The highlight for me: I’d waited 30 years to experience the wonder, and finally I was there, standing what seemed like mere yards away from one of the falls, v

The highlight for me: I’d waited 30 years to experience the wonder, and finally I was there, standing what seemed like mere yards away from one of the falls, vainly wearing a yellow poncho that was somehow supposed to keep me dry from the spray of water. The roar of the thing causing my insides to pound, the smell of wet rock, the mist almost too thick to see through — the moment was overwhelming. Suddenly, a hand tapped me on the shoulder, and a young man about my age asked me in broken English if I would move away from where I was standing. He and his family wanted to take a picture in front of the falls, and I, rudely enough, was in their frame. I wanted to deny his request, to tell their family, in my own broken French, that they would have to wait until I was finished experiencing the falls, or, better yet, that they should turn away from their cameras and have real-life experiences of their own. But I considered that noncompliance would seem rude, and so, taking one final look at the waterfall, nodded and left to find my partner. A few seconds later, I looked back at the family to see how their picture was turning out. They were gone. They didn’t want to see Niagara Falls. They wanted a picture so that they could be seen forever standing in front of Niagara Falls.