My initial ire at having to wake before six in the morning to catch a train from Roma Termini to Venezia Santa Lucia was almost immediately negated when I arrived at the right platform and discovered my train was the most super-modern high-speed train in the entire station, and that it would be a nearly non-stop three-hour journey in a luxurious coach car I had all to myself. Apparently few travelers need to get to Venice from Rome that early in the morning. Upon my arrival an older Italian gentleman wearing an Upper Michigan cap and holding a handmade sign spelling my name was waiting at the end of the platform. This was Giancarlo.

Some backstory: My mom’s side of the family is entirely Italian; my grandmother’s side from Southern Italy and my grandfather’s side from the north. While one must trace back several generations to find a relative still living in Italy, any mafia movie should teach one that to Italians, blood is everything, and as such our Italian relatives still keep in contact with us and should any of the American Povolo clan (my mom’s maiden name) visit Italy, they insist that they give us a tour of Venice and to see the lakes and mountains in the region of Verona whereby which they call home.

After initial greetings we boarded a Venetian bus, which are small ferries that do an amazing job at quickly docking at each stop without hitting the wood. The way Venice is laid out is there’s a large causeway connecting it to the mainland which terminates in the train station or a massive parking structure. Therefore everyone enters the city at more or less the same point. From there crowds disperse over the course of the day much like in a theme park. The Canal Grande, a large river (if it can be called such as there is obviously no directional flow) snakes through the middle of the city dividing it into several different themed sections. We smartly employed the “go to the back of the park first and work our way to the front” strategy in an attempt to avoid long lines, and so we disembarked at the Piazza San Marco, where our first attractions were the Palazzo Ducale and the Basilica di San Marco. Wait times were average, thankfully the churches and palaces have a fairly high people-per-hour throughput, although a Six Flags-type policy was in place requiring that all bags or other loose articles be checked in a locker before you can enter. Cameras and cell phones are strictly prohibited (not that that stopped us from sneaking a shot inside anyway).

The first cultural attraction credits tucked under my belt, we then made a leisurely stroll in the general direction of the San Polo themed section in Venezialand. Giancarlo explained to me the upcharge gondola rides they have on the river, which at some €70 a pop they were even more overpriced than a go-kart at Six Flags. I forget what the story is behind the design of the black-and-white striped uniforms all gondolier team members must wear, but apparently it takes many years of study before someone can become an operator of one of these.

Venice suffers a bit from the same problems as other theme parks in that there are too few major attractions spread between too many food stands and gift shops, although admittedly many of these locations are of much higher quality than can be found in the knock-off Disney Parks or the knock-offs of those knock-offs. We stopped for lunch (“mangio il panino, bevo la birre”), and like any second-rate theme park, they try to rip you off by advertising what appears to be a low price but then charge you mysterious fees and extras, which Giancarlo vocally complained about (a note to anyone else that might visit Venezialand, be careful where you buy your food as this is apparently a common practice among many store owners).

One of the other major attractions we later went on was the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, which was in a quieter section of San Polo, and had a walk-on wait. While the outside was rather bare, the inside had a huge number of paintings, sculptures, relics and so on. I believe Venice is also home to several art galleries, but as time was rather short we needed to skip on getting every culture credit.

It’s ironic that I describe Venice as if it were another theme park, but the reality of the city isn’t that far away from the odes to imitation found across the world. No one actually lives in Venice so there are no real Venetians; everyone you see is a visitor, many of whom are there as employees to keep the infrastructure running and to make a profit off other visitors, or in some cases as scholars or students at an institution in Venice. And for the majority of those visitors who come as tourists, the experience is scarcely different than a visit to Epcot: you enter via the main gates, herded from one ‘must-see’ attraction to the next, passively complying with all the posted rules so there’s no disorder, you take pictures, eat food, buy gifts, and at the end of the experience is considered a complete one based on how many activities you got to do. The goal is to experience firsthand “the Real Italy”, but how can it be real when the entire reason it still exists is because of the tourist trade?

Like any good theme park, I don’t think Venice any longer represents what is real; it’s a relic of what once was real, but today it’s a simulation of what the popular myth declares the ideal Real Italy to be. Perhaps because it’s so photogenic, most of the outside world’s exposure to Italy comes from Venice and that is where the creation of that myth stems from. It’s one held by Italians themselves, whom I’ve found have an odd relationship to their historical cultural roots. They inhabit an ancient land, one which doesn’t really belong to them but they’ve inherited it because it no longer belongs to anyone else. The modern Italian personal identity is awkwardly reliant on a culture which, for lack of a better term, is extinct. Especially in the era of Berlusconi’s neo-fascism with total media control, it’s tricky for new forms of cultural identity to take hold as their rich artistic traditions once did, so they rely on the ancient landmarks to say, “this is who we are”. (By the way, I’m not saying it’s not like that even in the United States, where people are still infatuated with the myth of the wild west and every elementary child is taught about the heritage of native Americans and our geography, my guess so they don’t become nihilists upon realizing that their cultural identity consists only of strip malls and MTV.)

