Old Niagara Bookshop
Nearly two months ago, on the coldest day in recent memory, I made my Mom and cousin take a detour from our wine tastings and main street touring to visit the Old Niagara Bookshop in Niagara-on-the-Lake Ontario.
Owned by an old woman with a prim pearl necklace and halo of permed hair, this bookshop is, in many ways, like the retail re-creation of a grandparent’s home. Old-timey touches include stained-glass windows, chintz furniture, cuckoo clocks, a cross-stitched ‘open’ sign, and animal tchotchkes ranging from tiny tin elephants to giant ceramic Dalmatians. Books are painstakingly wrapped in shiny clear plastic, making browsing and perusing impossible (per the owner, “they look better that way.”) The shop’s selection is heavy on history, theater, and Canadiana, with very few pulpy paperbacks and little contemporary fiction on display. Purchases, meanwhile, are rung in with the assistance of a giant calculator, the receipts written by hand.
It’s a strange place – a drafty old home full of books presided over by an extremely reserved (borderline unfriendly) owner. And yet, it feels very much of its place, emblematic of Niagara-on-the-Lake’s status as the alter ego of Niagara Falls (aka Cataract City). Instead of Greyhound racing, Niagara-on-the Lake has the Shaw Festival. Instead of beer at dive bars, it has wine flights. Instead of the Hilton overlooking crazy Clifton Hill it has the Inn on the Twenty. It’s the dainty dowager to Niagara Falls’ raucous riot of color, light, and noise. And, frankly, I kind of prefer it that way.
