Disneyland Paris as an Adult, Day 1

“Everytime I come back, it’s like becoming a kid again,” a French colleague of mine said to me dreamily when I shared my weekend plans. “I think I never really stopped,” I replied.

I thought about this some more in the RER train en route to Disneyland Paris, making my fluent in perfect French sibling laugh with my literal English pronounciation of the Noisy-Champs station we passed. It translates as nutty fields, by the way. I don’t know which I enjoy more. But hey, to quote Daria, it’s a nutty, nutty world, and maybe with Walt and Mickey’s help I could escape it for a while.

I want to remember her as well, I realize. The child who discovered herself, not just the adult. I want to carry the things she found out then inside myself, because they still make me who I am. And she is me, just independent, bill-paying, more knowledgable about polite sarcasm and prone to sentimentality.

Somehow I felt this trip would round up all these thoughts anew, since Disney animation was such a big part of my childhood and continued to be so later on in life, coloured by a special sense of memory and appreciation for discovering the stories from an adult point of view.

Trekking along to our hotel independently at first with the aid of Google Maps proved fruitless, as despite Google’s encompassing power, the Maps failed to recognize the high rows of trees blocking our progress as impenetrable. But we were already essentially in Disneyland, with Disney thinking and Disney music inflitrating our brains, so off to the bus shuttle we went, which just didn’t arrive for a while – one of the easiest things to do if you want to make someone who’s lived in Germany for years twitchy.

Once we reached Hotel Cheyenne it was truly like stepping back in time.

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Except we were larger and the security check in the lobby was a painful reminder of current events. What I notice is also how I automatically switch to accommodating this necessary procedure in my daily routine for the moment, while simultaneously thinking it’s just sad.

Hotel Cheyenne is one of the affordable accommodation options at Disneyland Paris. Family-friendly and spacious, many buildings with apt names like Billy the Kid or Calamity Jane spread beyond the main one with the lobby, lining a broad street built like a typical scene from a town in an American Western. Not only do they look the same as I remember from the one time I stayed here as a child, but so does the interior of our room. It’s almost bizarre to see the exact same table lamp with a cowboy boot for a holder, or the horse-patterned stripe of wallpaper just below the ceiling. A short attempt to climb the ladder to the top bunk proves that this is a) painful and not advisable in socks; b) silly as the bunks are too small for us now anyway. There’s also a weight limit I’m pretty sure I exceed nowadays.

If you can walk from your hotel to the park, do! The surrounding area is green and wide in the summertime, otherwise bus shuttles from the hotels actually are frequent. As for booking the travel package and all that practical stuff, two words: in advance!

One more predictable security check and we were strolling towards the gorgeous, prominent and posh Disneyland Hotel. I was still having trouble believing where I was, so I settled for the dreamy state of acceptance.

Little girls dressed like Belle and Snow White skipped past me along Main Street. Bachelorette party (or hen do) groups from England popped up every few minutes in a flurry of sequinned Minnie Mouse ears and young sisters holding hands dashed in to shops overflowing with Elsa and Anna dresses, some emerging as two Elsas or two Annas. Yes, Frozen was being marketed very heavily indeed, despite being released all the way back in 2013.

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Lunching and snacks immediately and predictably wander in to the fast food area, especially if your weekend budget revolves around the € and not the €€€. Service is efficient and quick, though, and visitor traffic moves fast enough so that seating opportunities don’t require major waiting time. The Gibson Girl Ice Cream Parlour beckons from accross Casey’s Corner, bringing back memories of reading The Langhorne Sisters by James Fox, but the hot dog and fries I had don’t leave room for more.

Leaving the beautifully decorated shop window displays on Main Street behind us, we proceed towards Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. Blush pink and blue-capped, just as I remember, it’s animation come to life without being overdone and the elegant landscaping around it reminds of the various aspects of hard work connected to putting Disneyland Paris together.

A major point of excitement was exploring the castle inside, where I promptly went Disney crazy with my camera among all the carefully reproduced scenes from the eponymous animated classic.

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And then off to the Dragon Lair we went. The wailing I heard inside confirmed what my Disneyland Paris app said – some of the scenes could frighten younger guests. While I wasn’t one, I still clutched my sibling’s hand simply because it was so dark in there.