However, if the existential dimensions of Venezia are of dubious authenticity today, the aesthetic experience of seeing the Venetian cityscape with one’s one eyes is certainly as true as it’s ever been. On more than one occasion while ambling down a quiet alley, peeling plaster on the walls, a docked vessel lightly rocking on the waves, Giancarlo would stop and simply explain “this is Venice”. That was all that needed to be said in those situations.

Now here’s the real Italy: after returning to Giancarlo and Teresa’s home in Schio, that evening was their son Enzo’s birthday so the entire family was over for a special dinner celebration. As per the ‘real Italy’, some television watching was also involved during dinner, which in Italy is extremely misogynistic with almost no censorship except in most cases where any intelligence is involved (as I said, the prime minister basically owns every Italian news and media outlet, it’s like FOX News mixed with Girls Gone Wild). The main course was a special homemade white lasagna, and Giulia or Giancarlo would lean over and try to translate the jokes being shared around the table, which didn’t always make literal sense in English but I could figure out at least what it would feel like to understand it. Interestingly when it came time to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ I was able to join in because apparently it’s still done in English (albeit strongly accented). Among the family members, only Giancarlo and his granddaughter Giulia (who’s about my age) spoke any English. I tried to tell as much about myself with what little Italian I knew, but would then go back to having one of my translators assist me.

“Jeremy, parli ogni italiano?”

“Um, parlo un piccolo italiano.”

They laugh and correct me, “…un po italiano.”

“Ah, sì, sì.” I think saying ‘I speak a small Italian’ communicated my point just as well, if not better.

“E che cosa fate en Italia?”

“Um, io vivo en Roma vicino il Vaticano per questa  primavera… um, studio filosofia in una università americana en Trastevere. Io imparo la lingua italiana solo per tre mesi.”

“Tu sei molto buono.”

“Oh, grazie. Giulia, how do you say I am now completely out of Italian vocabulary?”

The experience was definitely one of the best memories I’ll take from Italy, at once completely removed from the comfortable familiarity of home, and yet I was here not as a foreign tourist but as a member of the extended family. Also as I recall, the red and white wine (il vino rosso e bianco) was plentiful.

The next morning Giancarlo took me to the nearby town of Recoaro, which is where the Povolo family originates. One interesting thing I learned from Giancarlo is that the name Povolo originally came from Spain as ‘Pueblo’ which simply meant ‘people’ (so I guess we’re Spanish rather than Italian?) The ‘b’ was pronounced as a ‘v’ in Italian and over the many years it transformed into Povolo. The Povolo street (“Contrada Povoli”) is a small winding road on the side of a mountain overlooking the town, with stone-built houses and a mountain spring-fed drinking trough, and most of the people that live there are still very distant relatives. Now the only thing left to discover is why we would ever choose to leave this area.

Later that afternoon Giulia accompanied us to take a tour of Vicenza, as she’s a student in an academy in Venice for Italian art history and was able to narrate more about the history of the city than I unfortunately can recall. It’s not the best city I would recommend an uninitiated traveler to sightsee unless they have specific historical interests in Vicenza,  The best sight however was the Basilica di Santa Maria di Monte Berico, which was on a hill (Monte Berico, obviously) overlooking the entire city thus providing some great views.

That evening Giulia invited me to go to a restaurant near Schio with three of her friends Marta, Lucia and Andrea. Three out of four in the group were quite fluent in English, which ended up being the language of choice for the evening’s conversations, although I tried my best to discuss some favorite Italian films with the non-English speaking Andrea when I learned he was also a fan of Spaghetti Westerns. Interestingly we discovered on the car ride there that the four of them were far more familiar with American music than I ever was, and I knew a great many Italian band none of them had ever heard.

“Have any of you ever heard of Banco del Mutuo Soccorso? What about Le Orme or Locanda Delle Fate? Stormy Six? It’s an English name but an Italian avant-garde group. My favorite is the early work by Premiata Forneria Marconi; their Per Un Amico is my second-favorite album of all time after one by King Crimson.”

“No, never. Those are some very odd names.”

“I know, it means ‘Award-Winning Marconi Bakery’, doesn’t it? Apparently they say the harder the name to remember, the harder the name to forget.”

“You’re a very strange American, aren’t you? Maybe we should sweech places and you live in Italy instead?”

That much is almost always apparent to me.

“The restaurant we are going to, it’s called the… well, you would call eet the “Red Tomato”.

“So we’re going to il Pomodoro Rosso?” I inquire, pleased to be getting more utility of my Italian lessons.

“Yes, very good. I’m sorry but I don’t think they have much American food, is that okay?”

