Living in England has been all fun and proper, but sometimes I just have to let my loud, sloppy American loose. Fortunately for me, three of my American traveling friends, Jeff, Kati and Lisa, agree with the sentiment, and we found an outlet in the happiest place in Western Europe: Disneyland Resort Paris. There’s just something about being a truant for a few days to go hang out with Mickey Mouse and Friends.
The Eurostar train to Paris was pretty fun. Besides starting my day at 5:30 a.m., we got into the Disney spirit when our creepy 5-year-old passengers banged on the backs of our seats and yelled, “Tinkerbell is DEAD. If you come near us again, I’ll kill you.” And the unapologetic parents drank their coffee.
We arrived in Paris in the bitter, magical cold rain, and know what? We are so far out of Paris, I think we’re in Germany. We checked into Hotel Santa Fe, or as we affectionately call it, The Walt Disney Craptastic Crack Den Ghetto, or TWDCCDG. It’s fully equipped with four French television channels, all playing French or German ads for the theme park, crazy Southwestern decor and no bathroom amenities, which forced us to go to the gas station next door and buy Head and Shoulders for 11 euros. I wonder if I can live on water for the next five days.
We’ve covered the entire park in just five days, and I’ve gotten rid of my roller coaster fear because we had to ride Big Thunder Mountain four times in a row to get the perfect picture. But every ride is made more exciting because most of the warnings are in a foreign language … so you never know what’ll happen! Not to worry though, because I am quickly recovering the four years of French I took in elementary school. For example, “French French French French no flash photography French French.”
And there’s nothing like the French cuisine. We ate at the largest Golden Arches we’ve ever seen. Kati, our favorite LSU study abroad guest commentator, says this was our best meal. I have to disagree, although I was not the one to get a wine cork thrown in with her chili con carne at The Rainforest Cafe. I enjoyed eating at one of the few remaining Planet
Hollywoods, mostly because we all sat in awe of the American movie trailers and Pepsi ads the whole time.
The last time I was in a Disney park was 1991 in Florida, but I’ve discovered that one thing never changes: Goofy will always ignore me. He made me cry back in third grade when I attempted to get his autograph, and he totally gave me the shaft yesterday when all I wanted to do was hug him and take a picture. Where’s the love, Goofy?
Tomorrow it’s back to the reality of study abroad, but I’ll take the Small World song and Mad Hatter Teacup headaches back with me to jolly old England.