What a Mickey Mouse Operation

The first thing we do when the gates open to Disneyland Paris is rush to Thunder Mountain Railroad, only to discover that it is closed. The girls are so disappointed, but we say,“Well, we’ll do other things. We’ll still have fun.” We are wrong. The Steamboat is also closed, and the only attraction open in Frontierland is the Haunted House, which lets the girls down yet again: At the end, they turn to us and ask, “Where were the ghosts?” There we were, in the cars, facing the mirrors, and there’s supposed to be a ghost projected in with us. It’s supposed to be the punchline of the ride but apparently isn’t working.

 

Since Frontierland is a bust, we wander into Adventureland to go to the Pirates of the Caribbean, which is also closed. We turn to the pirate ship but it is -- you're sensing the pattern here -- closed. Finally, in desperation, we go through the Treehouse, which appeals to nobody, simply because we cannot find anything else to do. By this point, we’ve been in the park a couple hours and the girls are complaining about how bored they are and saying they want to go home. I've never heard them use the word "disappointed" so much in one day.

My friend Andi gasps audibly when I tell her about our opinion of Dismalland Paris: "It's like bad-mouthing Santa Claus!" Let me tell you, if it were a child, Dismayland Paris would get a lump of coal in its stocking.

Trying to get at least one thing right, we head to Discoveryland to go on Space Mountain. The girls love roller coasters and their two favorite rides at Disneyland (California, that is) are Thunder Mountain (1st) and Space Mountain (2nd), which they ride continuously if given the chance. Space Mountain in Disorganizedland Paris is, in fact...drumroll please...open! But we are informed the girls are not tall enough to ride, because the Space Mountain here is "Mission 2" and has a loop in it and, therefore a taller height requirement. G & P are so small, I don't think they'll hit 132cm (52inches) till they're 12 years old. At this point, the girls just break down crying, G especially, and saying how awful this Disneyland is. It's Disappointeyland.

By now we are desperately hungry, which always makes matters worse. So a little meat and many fries later, we have a serious family discussion about whether we should just ask for our money back and leave. But since we've committed our day here, and by now it's already early afternoon, we decide to try again.  We walk through the passageway into Fantasyland, where we try to re-excite the girls by telling them there is a new ride they could try – Alice’s Labyrinth. Which, you are not going to be surprised to hear, Disorderland has closed. 

We then go on basically every open ride/attraction we can find, even the obvious dogs. We are desperate to find something to do. On the Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast, the ride breaks down and has to be stopped about four times while we are on it. We wait on the Peter Pan Flightline over half an hour and just as we get to the front, it breaks down for about twenty minutes, and I must tell you that I honestly think, "Well, the good thing is that it's taking up more of our afternoon." When it does restart, the squeak of the equipment is almost unbearable. Welcome to Disrepairland, the Crappiest place on Earth!

We trudge through the Nautilus (at this point it feels something like the Bataan Death March), with the girls complaining how boring it is and – even worse – there is such ugly construction around it at the time, our 6-year old suddenly transforms from an innocent child who believes in magic to a sullen cynic: “It’s not a real submarine. The octopus is fake. There’s not even water outside the boat.” It's Disillusionmentland.

 

There are a few good moments. The highlight of the lowlights is driving the cars at Autopia. The girls ride in an elephant, which seems fitting since they've recently ridden on a real one, and see Indian dancers in It's a Small World, which they are excited to identify, having just been there.

  

 

And I do have some perspective: Having a bad day at Distraughtland is not on par with, say, losing a loved one or breaking your collarbone or being on the real Bataan Death March. But G shakes her head sadly at one brief moment we are actually enjoying ourselves, and points out, accurately, "It's sad that what we'll remember of this day are the bad parts."

With this, we manage to kill enough time to make it to the 5pm parade and Anthony tries to make up to the girls for the day with an $8 micro-cup of popcorn. He comes back shaking his head, “That guy purposely tried to shortchange me!”

 

 

While the worst of it is that the big rides are closed, it is compounded by the fact that so are many of the smaller attractions, and others are just plain absent. Paris has more space, but far fewer attractions: where's Mr.Toad’s Wild Ride, the Matterhorn, the Jungle Cruise, the Tiki Room, PikieHollow, or Splash Mountain? Instead, they just have bigger walkways. And crêpes, women in stylish Minnie Mouse scarves, Ratatouille characters instead of fairies, and fake European village architecture (oh wait, that's at all Disney parks...).

 

 

According to the lyrics from that Disney film, the Lion King, "Hakuna Matata...means no worries for the rest of your days. It's [a] problem-free philosophy." No worries and problem free, as long as you don't spend the day in Disasterland Paris, that is.