But it’s been twenty-eight years since then. Disney has gone through a Renaissance or two and so have I. And as Brad and I climbed onto the Monorail and sped toward the Magic Kingdom, I could barely contain my jittery glee. It seems implausible that I could be this choked with nervous anticipation, but there it was.
“Hey,” my friend Brad said. “If you look through those trees, you can see the spires of Cinderella’s Castle.”
I pressed my palms to the window and stared out. And there it was, coming into view. Cinderella’s Castle, smack-dab in the middle of the Magic Kingdom. Oh my God, I thought. Peter Pan was right. I can fly. I can fly!
Then my brain short-circuited for awhile. Maybe that was for the best.
* * *
In the weeks leading up to Disney, I’d made my plans based around a few facts, the main being that Brad would not go on rollercoasters, or rides that went especially high. This worked out just fine, because I had three days there, and rollercoasters could wait until day two, when Kay would join us and go on anything. I had also steeled myself against the probability of long, dull lines. I knew that it was unlikely that I’d ride everything I wanted to ride, and the lists I’d made would have to be held over for my next trip.
So imagine my surprise when we stepped through the gates of the Magic Kingdom and found the park almost entirely
“Empty? Where is everyone?”
Brad shrugged. “Well, it’s Mother’s Day. And Sunday. And, um, nine AM. People are probably at church and stuff. Or still sleeping.”
“Brad, all the lines say there’s a five-minute wait! Is that weird?”
“Actually, yeah. Usually these lines are like a half-hour or more.”
“Oh my God! I’m going to get to do everything!”
It certainly seemed that way. And the cool thing was, the no-rollercoaster thing wasn’t exactly a limit: sure, the less intense rides had a high nostalgia/cheese factor … but that’s why I was at Disneyworld! I was there for the cheese!
So we spent the first part of our day doing the two rides Brad particularly digs: Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion. The cool thing about pirates – besides its excessive silliness – is the newer addition of the Captain Jack stuff. A couple of times, I thought the animatronic Johnny Depp was actually an actor who was going to jump out at us and say hi. I had no idea it could look that realistic. And I loved The Haunted Mansion. To give you an idea of the cheese factor, at one point the spooky ghost announcer says, “They’re having a … swinging wake!” It’s like crazy Marc Summers got his creepy on and brought his pauses all the way down to Florida. (Also, there was this exchange: “Hey Brad! Did you know! That Barenaked Ladies did that ‘Grim Grinning Ghosts’ thing in the Haunted Mansion?” “Ooooh!” It’s real easy to be weary of me.)
Brad also seemed jazzed about jumping into the teacups at the Mad Tea Party. This held a special place in my heart, actually, because it is the only thing I remember from my previous trip to Disney, when I was a Weeble-loving four-year-old. Stepping onto the teacups was like stepping into my past whole: a perfect, pristine version of my past. And I was doing it with one of my best friends. How cool is that?
From there, it was easy to do everything we wanted to do. Some line-wait times said ten minutes and we were in under two. “it’s a small world,” Stitch’s Great Escape, Peter Pan’s Flight, The Tomorrowland Transit Authority … bang bang bang, one after the other. It was becoming obvious that I wasn’t going to have to wait until tomorrow to do my coasters. It wasn’t yet noon and we were nearly done with The Magic Kingdom.
Brad assured me that he had no problem sitting in the shade with some lemonade while I cavorted away on the coasters. In rapid succession, I visited Space Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and the vaguely racist Splash Mountain. (You know, it occurs to me now that Disneyworld is a little obsessed with mountains. I wonder what that means.) I have rarely had this much fun. See, the coasters at Disney aren’t particularly horrifying; I’ve sworn off mega-coasters, and nothing in Disney even comes close to that. I know this is going to sound a little silly, but the coasters here are designed for maximum fun. Sure, they’re thrilling and sometimes your tummy drops a little, but they don’t make you question your religion when you’re on them. It’s the perfect kind of ride in the most perfect kind of place.
Our last stop in the Magic Kingdom was a jaunt into Mickey’s Philharmagic, which I wasn’t all that interested in, but by that point, Brad wasn’t the only one needing a bit of a rest. Only when I got inside did I realize it was going to be the type of 3-D show that the Shrek presentation at Universal was, only this time with Disney stuff. I started to get excited.
Can I just say, right now, that Mickey’s Philharmagic is one of the best places in Disneyworld. I’m not just talking my report up till now, I’m talking the whole park. All it is is a 3-D tour through several musical Disney Classics moments. It reminded me how much I loved The Lion King and Beauty & the Beast. And it was sensory 3-D, too, with smells and water and sounds coming from everywhere. It was perfect, just perfect.
One last note about The Magic Kingdom: my entire original goal of going to Disney World in the first place was to find a Robin Hood Hat. (To reiterate: Robin. Hood. HAT.) Every time I posited this question in any shop in any area of the Magic Kingdom, I was met with everything ranging from incredulity to outright hostility. Disney “Cast Members” are nice to the point of saccharine overload on every other subject, but this one seemed to suspiciously draw their ire.