Dumbo the Flying Elephant was the first ride stop on that day and the slight nerves I had about going up and down (I know, pathetic, it’s a carousel that kids go on) dissipated as soon as I took in the view seated atop our little soaring elephant.

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I’ll just have to suck it up and watch Dumbo to the end, because when I was little the scene with him and his mother in separate cages broke me and I couldn’t continue.

My logically thinking sibling successfully took us through Alice’s labyrinth, leaving me only slightly dizzy, but not late.

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A quick dash in the Mad Hatter’s Teacups (no, we didn’t want to turn the wheel in the middle of our cup to make it spin when the WHOLE PLATFORM of the ride was already doing so) made us laugh. And then, like any self-respecting Disneyland visitors, we set off for the Princess Pavillion, me singing along loudly to various instrumental Disney soundtracks wafting from hidden speakers around us.

While waiting in line I busied myself with my camera once more, particularly enjoying the glowing Disney artefacts displayed behind glass panes and accompanied by a short snippet from the relevant story in French and English.

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“Is there anyone else here without kids?” My sibling whispered. “I don’t know,” I replied, “But look, it’s from The Little Mermaid, it’s the shell, the shell!” I succeeded in getting the lady in front of us to turn around and give me a look, though I didn’t care. The shell! Yes, the Princess Pavillion is essentially for kids, but once we were there, I wanted to see it through. Snow White was lovely, by the way, and she said she liked my earrings. She also compared us to Elsa and Anna, so a good day’s work for us, I say.

The boat ride through Storybook land followed all this princess excitement – a ride I thoroughly enjoyed, with all the recognizable details in the careful miniature reproductions of some of Disney’s most iconic animated features.

To shake things up and with more memories running through our minds, we lined up to go on Pirates of the Carribean just as it started to rain. Savvy! Deeper and deeper we ventured until we reached our boat. Even my limited French was enough to understand the dad seated in front of us saying excitedly to his kids, “Descente!” and I screamed my head off even if it was a short drop, because I’m a scaredy cat. Points out of ten to this ride in terms of atmosphere, though, and I could understand the British teenagers dashing past us to line up again. “We’ve already been three times!” Due to the movie(s) having already come out since I last visited as a child, scenes of looting pirates laughing were all the more impressive and for a few minutes you forget where you are.

One more stop was on our list and as we rounded a corner, the Phantom Manor suddenly came in to view.

During my last visit I was successfully scared in to not going inside, and I said I would come back. Convincingly draped cobwebs adorned the lamps above our heads and the darkness in the antechamber we entered was immediately intimidating. My feverish visual scan of the premises strengthened the hope that this house didn’t include hidden roller coasters, as did the presence of small children around us. I don’t want to include spoilers, of course, but I will say that the wait of many years was worth it and the interiors are fantastic. Surely fun stop at Halloween.

Sated with impressions and walking as we already were, there was one more special point of the evening left to attend to – Disney Dreams, the evening show. Darkness was starting to settle as we approached Sleeping Beauty’s Castle later. People were lining Main Street as we grabbed some hot chocolate and found a good spot.

Music began to play and the castle became an illuminated mesmerizing stage for a medley of Disney animation and music. With the rest of the crowd I sang my heart out to Elsa’s Let It Go amid one of the most beautiful fireworks I have ever seen.

A truly enchanting end to a special day, not without “adult” thoughts (How much does it cost to put on such a display? How eco-friendly are those flames? Is all the merchandise produced under the same unfair employment conditions we read about so much?)

But I do still remember her, the girl I was thinking about on the train ride here.

Confessions of a Clueless Football Viewer, Part 3

A few years ago, and I can’t remember whether it was the Euro or World Cup, the German national team suddenly caught my eye. Something just clicked. Alongside a few more seasoned star players like Bastian Schweinsteiger (nothing can beat him) or Lukas Podolski (that impish grin) a new line-up of talented footballers, each already boasting his own successful career, was making their mark for Germany. The other intriguing point was that this new team included players with international roots who all worked hard and worked well, driven by the obvious iron-willed discipline of national trainer Joachim Löw. The diversity of the team was actively stressed by Germany, and I must say I am convinced. Modern, fresh, talented and almost always impressive whenever they entered the pitch, this was the team that made me realize clueless viewing didn’t exclude passionate viewing.