“Absolutely, I want to try as much Italian food as I can. If I wanted American food that’s where I’d still be right now. Could you help me find something on the menu which I could never find anywhere else in the world outside of this town?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. There’s a very tradesional Italian dish that’s from this area. Eet’s filled with some meet and tomatoes, and eet has a base made with mize.”

“It’s made with mice?”

“Yes. Eet’s very good, you should try it.”

I expressed my hesitancy towards sampling such an entrée, despite their insistence I was sure to like it. Upon further clarification of its ingredients I realized I had been told it was made with maize, aka corn. For the most part we had few communication problems, although I recall one moment while we were waiting for our food when I heard commented, “I hope eet comes soon, I’m very ‘angry.”

Slightly surprised by this impatience for what didn’t seem to be particularly slothful service, I expressed my regret and asked if there was anything we could do to help her mood.

“No, not angry, ‘ungry.”

“Oh, hungry!” That makes more sense. After a quick lesson on how to properly stress the English ‘h’ I got a flawless pronunciation.

Discussion ranged from traffic signs (which are nearly identical in Italy; mused Giulia, “I think we must get those from you. ‘Stop’ is not a very Italian word, is it?”), respective driving and drinking ages (in Italy it’s 18 and an unenforced 16, in the US it’s 16 and a draconian 21), Italian gender roles, what we studied, where we had traveled to, the Italian theme park I’d be visiting over the next two days, the ‘adventure’ of sleeping in a train station in Switzerland (I’ve got another one tomorrow night, which I’m pleased they immediately realized what a cool experience that was rather than a regrettable one, and even had a semi-serious request to join me on these adventures). At one point the much deeper question was posed of why I wanted to come to Italy. As they explained, the United States has the best of everything in the world and the goal for every Italian youth has always been to see America; once you’re there, where else can you possibly want to go?

It was an amusingly simple question for me, despite which I still didn’t have an immediately ready answer. I speculated it was because of the old adage that ‘the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence’, or that the rich cultural and historical presence found everywhere in Europe was sorely lacking from an American experience. But really, I secretly realized, it was nights exactly like tonight that made travel to Italy 100% worth every expense involved.

Cultural Note #11: “Ciao” is used both as a greeting and as a farewell. It’s rarely said once, often in a quick succession of two, three or more.

Since the Italian dinner period is almost never before sunset, we didn’t get back to the house until after midnight. Before leaving I quickly said to Andrea, “mi dispiache que non parlo italiano”. They vehemently insisted there was no reason to apologize for the need to conduct the evening in English. Before driving away we exchanged final farewells: “Ciao ciao ciao!”

Next: Gardaland

Previous: Pompeii

18:30 – I exit the main gates of Europa Park. I am officially on my way home to Rome. First I must walk back to the ferienwohnung to pick up my backpack and get a ride to the Ringsheim train station. I try not to get lost this time like I did last time. Trying is not good enough. I loop around the block a couple times, but finally locate the street on my own. They’re waiting with my belongings and the car ready to go. A short drive later I’m dropped off at Ringsheim Bahnhof. He insists on getting my backpack for me out of the truck, and after an awkward, multi-lingual goodbye and handshake, we part ways.

20:00 – I’m waiting on the single sheltered bench on the train platform. Remove the platforms along either side of the track and it would just be an empty stretch of railway in the middle of nowhere, Germany. It’s getting darker and I’m getting bored. When’s my ticket for? 23:04. Occasionally an extremely loud freight train rushes past. The timetables indicate there are at least two other trains heading towards my intermediate destination before eleven. I don’t know what to do.

21:00 – I scout out a nearby hotel, the place looks empty, but there’s a receptionist on duty. He speaks English, and I ask if he can translate my ticket to figure out if I can take one of the earlier trains (no) and if I can use the restroom (yes). I contemplate exploring further but it’s getting dark out and there are no streetlamps or anything so I return to the train platform.

23:04 – After four hours of waiting on some desolate platform bench my train finally arrives.

23:42 – I have to make my transfer at Freiburg. It’s supposed to be a quick transfer but when I get to the platform the board says the train is running 45 minutes late. More waiting. I dine on vending machine snacks.

Wednesday, March 31^st, 2010

00:25 – The train finally arrives. We have an hour-long journey to Basel, Switzerland where I was supposed to catch another train to Bern that night. I’ve obviously missed it. I fall asleep on the ride. I’m going to need it.

01:15 – We arrive in Basel. It’s at least a big station with many terminals, but everything is silent. The few passengers get off, there are no representatives from the train station present but I find a few Swiss police officers talking to some other tourists in the main lobby. I ask one of them if there’s any way I can get to my destination tonight. “All trains have stopped for the night.” But he indicates that at 6:07 there is a train directly to Bergamo, which is very close to my destination of Milan, and he thinks my ticket should be valid for that given the circumstances. I guess that’s my new plan. Now, what does one do with themselves when they’re trapped in Purgatory, Switzerland?

