I did not set out to be a minor character in my own Trip Reports, but as you will clearly see, that’s how it happened. Earlier this year, I was at the center of things. July, 2011: the first and last time I ever visited Walt Disney World on my birthday. Meals were heaped upon me. Gifts were lavished. I had a lunch at Le Cellier and everyone sang “Happy Birthday.”
This time around, though, we were at the cusp of September and October, and three of the best friends I’ve ever had were going to be accompanying me. Joe, who I’ve been on more Disney World trips than I can count. Paul, the only person who’s been with me on both my Disneyland trips, and on a Disney World visit. And Marty, who’s only been here once his adult life – and with me – but is eager to claim new experiences. All three of them are here for birthdays: Marty just before the trip, Joe during, Paul just after.
Three Libras, and that’s how I became a minor character in my own story. My three Libras, my guys, my buddies, three of the best friends a fellow can ask for. This is what happened:
* * *
Joe arrived first, and was waiting for me when I deplaned. Two months is too long to go without seeing your friends, and I hugged him as fiercely as I could. We hopped in his rental and got to Pop Century Resort within forty minutes. Pop’s great and here’s why: of all the resorts on property, it’s probably the most accessible. While not as loaded with amenities as the deluxe resorts (the Polynesian, the Grand Floridian, and the Contemporary, for example) and not as intricately themed as the moderate resorts (like the New Orleans immersion of the Port Orleans resorts), Pop is fun, a little campy, and always the right price. Also, unlike the other value resorts – All Star Sports, Music, and Movies – Pop only has one bus stop. You don’t know crushing disappointment until you’ve stood in line waiting for transport to Epcot and then see a super-full bus buzz right past, full of happy children in Mickey Mouse ears, while you sit and cry and then your ice cream falls in the gutter. Yes, in this scenario, you have ice cream. Had. Now it’s in the gutter.
After checking us in, Joe had the unfortunate task of zooming back to the airport to pick up Paul and Marty, who were landing within minutes of each other. I want to point out right now that Joe took on the thankless task of transporting the three of us with no complaint and no hesitation. One of the real-life lessons I learned on this trip is that my friends are goodhearted, and selfless, and sweet beyond belief. Did I mention sexy? Also: sexy.
Moments before Joe clambered back into his car, we both got a text from Marty: his plane was still in Newark. He wasn’t going to be there within moments of Paul, after all. “What are we going to do?” I asked Joe, standing outside Pop in my glittery Epcot shirt and shorts. In September.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, and hugged me again. Joe has this inscrutable little smile I’ve been witnessing for close to a decade now and I still can’t read it. I think it’s a good thing. He took off and within literally seconds, the bus to Epcot sidled up. I leapt aboard and here my adventures begin!
HAPPIEST KEV!
Now, I don’t really like to do in-report commentary about trip reports, but this seems like a necessity. Somewhat recently, I’ve gotten some criticism of my reports being well-nigh impenetrable to casual readers. I write a lot of trip reports, and with frequency comes a bit of shorthand. For those readers not well-versed in Disney, they want a little education. For those readers who are well-versed in Disney, my entries have maybe been a little heavy on the personal, light on the actual Disney stuff. Basically, to write for everyone, I shot for the middle and wrote for no one but me. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with writing just for myself, but these trip reports are intended for audiences. So, for this series of reports, you’re in for a little more explanation, a little more history, a little more geography, and also maps and stuff.
This right here? Is Epcot:
That big round thing in the front, the #1? That’s Spaceship Earth, the best thing in the whole world. Every Disney park worldwide has a main icon, the thing that serves as a beacon, a calling card, something that catches the eye and makes you go toward it. Walt Disney called those things “weenies,” which is only slightly embarrassing. Spaceship Earth towers over the Epcot park entrance. You can see it for miles and it always bowls me over. Inside it is an attraction that spirals slowly to the top, taking riders through the history of communication … which, admittedly, sounds like dullsville but is anything but. I think part of the reason Spaceship Earth tugs at me so much is that, in a way, it’s about me. From the blue books I wrote my first stories on, to the typewriter I got for my middle school graduation, to the laptop into which I unfurl my trip reports, I’ve been part of the history of communication. It keeps getting bigger, more complex, and I’ve always been here, telling my stories both true and not. Spaceship Earth puts that into context both historical and global. It sounds grandiose, but coming here helps me center myself in the universe.
None of that was chief on my mind that afternoon, though. I’d tweeted about being there the second I was on the bus, and my friend Meghan immediately texted me. “Where are you? I’m at Epcot! Chris is here! Come and find us!” Meghan, like me, speaks exclamatorily.
