Europe episode 2: "Disneyland is a child buffet"

When I told my French teacher, Chris, that one of the things we had visited was Disneyland, he recoiled in horror.  The implication was clear - who'd go visit such a touristy thing in y'know... Paris?!

But we were actually quite excited.  Thanks to one of Bear's friends, we'd gotten free tickets ("Ah, Singapouriens!" Chris shook his head), we love Disney cartoons and I never really had the chance to go to Disneyland as a kid, so I was pretty curious to truly experience it.

Plus, in the morning as we were getting ready, Bear turned to me and sagely intoned, "Disneyland is a child buffet," which sounded incredibly inappropriate and paedophilic but was just her way of saying that it would be an awesome place to practise portrait photogaphy.  (I know, I know.)

So, we decided we might as well make a day of it.

We ate a huge french breakfast in our pajamas (hidden from judging French eyes by our coats) and Rebecca let me journal at the table as she slowly sipped her hot chocolate and orange juice.

Back at the apartment we were staying in, as we showered and dressed, I pottered around and amused myself with our host's tiiiiny plant.

Eventually, we took a train down to Disneyland and even though the light played hide-and-seek with the clouds the whole afternoon, the colourful, fantastical buildings and rides managed to make up for it.

Relaxed and slightly jetlagged, we strolled slowly round the park smiling at little girls in princess costumes who looked like they were having the best day of their lives.  At the base of the Sleeping Beauty Castle, there was a sculpture of the sword in the stone and children were climbing all over it trying to prove themselves to be Arthur.

One thing you have to give Disneyland is its complete and total commitment, right down to the perfectly curated tiles on the floor.  Everything is bright and cheerful and everyone is happy and patient and even though it's touristy and capitalist, the vibe is also that of parents and children and people in general just having a really lovely time.

(The look on that little girl's face isn't trepidation, she's actually sceptical that she's meeting the real genie.  She asked him twice before she finally agreed to pose for a photo with him, where they both flexed their biceps.)

Around lunchtime, Rebecca's OCD finally kicked in and she decided to look at the park map and plot some kind of a route, after which we ended up having our first "argument" of the trip.

See, someone is scared of big rides and having read stories about people flying off roller coasters to their deaths, prefers (quite sensibly, I might add) to abstain.  Someone else was feeling adventurous that day (despite claiming earlier that she, too, hated roller coasters) and kept following the first person around, saying, "The Crush Coaster.  The Crush Coaster.  I want to go on the Crush Coaster."

The latter wouldn't go alone or let the former hold her camera equipment (as she'd kindly offered to) and this persisted for a good hour until Rebecca finally started falling asleep on a bench from jetlag (I kid you not!) and eventually came to and informed me that she had been pulling my leg the whole time.

We ended up taking a couple of other rides instead, including a very well-produced haunted house in a beautiful gothic-style mansion that was draped with creepers.

Also amusing: this Singin' in the Rain umbrella that sent showers down on anyone who stood under it.

We took the Pinocchio ride, the movie stunt train where we watched the stunt explosions and landslides and eventually climbed Jack Sparrow's ship for exercise.

At around nine, the summer sun started to set, the light began changing and Bear and I were witness to the gorgeous, long, golden "hour" that makes photography there so breathtaking.

I was eternally grateful that we chose to visit the Alice in Wonderland rides around this time, because Fantasyland was utterly magical just then, the quirkily manicured gardens, thatched cottages and pastel furniture glowing warmly.

The teacup ride was especially attractive and I finally managed to fulfill a cliched tourist objective by trying it out.  (I thought of that rather upsetting scene in the Brittany Murphy movie where the little girl has just realised that someone in her family has died and she refuses to speak and just goes round and round and faster and faster on the teacups with a grim look on her face and tears in her eyes (vaguer, vaguer...).  Naturally, I did not have such a grim look on mine.)

Because it only got completely dark at around half-ten, we had to wait around for the fireworks, and sat on the lawn in front of the castle trying to catch ever fading slices of light.

Bear fought her way through the audience to try and get pictures of the sparks while I, a massive sucker for fireworks, stood further back, hopelessly short and hopelessly excited.

Over a sea of children's heads and flashing mouse ears, the fireworks raced and shimmered like stars and I have to admit that there were moments (especially during some of the sentimental Disney childhood songs) when I welled up a little.  People say this is a magical place and there were moments when I truly felt it.  The fireworks went on for a good fourty-five minutes and by the end, the night felt chill and clear and completely worth it.

We were well and truly knackered, jetlag having officially set in about two hours before, and ended up missing the last train and catching a cab at midnight. 

Sorry Chris, but I have to admit, I really enjoyed Disneyland Paris.  On the bright side, I remembered how to say the house number, address and give basic directions en français.

Thanks to you, we got back in one piece!