“What?” one Cast Member asked, a look of disgust on her face. “You mean the cartoon fox? Yeah, no. You’re not gonna find that.” And then her Disney Face came back, filling in the anger lines and making things sweet again. It was horrifying to watch.
With a heavy sigh, I followed Brad back to the monorail. There was some EPCOT to be getting to, and I wasn’t going to let the surly anti-Robin Hood campaign get in the way of my fun! EPCOT AHOY!
* * *
So, wanna hear how completely dumb I am? Until about two months ago, I thought that EPCOT was entirely enclosed in that big shiny geodesic sphere. Like, the sphere was humungous and the park was all inside of it. These are times when I question the validity of those high IQ scores I got in school.
The dome contains exactly one ride, Spaceship Earth, and they are adamant about assuring you that it is a slow-moving ride. Seriously, the guide map states that you’re going to “glide gently though the Audio-Animatronics story of communication.” When you get into the ride-car, a giant red and white sign says, “This is a SLOW-MOVING RIDE.” And as you start to climb up the first gentle hill, a voice comes over the speakers and assures us, “You will be moving very slowly. You’ll start slowly and you’ll end slowly. At one point, your car will turn … quite slowly! And you’ll return very, very slowly.” Oh my God, EPCOT, we GET IT!
Except we didn’t really. Because no matter how slow you think it’s going to be? Yeah, it’s slower.
Which was fine. More cheese factor I could share with Brad. Besides, it actually was kind of interesting, if you’re into learning and stuff. After that, Brad took a breather and I leapt toward Mission: SPACE. (I couldn’t tell if SPACE was an acronym for something, or if EPCOT was just really excited about this mission and went with caps instead of italics.) I went on a lot of rides at Disney. Mission: SPACE is the only one I will not do again. It’s cool and all, but there’s a reason why there are barf bags actually inside the ride. Not even the presence of Gary Sinese could protect me from the ill effects of Mission: SPACE.
My stomach whoopsy and my head boggling, it was deemed time to take a stroll through the World – a part of the park system I had no idea existed until two months prior. Back to that IQ thing.
We made our way into Canada, and my first thought was: it’s like my friend Tracey got so excited that she exploded, and this was what happened. The Canada part of the World Showcase was … very, very Canadian. For whatever reason, perhaps by virtue of temporary insanity, Brad and I decided that it would be a keen idea to visit O Canada!, a film in Circle-Vision 360! The film told us many amazing things about 1980s Canada, like that it has Mounties and cities. And also plains and rivers. And cities. Farms, too! And parts of it are cold. Brrr, cold. Have I mentioned the cities?
“Oh my God,” I muttered to Brad.
“Okay, so it’s not just me.”
“”We can leave, right? They’ll let us just leave, right?”
“They better.”
So, kids, a word of advice: if you want to hate Canada, head on into the Circle-Vision 360 presentation of O Canada! at EPCOT. Jesus Christ.
The day was wearing on and time was running out. My last-ditch gambit for the Robin Hood hat seemed like a good one: “Hey, they’ll probably have something in the United Kingdom area, right? I mean, that’s were Robin Hood takes place, right?”
Brad studied me. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. Let’s try it!”
We wandered into the first shop, hopeful but wary. I perused the hats on the wall while Brad looked for a Cast Member to talk to. A moment later: “Hey, Kev?”
I spun, sure I’d see Brad with a hat in his hand. Instead, I saw a thin, smiling Cast Member next to him, whose nametag read Andrew. Beneath, as on all Cast Member name tags, read the place from which he’d originated. Andrew had come from
“Nottingham!”
He grinned. “That’s right. Your friend tells me that you’re looking for Robin Hood stuff.”
I gaped at Andrew. Nottingham. He’s actually from Nottingham? “Yes, that’s right. I’m afraid you’re going to be out of luck. Unfortunately, all we seem to carry right now are the DVD and a single book.” He handed the book to me, but it was about the real Robin Hood, not the cartoon. Andrew felt my disappointment. “I know, it really stinks. I’m that movie’s biggest fan. D’you know, I was actually born in the Sherwood Forest area?”
“You’re serious?”
“Quite. So it actually pains me that there’s not more Robin Hood paraphernalia around. You’d think they’d hype it up, especially in the UK area.”
“You’d think!”
“Well, you’re not going to find a Robin Hood hat, but what you might try to do is locate a Robin Hood pin. There are places throughout all four parks where you can buy pins, and you’ll often see Cast Members walking around with lanyards full of pins. You might find one that way.”
A Robin Hood pin, eh? Maybe not as vitally awesome as a Robin Hood hat, but the idea wasn’t half-bad. No, not half-bad at all.
And as Brad and I popped into France for a couple of end-of-day pastries, the idea took sudden, frightening hold. Okay, I thought, one obsession didn’t work out, but here’s a new one. And this one’s actually possible. Hm. Robin Hood pin, eh? ROBIN HOOD PIN.
It had a ring to it, it did. And I still had two more days to find it.
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