That’s how long it takes to get from my hotel room to the Disneyland entrance. Seven minutes, and that includes the interminable elevator ride down from the fifth floor. This is only the first major difference between here and Walt Disney World, where I am accustomed to planning on twenty minutes of bus transport, and that’s on the inside. Even when I’m with friends with cars, there’s the essential travel time, not to mention the wait for the trams if our vehicle is far off. None of the four Florida parks – The Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Hollywood Studios, and Animal Kingdom – are all that close to one another, reinforcing the heightened myth that this is, indeed, a World.
Now here I stand, seven minutes out of my hotel room. I’m in the center of a large concrete plaza; the path forward leads to Downtown Disney, a few more steps away. I glance to my left and there is Disney’s California Adventure park, currently the newest of Disney’s theme parks. Massive, towering letters spelling CALIFORNIA loom almost menacingly before the front entrance. It’s a bit of a gaudy spectacle, and the microreplica of the Golden Gate Bridge just beyond the front gates does nothing to dispel this assessment. It’s worth noting, even at this early stage in my telling, that things are changing over at California Adventure, and one of the changes is this front entrance. Not to get too far ahead, but I look forward to returning in two years and seeing those horrible letters gone.
Looking left now, and there it is: Disneyland, where Walt walked. Beyond the gates sprawls a history of which I’ve never been a part, and the grandeur of this thought sends shivers through me. I have never liked the phrase, “Where it all started,” but I can’t shake the fact that this is where it all started. All of my Florida trips, the food I’ve eaten, the ink I’ve gotten, the attractions I’ve ridden, the memories I’ve made – it all began here, in this place. The Disneyland Train Station looks like the one at the Magic Kingdom, almost. I can see it from where I’m standing and that shiver goes through me again. Except…
Except I can’t shake those seven minutes. I can’t quite put aside the fact that seven minutes ago I was in my hotel elevator with its ads for Quiznos inside it, or that I passed a Denny’s on my way here. Moreover, I can’t get over the fact that I walked here. I did not take a bus or a ferry or a tram. I walked over here, and here it is.
My friend TC put it best: the difference between arriving at a theme park in Walt Disney World and arriving at one here is the difference between walking through a tunnel and walking through a door. At both entrance points, there exists the real world of fast food and responsibilities and taxes and strip malls, and at both exits lies a world of magic and exploration and artificial reality. But the journey matters, and here in Anaheim, that journey is not part of the equation.
People told me to prepare for how much smaller it was here, but I didn’t quite expect it to hit me so soon.
Shaking it off – Jesus, Kev, you’re not even inside and already you’re judging? Quit it, freals – I march forth into Downtown Disney. See, here’s what happened. When I was planning this vacation over a year ago, I planned on being here for five days, not including my travel day. Standing in the midst of all this, I cursed Past Kev soundly. How do you not include your travel day? You always include your travel day! Any moment spent at the resort and not in the parks is a wasted moment! Get in the game, you dolt! According to my travel agent, this is an easy fix. I just need to go to Guest Services at Downtown Disney and tell them to upgrade my Five-Day Park-Hopper Pass to a Six-Day. I’m pretty sure the price difference is $20, but that’s worth it to get nearly a full day in the parks on Day 1. It’s the start of my journey, and like so many mythic journeys, it’s one worth starting alone.
Of course, I immediately get lost.
“Excuse me,” I ask a nearby Cast Member. (I’m not explaining Disney-ese in these posts, by the by. Context is your friend!) “But do you know where Guest Services is?”
He stared at me blankly a moment, then turned to a female CM. She, in turn discussed the matter with a third fellow. “Um,” the first guy said, “I think it’s near the movie theater? Or maybe that booth far off?”
“Thank you so much,” I said, because they’re just doing their jobs and even though they are apocalyptically unhelpful, they’re at least polite about it. Instead of trying another CM, I get on the horn with Travel Agent Michelle.