01:45 – The restrooms are locked at this hour (thanks for nothing, pay toilets). I wander around the block trying to find anyplace that might be open, warm, and have toilets, but every building is silent and dark. I seriously contemplate peeing in the bushes next to the train station, the juice I had at Freiburg has gone through me fast. Thankfully another traveler and I find a janitor who lets us into the employee restroom for free.

02:15 – I try to find an insulated waiting room with benches I can lay down on. There are none. The only benches are in the main platform area where the open-air design has left it rather cold. This will have to do. I don an extra layer of pants, my Expedition GeForce sweater zipped under my jacket, and make a bed and blanket of sorts out of the rest of the dirty laundry in my backpack, which also serves as my pillow. I eventually fall asleep.

04:00 – I wake up. It’s fucking freezing! I repack my stuff, I need to find someplace warmer in this train station. The lower level has no benches or waiting areas, but at least it’s partly sheltered and heated. I prop myself up on the floor next to a vending machine in the corner and try to get another hour or two of rest. Just as I’m starting to drift off, my cellphone rudely awakens me. It’s my mom.

“Hello?” I croak.

“Hi honey. I haven’t heard from you in a couple days and I needed to make sure you’re all right.”

I’m stranded in a train station I’m not supposed to be in trying to sleep on a pile of dirty clothes to keep warm while next to a vending machine.

“I’m fine, I’m in Switzerland” is my answer. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry, I probably woke you, didn’t I?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Oh, okay. Well it’s good to hear from you. So… how was Europa Park?”

“It was good.” (long pause)

“I guess this isn’t the best time to talk, call me tomorrow when you get back into Italy, okay?”

“Okay, bye mom.”

05:30 – I once again wake up, as a few random travelers are now showing up in the train station. The first trains of the morning are starting to depart. I go back upstairs and hang around for awhile until the 6:07 to Bergamo is close to leaving. I find the train and catch the conductor. Showing him my ticket and explaining the late train the night prior, I ask if I can get a ride on this train. “No, there’s a 7:35 direct to Milano Centrale, that’s the train you want, not this one.” I check the board. Actually that might be the train I was going to catch in Bern anyway because it’s due to arrive at the same time. Now more waiting.

07:35 – The train to Milan departs. I’ve opted for the cheaper option of no seat reservation, since they’re all the same anyway and you’re inevitably going to be put across from the lady with the ten screaming children. The problem is they don’t tell you which other seats people have reserved. After resting comfortably in one of the rows, I’m told to move by people that have a reservation for that aisle. I’m forced to move again from my new seat. I soon find that the train has filled to capacity and there are no remaining seats available. When I buy a ticket for an unreserved seat, I at least expect a seat to be present. I sit in the pit of steps in the car connector. It’s much more comfortable than last night’s sleeping arrangements. I enjoy  the Swiss scenery between nodding off to sleep again, occasionally moving to let passengers in or out.

10:35 – The train arrives in Milano Centrale. I know I have to hurry because I have a bus that leaves at 10:40 to take me to Milano Malpensa Airport for the final leg of the journey back to Rome. It’s not made explicit where the buses depart from, and just as I find it, the bus is shutting its doors. I run up to it to see if he can stop for one more passenger, but he waves me away to catch the next one in fifteen minutes. The problem is that I had booked a cheap flight to depart at 12:10, of which an hour and thirty-five minutes seemed like plenty of time between train station arrival and flight departure, but forgot that the gates would close 45 minutes prior to the stated departure time, and the bus ride was scheduled to last another 45 minutes. I was cutting it too close if I got the right bus, and would definitely be late if I caught the wrong one. There goes the €30 on my flight and the €7 for the pre-paid bus ticket. (Lesson: never buy advanced tickets for regularly scheduled busses which require no reservation anyway.)

I phone one of my roommates and explain the situation.

“Now first of all I need you to stop freaking out and calm down.”

“I’m not freaking out. I know that I’ve definitely missed my flight and need to figure out if I should take the bus to the airport or stay at the train station.”

“One minute, let me check the fares online.”

I wait.

“Okay man, listen, the cheapest flight you can still buy for today is €400, so stay at the train station. I’ll look up the fares for you.”

“All the trains to Rome today are at least €80, I think because it’s Easter this weekend. There’s one that leaves at three which is €40, but it’s going to take more than twice as long.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll do that one. Thanks so much for your help with this.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll see you later buddy, stay safe.”

11:15 – After buying my train ticket and exploring the few hideously overpriced food options in the Milano Centrale, I’m stuck with 3 ½ hours of time to kill. I was partly planning on seeing Milan during a trip to northern Italy later to visit Venice and the two amusement parks, so I figure maybe I can quickly cover my sightseeing now and actually save money from having to return later. The problem is I have no map, no guidebook, or even any inkling of what there is to see or do in Milan besides attend a fashion runway. I hope there’s some interesting cultural sights around Milano Centrale, but after spending a couple hours walking around kind of dirty, bland, New York style city blocks I conclude there’s nothing of interest me in Milan besides a quick lunch. I was quite disappointed with the city, as I expected something very cosmopolitan and modern, or at least have a bit more history behind it like every other major European city I’ve visited, but honestly it was just kind of run down with the most glamorous parts being the peeling Armani posters depicting vain, privileged ennui, and a few faceless skyscrapers. Regardless I took a few photos before waiting the last hour out back in Milano Centrale (Random cultural note, the “c” in Italian is always pronounced like a hard “ch”, so as you read these words in your brain you should be hearing “Milano Chentrale”).