After a brief side-journey to acquire my annual Premium Passport (it lets you get into every US Disney park for a year for free! After a $750 deductable!) I was in. Like every Disney park, Epcot is divided up into lands: Future World and World Showcase, what some people refer to as “science in the front, social studies in the back.” A lot of people like to put a negative spin on that, as they’ve never heard the portmanteau edutainment or something. (BTW, my spell check has long since given up trying to correct the word “edutainment.” Ditto “automagic” and “innovention.” I don’t know what flavor this Kool-Aid is, but boy is it tasty!) With barely a pause to fawn over Spaceship Earth like a clumsy teenage girl ogling a sparklevampire, I rushed through Future World and headed into World Showcase, where Meghan and Chris awaited me.
Now, the annual International Food and Wine Festival – where countries from around the world set themselves up in kiosks and sell you regional cuisines and offer wine pairings that I won’t drink because ew wine, but you get stuffed before you’re three kiosks in and you just keep eating – was set to begin tomorrow. But Disney is a fan of the “soft open,” which means stuff that opens a day early but no one talks about it. After so many hugs, they led me directly to the Australia kiosk, where I devoured the grilled lamb chop with the shiraz reduction with such gusto Chris seemed nervous.
“Um, buddy?”
“All I’ve eaten today is animal crackers from the plane.”
“You know bone isn’t edible, right?”
Neither are monoliths.
We ambled about for awhile, us three, sampling the Hawai’I kalua pork sliders and the lamington, which is yellow cake covered in chocolate and coconut but sounds like a horrible gene-splicing experiment that resulted in a baby sheep crossed with a proper British gentleman. “’allo, mistah Lamington, sir,” the cockney livery service would say, “what goods you want transported this foine afternoon?” No one else liked my Lamington jokes.
As Chris and Meghan were headed off to go do their Disney jobs, what with all the working there they do, I got a text. It was Joe. “Marty’s flight delayed until 6PM arrival.”
My heart sank, and I expressed it the best possible way I could, with all the words of the English language at my fingertips and a lifetime of reading and writing at my disposal. :(
But Joe, ever the trouper, had dropped Paul off at the Contemporary Resort – walking distance from the Magic Kingdom – and was headed back to the airport to get Marty. I’d like to take just a second to relay that Joe had not only flown into Florida from Atlanta that morning, but he had already made two trips from Orlando International to Disney World property … and was off on another. We’ve all known for like years that Joe’s amazing, but this really cinches it. Let’s all have a hip-hip hooray, what do you say?
Epcot likes to play hide-n-seek with me, but I CAN SEE YOU, EPCOT!
I scampered back through Future World and caught the next monorail out of Epcot. Within minutes, the spires of Cinderella Castle – Magic Kingdom’s “weenie” – rose up over the trees as I whisked along that single beam in the sky. You know, no matter which park I love the most on any given day – it’s usually Epcot, but it’s been Hollywood Studios and Animal Kingdom on occasion – arriving at Magic Kingdom, especially by monorail, is the quintessential Walt Disney World experience.
The last time I’d seen Paul, it was at Disneyland, and he’d been pretty much deathly ill. The time before that was here at Disney World around Christmas … and he’d been pretty much deathly ill. I had begun to think that the combination of Kevbot + Disney = Paul gets Ebola. But as I made my way down the ramp to the Magic Kingdom entrance plaza, I spotted him leaning against the wall, looking hale and healthy and smiling. Spoiler alert: Paul doesn’t get sick once on this trip, you guys. Curse? Broken.
We fell into a buddyhug – the more you go to Disney, the more friends you accumulate; the more friends you accumulate, the more buddyhugs you look forward to; this is math I enjoy – and then together we entered the Magic Kingdom.
Walt Disney intended Disneyland to be a theatrical experience, and the concept carried over to Magic Kingdom when it was built in 1971. When you first enter the park, you go under the train station. It’s covered and shaded and on either side of you are posters of the attractions you’ll find in the park.
“Wait,” Paul said. “They’re like coming attractions! I didn’t make the connection! It’s like these are the things ‘coming soon,’ like at the movies!” Paul’s giddiness at Disney is palpable.
You come onto a cul-de-sac, and only after you walk around to the center of things do you get the big reveal of Cinderella Castle – just like at the start of every Disney film – standing somewhat incongruously at the head of a quintessential turn-of-the-century American Main Street, where it’s always Independence Day (I just found that out like two weeks ago, by the way. It kind of explains the red, white, and blue bunting that’s always everywhere. This is either a testament to Disney World’s rich level of often surprising detail, or my ongoing cluelessness). The windows of Main Street feature the names of Disney Imagineers … like movie credits. When Main Street ends and you’re at the Hub – the roundabout before the forecourt of Cinderella Castle that connects to each of Magic Kingdom’s six themed lands – you look back at the Plaza Ice Cream Parlor and there’s Walter E. Disney’s name, as Graduate School of Design & Master Planning. The last name you see before the movie begins is the director’s. I am constantly blown away by the level of detail in this.
