My First Trip to Disney

My name is Sara. I'm 29 years old. And I've finally been to Disneyland. (!)

I've been incommunicado the past week mainly because I was traveling four days for business. Unfortunately for me, I had to leave Chicago for warm, sunny Anaheim, where I observed an award judging for work. I left knowing I'd be in a conference room from 7:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. at best, with evening activities to boot. I didn't plan on going to the park (and didn't see how I could do it with 3 hours of free time), even though I'd never been, and even though it was walking distance away. I credit my ambivalence with not being a "Disney kid," and therefore not being a Disney adult. My favorite Disney movies were Lady and the Tramp and The Little Mermaid, and I did fancy Snow White and Cinderella. But Bambi scared me, I thought Beauty and the Beast was lame, Fantasia -- my aunt's favorite -- put me to sleep, and I as I grew up, I just didn't follow all things Disney. My parents didn't pump me with Disney memorabilia either. 

So when my plane touched down and I found myself in Anaheim, I was more interested in finding a few moments to walk outside in the sun (didn't happen) than score a few hours in a park that would cost a shitload of money ($72).

But you can't stay at Disneyland -- we were at the outdated but still phenomenally run Paradise Pier -- and not want to load up on Mickey, Minnie and whomever those other animal characters are ("I saw Lylo -- or is it pronounced LeeeLo??"). The toiletries have Mickey Mouse ears on them, and and the room service menu featured the iconic Mickey-Mouse-shaped Waffle. I don't order room service, and I don't order waffles. But by golly, I put Mickey-Mouse-waffles on my to-do list.

That was Day 1. Day 2 I couldn't resist and bought a Twilight Pass for business travelers with a few hours to spare and took off solo. 

I loved Disneyland. You can see it in my face here, on Pirates of the Caribbean Ride:

My 3.5 hours in the park -- at night no less -- were magical. Maybe they were more magical at night -- I'm told you can see how outdated and run-down looking the park looks during the day, and I probably would have nit-picked things. But at night, all you can see are twinkly lights, and all you can hear is old-fashioned music that takes you back to being a kid ("It's a small world" and the like). I think I also liked it because I went mid-week, in the fall, and in the evening, so fewer families were around to get annoying.

I can't say that it was all I thought it would be, because I never really wanted to go. Yet within moments of crossing the front gate, I was struck with a pang of sadness when I realized all I'd missed out on as a kid. There was a year or two when I really wanted to go to Disneyland or Disneyworld, around fourth grade. I had asked about it previously because my friends talked about it, and I remember my mom talking about how expensive it was -- too expensive for us. After all, we took road trips to Michigan and used a friend's house for vacation.

I didn't argue, and didn't feel bad about it. But I did bring it up in fourth grade after my parents received a settlement from a car accident we were in. I remember they got about $3,000, which I realized was nearly enough to pay for a trip for our family to go on the Big Red Boat -- I figured it was better than my mom's having to walk around a theme park, which was another reason we couldn't go (she's disabled). I did all the research and presented my case to my parents, but I was rejected. I can't remember what we did with the money, but everything seemed to go toward bills. I forgot about it and moved on to wanting something else, like New Kids on the Block concert tickets (didn't go either).

So this pang of sadness that hit me: it made me tear up. I didn't feel sorry for myself, I just regretted missing out as a kid. Every kid was soo happy. And the few that started to have a meltdown were easily distracted by the next cool thing that was around the corner.

Of course, it's easy to bribe a kid to be quiet when all you have to do is reach for the magic wand they want to buy or buy some Mickey Mouse ears to keep 'em quiet. I went to Disney because I had the time and the finances -- I even got a discount to boot. I can see why my parents didn't take me; the place sucks you dry. Nothing's cheap. And who goes to Disney and doesn't get a souvenier? I came away with Christmas ornaments and Pirate scopes for Brian's nephews. I can only imagine how much parents have to buy.

I also came away with a greater appreciation for Walt Disney. His parks run seamlessly, and even staying at Paradise Pier I had the staff at my hands. I couldn't get my Mickey Waffle because I had to leave before room service began. But I've been told that that particular hotel even would make it happen. Also impressive: there were healthy food options at every food kiosk I saw -- even vendors devoted to selling fruits and other healthy snacks. It's a small detail that I imagine goes far with concerned parents.

So my trip to Disney really was special. In my 3.5 hours I rode Indiana Jones' adventure, Space Mountain (my favorite), the Alice in Wonderland ride, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean and some London streetcar thing. The hot dog and hamburger I had (can you tell I bypassed the healthy food?) were actually really good. I got a glimpse of Mickey during the Fantasia or Fantasma or whatever it's called show, too, and saw the fireworks. Good times.

I don't hate my parents for not taking me, but I was happy to be able to go. Now I just have to get back.

***
All the food I had -- at the hotel for the business meeting, in the theme parks, and at a formal dinner -- was good. Damn, Disney. You don't disappoint.

In a related note, we had dinner at the Napa Rose restaurant, which I recommend if you're looking for fine dining in Anaheim. I had scallops in a lobsert bisque for an appetizer and pheasant with fall lentils and shmears (don't remember what was in it -- too busy talking to digest the menu!) for my main.The execution was spot on, and the staff really attentive. Someone did order the venison, which they were out of. And how do they tell you this? "The Mouse has spoken, and we're unfortunately out of the venison." I'll have to use that line sometime.