14:50 – My train departs Milano, and I’m off on a nearly seven hour train ride around the Italian countryside, eventually terminating in Rome. I find a seat, and then sit and wait.

21:35 – The train arrives at Roma Termini. I disembark, find my way to the central concourse, walk the endless series of stairs and hallways to get to the Roma Metro system. I scan my monthly pass (due to expire in a few hours) and board the next subway.

22:00 – It feels good to be back someplace familiar where there’s a language I can (almost) understand. “Prossima fermata: Cipro. Uscita lato destro.” That’s my stop. I walk the couple blocks to the apartment, squeeze my backpack into the tiny elevator, ride up to the fifth floor (which is actually the sixth floor), say ‘hi’ to the guys, ask them how Greece was and tell a few quick stories of my own, and then crash on my bed, finally, after 28 hours of travel since I left Europa Park.

I need a hot shower. I need a hot meal. Most of all, I need to sleep.

Previous: Europa Park (Part 2)

Rust, Germany – Tuesday, March 30th, 2010

Although I had a fulfilling time during my first day at Europa Park, some of my goals for day two included: ride the last two coasters I haven’t yet been on, explore the eastern edge of the park, get as many rerides on Blue Fire as possible, same goes for Silver Star and Eurosat, get at least one to two more rides on all the other coasters, and sample the rest of their selection of dark rides, water rides and flat rides, all in about an eight hour period. With the crowds even lighter than the day before but most of the rides operating at their maximum or near-maximum capacity, Europa Park was effectively transformed into my personal playground as soon as I handed in the remaining stub from my 2-day ticket at the entrance gate.

First off I hurried off to grab some Blue Fire rides before the potential crowds made their way back to that area of the park. Scored four laps right off the bat, nice. Afterward I went over to the Portugal section to try one of two coasters I had yet to experience the previous day, Atlantica SuperSplash. This one had me slightly nervous because it was difficult to judge how wet one would get on it; I took the necessary precautions and zipped my jacket up to my neck and would sit with arms covering exposed pant legs and feet propped up off the floor in case our vessel should happen to take on water.

As for the ride itself… what’s there to say, it’s a flume on rails so it gets its own RCDb entry. It was interesting to note that the turntables which would reverse the boat for the middle drop before the main plunge into the reservoir would add extra rotations to kill time depending on if the block ahead of it was still occupied. On my boat we did I think a full 450° on the first turntable, but then only a single 90° on the second. I later witnessed another boat only do two 90° turns because it had more clearance ahead of it. Odd. The backward drop added a nice variety of thrills as the first time to actually feel the boat coasting freely it was impossible to see where we were going. The final drop is also an improvement for basic Shoot-the-Chutes rides, with a ‘false’ splashdown keeping the speed up for a bit longer as we glide over a small bunny hill before the real soaking commences. At first I thought I had gotten dumped on, but as I got off and observed the actual damaged discovered it had been a triflingly small quantity, dry after several minutes.

While other thematic areas in the park could, despite all the wonderful attention to detail, feel a little overstuffed and crowded at times, the large reservoir created for Atlantica was commendable for creating at least a fleeting impression of that incalculable immensity when looking out at the horizon of the ocean, a singular centerpiece giving the area more cohesion. I should note this observation was made while I was dining at the water’s edge with one of the only meals I’d eat inside the park, a Mediterranean chicken sandwich at a newly opened food stand in Portugal, which was one of the better ‘serious’ attempts at the culinary arts I’ve encountered in a large theme park (within a reasonable budget). This was while simultaneously attempting to shut out regrets that I’d most likely never take a chance to travel to Lisbon or see Portugal during my time in Europe.

Although walking from a frigid, rocky Icelandic coastal town to suddenly be confronted with the Mediterranean serenity of Portugal might be too large of a tonal shift for even the most ardent admirers of theme park aesthetics, not as unnatural was the shift from Portugal to Spain. A mere two flat rides call this section home, but it is also one of the more elaborate and colorful sections in the whole park, a shame it had no major attraction to anchor the crowds. After making my way around a bend in the pathway, I once again had to make a slightly jarring cross-cultural jump as I suddenly entered Austria in the far back eastern corner of the park.

