Christian Catafago

There was a trip planed with her parents staying in a New York hotel where they had been staying for more years than I had in my life: to accompany them, we had planned this trip a long time in advance. By curiosity, I had browsed plane tickets prices from New York City up close to Niagara Falls, in the months before, we had visited Iguazu and Victoria Falls and Niagara was the last stretch to the “Big Three”.

I could book a flight from New York very early in the morning and come back in the afternoon; in non-changeable, non-refundable mode, this would be cheaper than a taxi ride to the airport.

Arriving at the falls on the US side, I chose not to cross to the Canadian side; though it was still extremely easy to cross in those days, what would happen if for some reason I could not come back and reunite at 19:00 with my family in Manhattan?

Here I had all the prerequisites of a 1950’s black and white movie minus Henry Hathaway and plenty of copies of Marilyn Monroe. Non commissioned officers were getting married, tourists were using selfie-sticks over the water. Even the mist could have been out of an Edward Hopper movie.