But all these feelings paled in comparison to what I experienced when I saw Manuel Neuer, Germany’s keeper, make his first save. Sure, the team is great, and it’s exciting to see them in action. But Manuel Neuer… well, let’s simply say I just can’t even.

And so this past Sunday arrived, with Germany playing its first Euro 2016 match against Ukraine. There he was, my hero, looking fresh as a daisy and clearly raring to go, his new appointment as team captain almost visibly bouncing of his still clean uniform. Within minutes his razor-sharp reflexes were demonstrated as he made a breath-taking, clean-cut save for Germany, and I could hear not only the German supporters in the stadium, but also the whole internet going wild. “A world-class act!” the German commentator was practically shouting. Let’s just watch this again, and again.

He can reach anything, jump anywhere and if we have him, everything will be alright, because he just wants to play.

And not to forget Jerome Boateng’s incredible defence (because no keeper is an island, at least not forever). If the internet was screaming after Neuer’s first save, it was in uncontrollable hysterics after this one.

If my hero did need some help, it couldn’t have been done any other way than how Jerome Boateng did it. World-class deserves world-class in return. And maybe Neuer would have made it on his own, but hey, what are teammates for?

Last, but not least, of the many truly cool moments this clueless viewer was impressed by along with everyone else wathcing, two words: Bastian Schweinsteiger. The midfielder replaced Mario Götze and did what the latter could not in a matter of minutes.

A special triumph in view of his injuries and uncertainty surrounding his participation in the Euro 2016.

While still clueless, I’m pretty sure this is what good football looks like.

Confessions of a Clueless Football Viewer, Part 2

This football, I like it, another! To rephrase Thor a little bit.

England and Russia played against each other on Saturday and having Russian roots I thought, hey, why not. No clue about the Russian national football team, no prior research, not even a glimmer of a name, and my knowledge level about England’s team wasn’t much better – the only player I recognized was Wayne Rooney, and all I could come up with additionally was the oft-repeated comparison on his facial similarity with a certain beloved animated character. Oh, well, I never said I could do much.

Thus with basically an absense of feelings except curiousity on how this whole game would go I sat down to watch the match taking place in Marseille. I did predict the colours of the Russian team’s uniform’s correctly. Yay. Of course they were going to be red, vot do you mean.

I was just thinking this match was somewhat boring beyond the fact that my cluelessness already glaringly signifies the possibility of boredom, when suddenly England’s Eric Dier scored the first goal. Yes, goals are always sudden, that’s the thing that sets them apart, I know. The goal was half the fun, though, ultimately leading to the best part of the whole game as a screaming bunch of running players went nuts and failed to brake around this poor photographer.

He took it well, though. But Russia was not to be completely outdone, making jaws drop all over the stadium as they scored a (sudden) goal of their own during the three minutes after play. The look on Vasili Berezutski’s face as he demonstrated the usual victorious displays of emotion following his hit can only be described as “I AM BEAR.”

Despite the 1:1 tie, an amusing little summary of what is possibly one of the baselines of each national mentality emerges: England was “dejected”, according to multiple headlines in the media, while Russia acted like a winner.

It was impossible to ignore the staggering amount of violence taking place in the streets of Marseille as English and Russian football hooligans attacked each other in a seemingly endless frenzy of determined aggression. With widespread ugly incidents also taking place right in the stands of the stadium after the match ended, media, fans and locals alike are appalled. The acceleration level is dizzying and it is once again horrifying to see a sports environment or occasion abused purely for the purpose of destruction.

With the security concerns this year’s Euro brings, it is especially sad, and absolutely disgusting, to see this senseless violence happening, and one is particularly sorry for real fans who would never commit such a crime, not to mention the already overstretched law enforcement involved with keeping match locations safe and locals who must feel as if they are suddenly under siege in their own city.

Confessions of a Clueless Football Viewer, Part 1

The UEFA Euro 2016 has begun and after (somewhat unexpectedly) viewing a few of these in recent years, I can once again predict some of the things that are going to happen in the coming four weeks.