The primary attraction of interest here was Alpenexpress, the parks first (and for me, last) roller coaster, one of Mack’s essential powered coasters. Like the other rides at Europa Park, this was a well-designed attraction with a significant section of the layout taking place inside an elaborate diamond cavern shared with the log flume. This ride more or less functions as the park’s children’s coaster, although it’s an amusing enough of a scenic jaunt that all patrons are encouraged to give it a try.

Next door was the Tirol Log Flume, again, well executed in terms of thematic attention but a tad forgettable after the larger flumes at Holiday Park and Tripsdrill, the main interest with this was the shared cavern section with Alpenexpress. As I was getting off I noticed the Vienna Wave Swinger was just letting on board peeps for a cycle, so I quickly joined. Generally a pleasant ride, if only because it lets me get off my feet for a few minutes. I wonder if the fountains underneath are turned up on warmer days to clean unsuspecting rider’s sneakers?

At this point I made my way around the back eastern edge of the park which are mostly gardens and parklands with a few low key flat rides (assuredly chosen because they generate the least noise) before rejoining the main entry area upon which I indulged in mini-marathons of Silver Star and Eurosat as well as once on each of the attractions covered in the Day 1 report. Just past Switzerland was Greece, the country my flatmates had chosen on visiting for spring break instead and I would have to settle for the theme park version to enjoy the sights of ancient Athens.

First up in Greece is Pegasus. This family coaster (coined a YoungSTAR coaster by Mack, and they actually label it on park maps as such) features a twisted layout that includes an approximately 90° banked turn after the first drop. Kids love it. There’s nothing intense at all about it. I saw more hands in the air on that element than on the regular s-curves later on in the layout. You hear that, coaster designers, 90° banking are not ‘extreme’ any more, if they ever were! The forces all equal out and you remain planted firmly in your seat as if you were just going around any other curve. Now, underbank these turns, and then you might have something more interesting going on. For Pegasus I don’t think that’s what desired, however. It’s a ride that’s meant to feel like one of the larger, more important coasters while still being accessible to all. In that way it’s a tad redundant with so many other family coasters in the park (there’s nothing in particular about it that makes it intended for a younger audience apart from the manufacturer’s name for it) but it gets kids on the ride and helps them overcome their fears of the big rides when they realize that steep drops and sharp turns are no big deal in the world of modern, precision force-designed steel roller coasters. I think a lot of people that go on the small family coasters which jerk them around and feel a bit unsafe are scared of the larger rides because they assume those traits will be multiplied by a factor of ten, when in reality the opposite is the case.

One such ride that may scare people off of riding the larger coasters for that reason is the Poseidon water coaster whose cobalt blue track wraps around the Pegasus. Let’s just say I was less than enamored with the coaster sections due to some very poor tracking of the water coaster boats on the rails, exacerbated by some hard-formed seating which rendered many of the high-speed sections a couple notches beyond ‘uncomfortable’. If this were in service of an intense layout I might not mind as much, but as it was the coaster track sections seemed to be there just to prove they could mix them with a water ride, not adding particularly much besides some sweeping turns before a splashdown. I was also surprised at the complete lack of any dark ride sections, I figured that would be a given with this sort of ride (perhaps I was substituting Orlando’s Journey to Atlantis with this one in my mind). Despite these reservations the presentation was top-notch, both from off-ride, in the queue, and on many of the low-speed sections of the flume. It’s a nice, long ride with two lifts (and subsequently, two splashdowns, neither of which were particularly wet) and if judged as a water ride then it’s absolutely near the top of its league. However, if you ride it hoping for some good roller coaster or dark ride elements, you’ll almost certainly get off sharing some of the mild disappointment I did.

Other rides sampled in Greece included Fluch der Kassandra (Cassandra’s Curse), a rotating madhouse attraction which managed zero affect on me. Do these even qualify as rides or are they shows? Understanding what the irate Greek goddess was cursing at us might have helped (not that it can be as much fun to fill in the blanks with one’s imagination). Also nearby was Abenteuer Atlantis, a shoot-em-up dark ride which seemed directed toward a younger audience, but regardless offered some good target practice.

Moving into Russia (which seems to be stretching the ‘European nations’ theme a little bit, at least as nowhere else in Eastern Europe or even Ireland or Belgium has representation yet; besides, the last time Germans tried moving into Russia it didn’t work out too well for them) I first encountered the Schlittenfahrt Schneefloeckchen (The Snowflake Ride). This seemed to be a vaguely Small-World-esque dark ride taking me past various wintery Christmas scenes in a way that wasn’t particularly memorable to me but seemed like something the kids would fall in love with especially on days when the park needs the added capacity. I was surprised by how many dark rides seemed nonchalantly scattered throughout Europa Park, I had already missed a couple in Italy and still had another major one after this.