“Kevin! Oh hi! Are you in Disneyland yet?”
“I’m in Downtown Disney! And I’m lost!”
“But it’s so small!”
Michelle talks me through it, and soon enough I’m exchanging one ticket for another in a tiny, hidden, completely unobtrusive Guest Services shopfront. I think it exists in a tesseract. Regardless, with my new Six-Day ticket in hand, I confidently and with great purpose make my way toward
“Ooo! A pin booth!”
And honestly, all I’m thinking of is getting a pin that says Disneyland, and maybe an attraction pin or two – stuff unique to the West Coast. As I step inside, however, I cast my eyes up and there, on a high shelf, is the Mechanical Kingdom box set.
Remember how I said I wasn’t going to explain Disney-ese? I lied. The Mechanical Kingdom is Disney’s recent embrace of steampunk. Which makes sense, since Disney – with 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Tomorrowland and Epic Mickey and a bunch of other stuff – had been doing steampunk for years before it had a name. When they introduced this new pin set, though, it was their first overt use of the term. Here’s the deal: there are five pins depicting various big Disney characters (Minnie, Donald, Goofy, Daisy, and Professor Ludwig von Drake) that are out and available to the public and though they are limited, they seem plentiful. Then there’s the entire Mechanical Kingdom box set, which not only includes a storybook of sorts, but also two more bonus pins: a steampunk Mickey … and Pirate Pete. For those not in the know, I have a special affinity for Pete, partially because he’s the oldest continually in-use Disney character. Partially for other reasons.
And here’s where good marketing comes in: those two bonus pins? You can’t get them outside the box. At all. But. Those five readily-available pins are like $12 each, and the box set is only $67. So really, you’re paying only seven dollars more to get two more pins and the whole box and storybook thingy! (Oh, I know I’m being taken. The difference [engine] is that I’m gleefully okay with it.)
The problem with the box set is that Disney produced only 300 for each coast. What I am looking at is a display copy promoting the set, and inside there is a broken Pete. I’m not going to buy a set with a broken Pete. Tentatively, I approach the woman behind the counter and point at the five “regular” Mechanical Kingdom pins. “I’d like one of each of those, plus an extra of Ludwig von Drake. That’s for a friend.”
She cocks her head at me. “You don’t want the whole box set?”
I crane my neck back and glance up at the display box. “Well, Pete’s broken. I mean, I like the Mickey pin, but even with a discount, the Pete pin would be the main reason I’d be getting it.”
She looks abashed. “Sir, we wouldn’t sell you a set with a broken piece. We have an unopened box in the back.”
I goggle at her for a moment. “You have … you have a Mechanical Kingdom box set? Here? A full one?”
“Yes, and the last one. We didn’t get many. If you…”
“I’ll take it! And still one of those Ludwig von Drakes!” I slam my money down and on my way back to the parks, I call Joezer.
“Good for you!” he says, sounding a little wary. “But didn’t you blow your whole travel budget?”
“No. I mean, a little, but I budgeted for souvenirs and sixty-seven dollars isn’t…”
“It’s only sixty-seven dollars?”
“Um. Yes.”
“They said it was going to cost $200! Oh my God! Can you get me one?”
“I think they were out! But I’ll ask around tomorrow!”
“Okay! Thank you!”
My phone stowed and my Mechanical Kingdom pins clutched firmly in my hand, I make my way out of Downtown Disney and back to that vast concrete expanse. It’s to my left now, Disneyland, and this time, there’s no hesitating. With no preamble, I hand my six-day Park-Hopper to the Cast Member, push through the turnstile, and for the first time ever, I have come to Disneyland.
* * *
People warned me it would be small.
