazzling photos of the food choices, and finally succeeded in getting Sharon to bring us some coffee and take our order.  As the couple next to us carried on an argument that sounded like an episode of Jersey Shore sans edited-out cursing, we watched several trays of food come out of the kitchen only to be sent back seconds later.  Not promising.  Then the BF, who had a view of the front door, announced, “Bye, Sharon.”  It seemed that she had put on her coat and walked right out of the restaurant.  (She came back a few minutes later–must have just been a smoke break–but our food still took another good half hour.  During which time it must have been ready and sitting out, because when it got to us it was lukewarm at best.)  There are some experiences that make you feel good about not tipping.  Even paying seemed excessive.  The fighting couple must have agreed, because they just walked out after finishing their food.  And, hopefully, their relationship.

But things got better after that!  We drove out to wine country where, for $30 total, we participated in a wine and chocolate tasting that spanned multiple vineyards.  We also tried ice wine, which Niagara is famous for and is like a dessert wine, distilled from frozen grapes.  The town of Niagara-on-the-Lake is a quaint, snow-covered postcard of a village with over twenty wineries and is about 180 degrees in character from the kitschy, family-oriented, commercial brand of charm that is Niagara Falls.  Of course, we took advantage of that kitsch when we hit three haunted houses that night.  The BF was especially impressed with our last stop, Nightmares, which was basically a series of pitch-black tunnels that we made our way through by following tiny red lights located on the ceiling.  At one point, a chainsaw came out of the floor beside our feet; at another, we followed the pinpoint lights into a room where the door shut behind us and we realized we were trapped.  Literally my worst fear.  It was almost as scary as the Fallsview buffet.

Valentine’s night we finally had a meal worth eating, at the Rainbow Room in the Crowne Plaza.  We got to order our food, and it was brought to us in a timely manner!  And our waitress didn’t take a cig break!  And there were no small children climbing on my chair!  Just wine, good food, and a view of the illuminated Falls.

Monday we walked down to the Horseshoe section of the Falls and took pictures, then rode an elevator down 125 feet to the base and watched the water crash down.  After that we (unintentionally) joined a high-school tour group for a simulated version of the creation of the Falls, which strangely enough didn’t mention God but did include blasts of air and water and a shifting floor.  (Raincoats were provided–and necessary.)

To cap off the trip, we headed back to Buffalo in hopes of having lunch at the Anchor Bar, home of the buffalo wing.  We pulled into the empty parking lot, a sinking feeling in our empty stomachs, and walked to the front door where we read a sign informing us that the place was closed TODAY and today only for repairs.  Alas, we had expected too much to ask for two good meals on this trip.  So instead, we drove to the airport and ate at their version of the Anchor Bar, where we had a tapas feast of wings, pizza rolls, and potato skins.  Kind of a fireworks finale explosion of some of our favorite foods.  As we both licked the orange grease off our fingers, I thought about how there is no one in this world with whom I’d rather share an at-times disastrous but ultimately perfect weekend.  And for someone who gets livid when things don’t go smoothly, that shows a little growth and a lot of love.