Upstate New York

We are staying in Waterloo, New York, in the Finger Lakes region, one of the state’s finest wine regions, according to what we’ve read. We’re eager to do some wine tasting. We set out Saturday morning under a humid, slightly overcast sky, planning to drive down the east side of Seneca Lake, hitting a few wineries along the way, then back up the west side in the afternoon. But the first winery we stop at is a disappointment; the wines are thin, lacking body or boldness and weak on the finish line. And this is supposed to be one of the area’s premier wineries. We continue driving, passing one winery after another, enjoying the scenery and what we can see of the lake on this hazy day.
When we reach the southern tip of the lake, we discover there’s a state park there – one that’s truly worth spending time in. Watkins Glen State Park as a deep gorge carved by water that started out as a creek. Over 10,000 years time, the creek sliced its way through layer upon layer of shale – formerly beach sand that was compressed into rock by glaciers. We walk the 3 mile round trip along the gorge, sweating in the humid air and sunlight and enjoying the cool drops of water that splash upward from the 13 waterfalls along the way. Wearing leather flip flop style sandals, I’m hardly attired for hiking, but who cares? The view is worth it.

After our hike, we drive along the western side of Seneca Lake. Our stops at 2 more wineries confirm what we discovered at the first – New York wine (with the exception of the Rieslings, which are fruity, dry and refreshing) is no match for California, Washington, Oregon, French, Australian or South American wine.

Monday, June 13
Niagara Falls is everything we’ve heard and read – a magnificent display of Nature’s energy, 43 million gallons per minute of water tumbling over a rocky shale and sandstone ledge. We take the Maid of the Mist boat tour to experience the falls “up close and personal.” They issue flimsy throwaway raincoats which I’m inclined to disdain, but I follow everyone else’s example and put mine on as we approach the falls. Good thing – even with the raincoats, we get wet, but we would be drenched without it. Water roars down from a height of 180 feet; its power heard, seen and felt. The mist from the spray is so fine and thick nothing can be seen beyond it. This is one time when the word “awesome” is neither hyperbole nor cliché. We climb to the top of the observation tower after our boat tour and get another view of the falls and the river, then walk up a pedestrian path to get an even closer view. Despite the turbulence of the river and the ferocity of the falls, the water is a milky translucent pale-bright green, the color of sea glass.