“What should we do first?” Paul asked, marveling up at Cinderella Castle. Paul’s from California, which means he gets Disneyland – awesome – but also Sleeping Beauty Castle, which is roughly the size of a trenta cup from Starbucks.
“Space Mountain!” In the months leading up to this trip, I had only two things on my mind: Space Mountain and “colonial stuff.” I’ve been watching the John Adams miniseries and doing a lot of living in Boston. “We have to go on Space Mountain like 8,000 times! You know that, right?”
“I’ll go on Space Mountain like twice?”
“Good enough!” And we veered east toward Tomorrowland!
I don’t know why Space Mountain’s been on my mind a lot. I went on it a few times in July, and before that at Disneyland’s version, which – by popular consensus – is the “better” one. Still, it was this Space Mountain, the one at Magic Kingdom, that had so occupied my mind and heart lately. Sometimes with Disney, you just go on instinct.
“This is the best moment of my life!” I shouted to Paul inside the queue.
“You say that a lot.” There was a sparkle in his eyes, though, and not all of it was from the blue light flooding everything.
“You know, maybe your ride is better, but my queue is better.” When you talk about Disney with West Coasters, the parks are always “mine” and “yours,” because that’s healthy.
“We don’t even have a queue! We walk on a roof.” And then we giggled, because hanging out with Paul is truly the best time.
We rode and soared and climbed and dipped. There’s this second major drop near the end of the ride that I always forget about, and all my ballyhooing gets lost in the gasping. We climbed out of the vehicles to look at our goofy ride photos, and Paul said, “You know, our ride is smoother and has the onboard audio, but your track layout is more interesting.”
“We should ride it again, just to make sure.”
“Okay!”
On the subject of which Space Mountain is better, I declare this a draw.
Finally, we emerged into sunlight. “Where to now?”
“Well, I want to see Hall of Presidents. It’s the only thing I really want to do on this trip besides Space Mountain. Yep, Hall of Presidents – that’s my deal right now and at some point on this trip, that will definitely be the one thing I can cross off on my list.” This is what writers call foreshadowing, friends. By the way, I never got to do Hall of Presidents once. This is what writers call Sad Kev.
“Wait, you’ve never seen the new Haunted Mansion stuff!”
Paul grinned. “No, I have not!”
“This must be remedied!” I do, indeed, talk like this. The Haunted Mansion “stuff” might be the most controversial thing that’s ever happened at Disney, ever, ever, if you happen to read message boards, which only sad and lame people do. Also: me. Basically, Haunted Mansion is one of those attractions Walt sort of had his hand in before he died, even though his initial idea was a spooky walkthrough that didn’t have much to do with the Omnimover (constantly moving ride vehicles) attraction we know today. In Disneyland, the Mansion is this big stately antebellum house on the outside, hot and cold running creeps inside. The one in Disney World is this huge New England-type manor. For a long time, they were pretty similar inside, but lately, our Mansion’s been getting some touch-ups. They took out the lame giant spiders and put in this Escher staircase with ghostly footsteps walking up and down them. There’s an attic scene now where a ghostly bride relishes the many times she’s lopped off husbands’ heads. All improvements, all upgrades.
Early this year, they extended the queue with some sort of cartoony graveyard stuff and some interactive stuff for kids. Fun, inoffensive stuff. Also, at the end of the ride, there are these “hitchhiking ghosts” that used to just appear in your ride vehicle as you rode past this long mirror. Now, the ghosts are more active, and they can do stuff like take off your head and replace it with the one belonging to the person you’re riding with. It’s amazing technology, sort of spooky, and a lot of fun.
People went insane over this. And by “people” I mean message board obsessives – they’re called “foamers,” which is just perfect – who objected on every level. Vehemently. Like, “Disney is mutilating Walt’s legacy,” and “Now that Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion is the only one that exists anymore, let’s fight to save it from the demolition that happened to Disney World’s.” Foamers. Which, let’s face it, is a super adorable term. As for the grotesque changes that all sane people would vomit at just thinking about? Paul seemed to like it just fine.
This is unrelated and hilarious.
“I got a text!” I said outside the ride. “It’s Joe and Marty! They’re here!”
“At Disney?”
“Here!” I texted furiously. The light above was growing dim quickly. Night was coming to the Magic Kingdom. I looked up and there they were, Joe and Marty, and there was an almost audible click. We were here. Four buddies. Three Libras. For the first time, we were all together, in the most magical place on Earth.
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