The perception hits me at once as I step under the railroad tunnel and emerge onto Main Street USA. Things seem closer together, but the effect is homey as opposed to claustrophobic. Even in the overcast daylight, I notice the lights and the golden highlights, and imagine what the park looks like at dusk. I crane my neck up and there are the names on the windows, tributes to Cast Members of the past that were essential to the prosperity of Disney: X Atencio, Charles Boyer, Blaine Gibson, John Hench. Names of Imagineers I’ve read about, studied about. Quite a few of these names have been duplicated at Walt Disney World, but – and here’s the first time this happens – it strikes me that these were here first. For the first time, it strikes me that this really is Where Walt Walked, this was a place he was in, this was a park that occupied the man instead of simply the ideal. And a brief autobiographical pause: it occurs to me now that the entire basis of my happiness – at least as it applies to the larger world of culture, pop and otherwise – lies in the genius of five men. Stephen King, Bruce Springsteen, Gene Roddenberry, Stan Lee, and Walter Elias Disney started things that continue to this day, and continue to instill me with joy, every single day. All geniuses, all flawed, but each possessing a spark of something that has reverberated though the years to reach me. And while it’s certainly possible for me to visit King’s house or see Springsteen in concert, being here is different. Being in Disneyland is like being inside Walt’s imagination. And that counts for something. I think that counts for a lot.
Getting back to small, though: oh, man is Sleeping Beauty Castle tiny.
When I stroll down Main Street in Disney World, I am consistently astounded by the grandeur of Cinderella Castle. Here, I am equally astounded by the sheer smallness of Sleeping Beauty Castle. It looks almost out of place, if that makes sense, less a symbol and a destination and more another building along Main Street. As my trip would continue, I would consistently revise and rethink my opinions about Disneyland, but I never could get used to how small the Castle is. Curse me and my East Coast perceptions!
Of course, the first thing I had to do, the very first thing, was the Matterhorn Bobsleds. I have been dreaming about riding the Matterhorn for at least two years, ever since reading a book on the Disney Mountains (Imagineering At Its Peak; GET it!?). Standing below the Matterhorn is humbling, its faux-snowy peak rising up into that slate-gray sky like hope. This was going to literally be a dream come true, a fulfillment of a wish that…
Oh. It’s closed. “Until when?” I ask the Cast Member manning the gates, expecting him to reply November or something that would cause my immediate and bloody seppuku in the shadow of the Matterhorn.
“Saturday!” he calls back. Sweet relief washes over me. Or maybe it’s cold sweat. I really hope my virus isn’t coming back.
Thwarted by the false promise of the Matterhorn, I set my sights toward Tomorrow. Mere steps away is the entrance to Space Mountain. I’ve decided to make it my goal on this solo day in the parks to only visit attractions that are either unique to Disneyland or are radically different. The scuttlebutt has long been that Disneyland’s version of Space Mountain is radically different and radically better, and I’m about to prove that out, one way or the other.
I step into the queue and at once I am aware that this is the real beginning of my grand adventure. The walkways into the attraction are narrow and confining, utterly unlike the wide blue passageways of the Florida version. I like the effect, though, and there’s no line here so things move swiftly. Then I turn a corner, and gasp.
When you step into the interior queue at Space Mountain East, it’s up a long walkway; you can see the control tower inside from a ways off. Here, the hallway suddenly opens up into a vast room, and you become aware that you’re up high, so high, and you’re looking down at the cars. Above is a replica of a space shuttle, immense and menacing and inviting all at the same time. The catwalks wind swiftly down toward the loading zone and soon enough I’m seated, my pin set tucked judiciously away in the pouch in front of me, and we’re moving, and we’re turning, and we’re off.
At once, things are different. There’s a tunnel with an optical illusion that makes it feel like you’re tilting. Then plunging into the dark and there’s a countdown from ten. The stars are swirling all around and when you hit one, you’re dipping, oh, and flying, soaring through space. And there’s music, too, pulsing action-adventure music; the turns are more exciting, the dips are more thrilling, and I love my mountain in Florida, I will always love my mountain in Florida, but in this moment, this frenzy, this chaos, I think I might love this more.
I am here! I am here!
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