Except what a disaster the weather was.
Not that traveling is fun. I don’t know what the big fuss over Midwest Express is. You get cookies–so you disregard that they are habitually late and have some sort of apparatus that destroys luggage? Seems odd to me.
The trip back was more nonchalant. In Milwaukee, they at least announced they were delayed an hour. In Orlando, they figured a half hour delay wasn’t even worth discussing. I wasn’t sure what was going on, so (as my brother hates) I went to the desk to ask a stupid question: “So this is going to Milwaukee, ain’t it?”
The lady at the desk was courteous enough, but I imagined her retort more like this: “Well, everyone sitting here is overweight, so of course we’re going to Milwaukee. What did you think, we were going to Oklahoma?”
At which point, I would have responded, “No, since most of the people here were able to spell their names without the use of some crib sheet or referring to their ID.”
Though, being in the South for the week reminded me of one thing: how much I like the Midwest. Sure, our weather is absolutely terrible. That’s not even in debate…But at least we function at a tolerable SPEED.
They meander and slowly muddle through all. The real treat was watching all the British tourists interact with the Southern hospitality staffs. It is odd, I always think, how the British have outnumbered Americans in Orlando. You can tell the foreigners right off the bat–they don’t have the massive strollers. The Scandinavian countries (and I’ll lump Germany in this lot) are fairly easy to pick out as well. They have sandals on. Could be snowing, and they have sandals and socks on.
The British tourist is alternately rude and polite–an odd mixture. I’ve noticed a number of them much more on top of their kids and less likely to combat for “their rights” in the parks. And by rights, I mean the big stuff. The right to a bathroom wherever the hell I want it when I want it and nearby. The right to having more food than I can possibly consume dumped on my plate. The right to smoking areas every five feet. Well, that they did do. They seemed to smoke like they’ve been set on fire. But that war has been over for some time, so I figure that isn’t likely the cause. At least they don’t smoke in line–that’s reserved for our rude American compatriots. Go, USA!
You will note that the “Japanese Tourist” has gotten nary a mention. That’s because there are very few left. Since the opening of Disneyland, Tokyo, there have been less and less Asian visitors to Florida. Disney discovered that some of the tourists money actually went to airlines instead of directly to Disney bank accounts to pay for quality ABC programming like “Alias” and “Desperate Housewives.” So they built an entire park there simply to make the financial extraction of these valued guests more efficient.
Oddly, the opening of EuroDisney hasn’t done the same. Oh, wait. They put it in France. That explains it. I’d rather pay extra than go to France, too.
On Wednesday, we went to Busch Gardens and we had a high of 52 degrees. Fahrenheit. It rained from the moment we pulled into the parking lot–almost on cue.
Irritating.
Busch Gardens, for its season pass holders, has developed a new identification process. Most season pass parks take digital pictures of the pass holders and print them on the cards. Not Busch. No, you stick your hand into a scary-looking contraption that measures your hand attributes and records it as your ID. It was weird.
Anyway, it’s pouring rain. I decide this is not a good reason not to hit all the roller coasters anyway. So I do.
I even go on Montu twice–once with my brother and once without that miserable little coward. (In his defense, he was feeling poorly. Sick because his heat wasn’t working in the hotel. A whole other Captain Catastrophe in the making. I’m so proud of ‘im.) The first time we went up front, which was optimal, since this was an inverted steel coaster. For those of you that aren’t aware of the nomenclature of roller coasters, an inverted steel coaster is like Great America’s “Batman” where the track is above the trains and riders legs dangle out of the cars. Montu is the best inverted steel coaster in the country, to my opinion, and I have had considerable experience in such matters. Due to the construction of the inverted steel coaster, the front seats are very desirable because:
- Your view is not obscured by the trains suspended in front of you
- It follows the basic law of roller coaster seat position desirability
Thus endeth the lesson.
Flying in the face of my own law, I decided to move toward the back of train for my second ride through. The thing about laws like this is to make sure they are accurate they must be continually challenged.
We were pretty beat up in that first ride through. We could see our breath it was so cold and each drop of rain felt like sleet as it drilled into us at our 4G initial inversion pressure–so I figured hiding behind another seat would keep me drier.
Yeah. Wrong about that.
See the wheels are above you and they have little wheel covers around them. What happens when you are in back is all that water flies into your face instead. At high speed. With the bonus of whatever grease they use to keep the wheels turning smoothly. And apparently they calibrate this to hit the guy in the seat I picked most of all.
Probably ran a spreadsheet.
I was frozen coming off that coaster the second time, so we decided to warm up in the “curiosity Caverns.” Busch Gardens is half amusement park and half zoo (sound like Animal Kingdom?) Anyway, we go into the cavern, (which was heated, thank goodness) and look at the snakes and whatall. Then we come upon these two birds.
They look like woodpeckers. Long snouts, but stockier. And one, let’s call him Killer, has a mouse dangling in his beak. It took some time, but Killer slowly got used to my brother and I staring at him in morbid fascination with his impending meal. So Killer starts beating the mouse, with rapid flicks of the head, against the branch beneath him. And we’re talking hard as we heard these moist sounding thuds. At first, my brother and I were convinced this bird had some form of mental retardation, since it was obvious this mouse was already dead. But then we figured it out. He kept beating this thing up to break up all it’s bones for a nice easy swallow.
After about ten minutes, Killer finally gulped down the mouse. Busch Gardens only wishes it would be so easy with Mickey. No such luck.
The rest of the trip was fairly standard stuff. Eating at themed restaurants. Going to Sea World and watching Shamu. Hitting Universal and Islands of Adventure. People watching up the ying-yang.
But the true disaster was one of timing. We went during what Universal calls their “Mardi Gras” celebration where they have bands perform on the weekends. In April, had we planned on this, we could have seen the second greatest band of all time–that’s right: “Huey Lewis and the News.” What was in town for us? “Leonard Skynerd”
Now that’s a catastrophe.
Sincerely,
Captain Catastrophe