But first, a roller coaster: Euro-Mir. At first brush this caught me as being slightly redundant with another space-themed, indoor spiral lift non-looping steel coaster whose name begins with the word “Euro” already in the park (and being a thoroughly great ride, I will add), but I guess this one has the spinning and the mod-skyscraper building look as well, and it seemed to be the most raved about ride in the park before Silver Star and Blue Fire came along, so a fair chance definitely seemed worth it. Finding no wait whatsoever, it really makes no difference if you choose to face forward or backward because the cars will start spinning on the spiral lift anyway. A loud spacey-techno beat drives as the train slowly makes its way around one layer of upward helix after another (the train is propelled by a large rotating central drum which catches a beam attached to the rear car), some neat effects such as an opening in the drum revealing a scene of Russian Cosmonauts distracts from the fact that it seems to be taking a while to get to the top. Anticipation starts to build as a distant light at the top of the tower eventually shines brighter and closer, at which point we exit the building and are greeted with: more waiting.

Well, now it’s a series of switchbacks between the towers at sky level as the cars seem to freely spin. It’s not based on the weight distribution as on most spinning coasters but there seems to be some mechanism which causes the act of turning itself to propel them to spin; generally inertia keeps the trains facing a single direction on spinning coasters and it’s the slight friction combined with a weight distribution which sets them off in one direction or another. At this point we’re still having fun but I think if I check my watch I’ll discover that it’s been a good three to four minutes of ride time before anything has actually happened yet. I might call this a case of increasing tension and building anticipation in another context, but it’s not entirely clear what it is we should be anticipating, and slowness comes off as a delayed start. The turns aren’t sharp enough to produce any wild-mouse laterals on their own, we’re mostly just taking in the view on a gentle spin cycle. On the last set of switchbacks the spinning locks and we prepare for the big drop.

Like its Sitting predecessor, this one is for no lack of intensity, the opening spiral drop hitting very hard (especially for those facing backward) and encouraging all but the bravest cosmonauts on board to hang on. There’s a bit of play between the track and wheels which can make the sudden onslaught of high speed feel dangerous, but otherwise there shouldn’t be any discomfort. As we make our way back up a hill the cars all twist around 180 degrees before locking once more and the ride that follows is an interesting collection of helices and figure-eights much in the same vein as Eurosat but without the dark setting. If you’re unfortunate enough to have been caught going backwards for this the ride might even prove to be a bit too intense, so relentless are the curves with and transitions which force some rather unexpected g-spikes due to some imperfections in the force engineering or heartlining. A tight inclined helix beneath a waterfall before slamming into a brake run tunnel all-too soon eventually finishes the experience.

Definitely one of the wildest spinning coasters I’ve ever been on (at least once it gets going after the interminable opening acts), I sort of wished they gave the ride more than two settings (wait mode and insane mode) and that so much of the track and ride time wasn’t devoted to the former rather than the latter. In the end I still had to throw my preferences to the non-spinning Eurosat, as that one offered a more concise package that also rewarded more on rerides (the dark setting making it impossible to memorize the layout offered a bit more than an outdoor spinning coaster when the spinning was in no way unpredictable), but in terms of purely minimalist or avant-garde forms of roller coaster expression (a disappointingly rare field of entry), Euro-Mir may ultimately prove itself to be the Kraftwerk or Can of the German roller coaster scene.

The skies were beginning to open up to some light rain so I took shelter in the entrance to Piraten in Batavia in the park’s Dutch section. Apparently the setup with this one is Dutch pirates sail to the Far East and while there various hi-jinks ensue with the locals, such as chasing wenchs on a turntable gags, cats on a floating barrel gags, dogs holding keys in its mouth gags, and… wait a minute, I’ve seen all of this before! Indeed, between Universe of Energy, Geisterschloss, the Snowflake Ride and this (as well as who knows how much else at the park I may have missed) it seems a very disappointing and classless move for a park such as Europa Park to casually ‘borrow’ so many ideas from the Disney catalogue of rides. Cheap Asian parks or small carnival/FECs I can understand why they might be tempted by risking a copyright infringement lawsuit, because the people that run those places want a cheap way to get back their investment so why not copy the most successful theme park chain on earth? Europa Park’s copy-catism is more troubling, and not only because these ideas ‘justly’ belong to Disney.

High-end dark rides are a rather rare phenomenon. Sets, ride systems, show buildings, animatronics, attention to detail, these things do not come free. As humans we are very blessed that one thing that does come cheaply are ideas. Now, to have a truly good idea, that might take some hard work, but thankfully it is work that involves few (if any) monetary constraints. And that’s where the beauty of the creative arts comes from, the ideas behind it. Technical ability is essential to the communications process, but ultimate if the idea isn’t there, no one’s going to care. The good news with dark rides is you don’t need a particularly elaborate idea to start off from, as generally you are telling relatively simple narratives or trying to craft a singular atmospheric presence that the idea can come pretty cheaply. I myself often stay up late nights thinking up elaborate schemes of just how far I can push an idea for a dark ride to the furthest extremes of the medium. I’m sure I’m not the only fan without the means or resources that’s had an idea but no way to carry it out.