I will watch a few games and surprise myself anew that I actually do this, because if ever there was a person well versed in one-dimensional, non-technical sports viewing, it’s me. Fan accessories in the colours of the German flag, from wigs to flags to sunglasses to face paint, will spill from most of the supermarkets and drugstores one passes in town, and I will remember the paint stick a colleague made me throw away after a news report about a bad batch being produced.

Most of us will watch the matches with Germany, though we might forego Hamburg’s largest public viewing spot at the Heiligengeistfeld with its 50,000 football fans.

I will not be able to comment on any technical parts of the matches and keep silent as the tangle of both English and German football terms (Abseits! Torschuss!) becomes ever more confusing in my head.

It’s all good.

I found myself watching the opening match between France and Romania of my own accord, partly also because of the game taking place in the Saint-Denis district of Paris, with sad memories of the November 2015 terrorist attacks and subsequent raids in the area being expanded by current security concerns. There is no light-hearted viewing this year, as clueless as I may be sports-wise. But there is an ongoing wish to enjoy what this championship is supposed to be about – seeing the best at their game, international sportsmanship and excitement about a big event being followed all over Europe.

France won against Romania 2:1, with the host country’s team possibly being surprised by the agility of their opponent. With my notorious ability to get teams mixed up I was thankful the French players were wearing blue and the Romanian ones yellow. I always think while I watch and as my attention inevitably starts to wander that so many people are seeing so much more in the game than I am, that other viewers have football layers and I don’t, but this does nothing to dampen my enjoyment, or, better said, amusement.

But here’s a question. After seeing France’s Olivier Giroud in a better close-up after he scored the team’s first goal against Romania (kudos), I do have to wonder: isn’t a full beard even more uncomfortable during a match than long hair? Unless it absorbs all the sweat pouring down the footballer’s face?

Is the hipster making his way in to football? I can just imagine the look a more experienced viewer would give me, a mixture of incredulity and mild disgust on his face, as he would say to me, but nicely, being a friend, “I wasn’t looking at his beard, I was watching him score the goal.”

And is it just me, or are there way more tattoo sleeves visible among players? Not that anyone can really beat Germany’s Marco Reus tattoing his own name and birth year on his arm. That’s the way!

I really do think I come up with queries that hardly anyone would consider otherwise.

Seen/Heard/Read

More Beauty and the Beast

The French movie directed by Christophe Gans and released in 2014, that is. I remember the Disney animated classic practically by heart, and yes, of course I will watch it again, and again, and again. This version grabbed my curiousity and it coincided nicely with the reignited enthuasiasm for all things Beauty and all things Beast after the teaser trailer for the upcoming Disney live-action film came out.

So, first thing’s first, it’s very different from the Disney interpretation, as it should be. While the story is scary enough, touching on plenty of serious topics if you stop to think about it, this movie was still darker and sometimes gloomier than I expected. There are, of course, familiar sights – an overgrown, dank, forgotten castle. A sense of impending menace before we really know who or what lives there, which transfers from Belle.

It was much harder to relate to the Beast in this adaptation, and however hard I tried to tell myself he was “real”, with “flaws”, the character had some very unattractive qualities indeed, not to mention a very serious sin on his hands. I was constantly scared he would tear Belle to bits, even when she started falling for him. And that’s the crucial point of dissatisfaction with the movie for me, unfortunately. How Belle starts to open her heart to the Beast skipped my understanding. One moment she is resisting his attentions, even while steadfastly accepting her fate, the next all she wants is to remain with him forever, it is her “only wish”. OK, so he did redeem himself by saving her life, and he doesn’t hide who he is from her. Love is all-powerful etc etc.

Nope, still can’t convince myself.

But the cinematography and costumes are stunning. While Belle’s dresses are somewhat too opulent for all that running around she does, the design is amazing.

There are still many ways to tell stories, including well-known and long-established fairy tales, which is heartening and inspiring. The enduring fascination with this particular genre seems to be showing itself in a myriad of new interpretations in entertainment and culture, and I am constantly watching to see what else will come, how characters we have known forever will find their way in to creative projects.