Checklist: the Happiest Place on Earth
5:30 am
Today marks my first visit to Disneyland, at the ripe age of 23. This will be a defining experience, no doubt, but I don’t spend the night before tossing and turning in excitement. I’m a bit concerned about how old I’ll discover I’ve become. Imagine that, jaded and scarred, I shall forever deny my potential offspring the Disneyland experience or be so repulsed by Disney-going pests that offspring themselves will be forsaken. Either way, much is at stake.
8:20 am
If Disney parks worldwide are notoriously crowded; Disneyland in China could prove fatal. I wiggle onto a subway car densely populated by what can only be Disney goers and a few unhappy commuters. A businessman shoots me a disapproving look as he squeezes past me off the train, as if to say: et tu, workforce-aged adult idle on a Tuesday? The spires of the Disney castle come into view, prompting excited coos throughout the compartment.
8:40 am
Hordes outside security are moving slowly. A child is wailing because mother won’t let him dig into a bag of chips: opened snacks are not allowed inside. I worry about a sandwich I’ve shrink-wrapped, sealed in plastic, and stuffed into a cereal bar box glued shut to make look inviolate (take that, $15 Disney lunches!). A vague popping sound startles the crowd. Woman behind me to child: they are starting the fireworks!! Moved by wishful thinking, everyone cranes their neck to survey the clear blue skies.
9:09 am
My sandwich and I are here, inside. This feels momentous. I’m almost crying. People are running towards the Fast Pass-dispensing station, not unlike the Lion King scene where feral beasts gallop towards newborn Simba.
9:29 am
In a 45 minute-line for the first ride, under a Milky Way canopy, in front of an elderly couple desperately and indiscreetly trying to inch past me. Soothing jungle sounds play.
10:01 am
The cynic, exorcised, walks out a wondrous child, striding gamely towards Pirates Cove after experiencing Soaring Over the Horizon, a globe screen 4D experience simulating a ski-lift glide over the Himalayas, the pyramids, and other world wonders, all under the caress of a light breeze sublimating the flight sensation. A long bygone feeling rises through my chest. The inner child lives! All hail Disney.
10:15 am
Browsing T-shirts in the gift shop. Wait, already?? Evicting self forcibly. It feels like spring in this Spanish colonial outpost with crumbling terra cotta forts overlooking mock Caribbean lagoons. Trying to ignore the smell of seafood churros wafting out of the Snackin’ Kraken. A group of monks in red robes study the Disney app on a woman’s iPhone. Four small monks, looking seven or eight years old, trot off towards Fantasyworld.
12:26 am
In a dark cave in the Alice in Wonderland maze, blocked by screaming, bawling children refusing to advance despite parents’ valiant herding. Outside, a boy is crying, harrowed, in front of a fun house mirror. I want a drink. Everywhere glamorous Chinese girls in stage makeup and Minnie ears are taking selfies. Outside, the queuing times for rides are approaching two hours. (Giant billboards everywhere display minutes to wait—Disney is not a wonderland where time ceases to exist, at least not for adults. It’s either running out or going too slow.) I retreat to go eat my smuggled sandwich by a gondola dock where a speaker is blasting Disney elevator music. At a table next to me, a child starts defecating into a plastic bag that his grandmother is holding steadfastly.
2:00 pm
After caving to a too-intense thrill ride to wash away some recent painful memories, my adrenaline high is subsiding. I check the time: still too early to leave, though, encouragingly, more and more adults are showing signs of defeat. A woman is curled up on a bench next to a pair of ten-inch heels. The air smells of caramel popcorn. After an hour wait, a series of mechanical errors during Battle of the Sunken Treasure leaves us moored between two pirate ships to a looping soundtrack of whistling cannonballs. I have officially been here for six hours. With intense relief, I give myself permission to leave the park.
Back in the real world, my cab driver inquires about my height, marital status, and property prices of the building where he drops me off. I almost miss Disney already.
4:35 pm
My eight-year old sister returns home and finds me splayed on the couch.
"You’re ALREADY back??” she screams. “Wasn’t it AWESOME?”
I open my mouth, then see her saucepan eyes. To her, it is still the happiest place on earth.
“Yes,” I say. “It was awesome.”