Therefore how insulted do I feel sitting inside a multimillion euro show building going past elaborate detailed sets, observing the creative fruits of a design team that was blessed with those rare circumstances of having the means to make that dream happen, while I am keenly aware that the only thoughts that ever once enter this ride’s creative process were how they can make it just different enough to not get slapped with a copyright infringement lawsuit from Disney. It’s not like the copying of Pirates of the Caribbean was done to save money since they still must design and build the system from the ground up, it just shows that whoever was responsible for devising this showed zero respect for any creative considerations and was only focused on making sure that their investment could turn a profit by copying an already successful idea. I find there to be some subtle but still perceptible contempt for humanity in this sort of thinking, especially when equally successful original ideas are out there waiting to be realized but never given the chance.

Then again, who am I kidding, even the very idea of ‘ideas’ has been so reified in today’s media culture that the phrase “having an idea” is synonymous with “acquiring intellectual property”. The few high-end dark rides built today which aren’t a cross-promotional tool for the park’s parent company’s IPs are attempted knock-offs of those same ride systems, although thankfully the Sally corporation has been responsible for a few gems at independent parks willing to play the role of the original Disney rather than simply copy his successes (i.e. Nights in White Satin or Labyrinth of the Minotaur, the former unfortunately defunct after one season).

After sampling the Fjord Rafting in Scandinavia (this bordered more closely on ‘dangerously wet’ but I somehow managed to avoid most of the big spills) I decided the best way to spend the remaining two hours of my time at Europa Park was to simply marathon through the queue of Blue Fire. The wait started out at some five minutes long, eventually dropping down to waiting one or two train cycles, and then becoming walk-on, in part thanks to all three trains being on the track and cycled with the same efficiency as if it were peak season. (If the originality of the dark rides is something to bemoan to Europa Park management about, then this worth giving them a high-five) I managed to nab some 20 or so rides in that two-hour window, bringing my total of laps between the two days at Europa Park to over thirty. The moral of the story is apparently: visit on weekdays in early season!

For some reason, whenever I first entered the queue I would be gobsmacked by the overpowering smell of fresh shrimp. Seriously. I don’t know if this was an attempt at crafting thematic ambiance taken a step too far or it might have simply been from all the freshly cut wood installed by the fences and as flooring for the new Gazprom Hall building, but the smell has yet to leave my mind whenever I think about Blue Fire. Anyway, the queue has apparently been rerouted for 2010 to now start at the far end of the Iceland midway (near the end of the coaster’s launch track) to take guests through an interactive hall sponsored by a European energy company showcasing the technological marvels man has created to scale the sheer power of nature’s furies in order to harness new forms of energies so you can power your hairdryer. After a hike through the middle of the coaster’s layout the queue splits into two for front row riders and the rest of the train. Unfortunately this makes getting a front row ride nearly impossible as nearly half the people choose that queue not realizing just past the stairs is an additional hour long wait. An attendant assigns seats keeping the rest of the train loading quickly, although specific seat requests are a bit harder to come by.

The overall ride concept is highly imitative of Intamin’s Accelerator coasters, down to the five-car trains, although Mack tried to find ways to improve on Intamin’s designs wherever they could, most notable is the new restraint system. An over-the-head lapbar does away with any shoulder restraints or straps leaving one’s upper body completely free save for some awkward ribcage guards along the seatback which were apparently added forgetting that people have these things we call arms. I also have to question whether the overhead lapbar accommodates as many physical sizes as a standard floor mounted lapbar, but with a B&M-like raised seating lifting rider’s feet off the floor I’ll still declare it a far superior system to any mounted by Intamin (and this ride features more inversions than any Accelerator has attempted as well). Getting a chance to try Maverick’s twisted horseshoe roll or missing barrel roll without upper body restriction was possibly the most anticipated single coaster feature of my entire spring break.

But first we have to make our way through the darkride portion of the coaster, which unfortunately doesn’t add much to the ride as it could. The train is briskly moved through two 90 degree turns into the launch area without much time to savor the surroundings, not that there’s much to savor anyway as it’s mostly faceless ‘scientific’ props in a cave set a couple meters away from the track to accommodate safety catwalks, all while the usual theme park danger alarms attempt to dramatize the proceedings. A thick cloud of vaporized fog juice appears just ahead of the front car, which we are then promptly launched through by the LSMs, apparently to disorient those closer to the front as they try to cough the thick substance out of their lungs down the launch track.

I forget what it was like when the concept of launching coasters was still new to me but it takes not much short of Top Thrill Dragster scaled launchs to thrill me these days so the launch generally ends up being the least memorable part of the ride. Blasting through a small tunnel the train rears up and to the left for the ride’s signature original maneuver, the banked camelback/tophat crest thing (hmm, not sure if an official name has ever been coined for this element). It’s an odd element to say the least, offering a form of airtime that’s sort of there but not really. Now I understand that in theory a 90 degree bank over a parabolic crest should create perfect weightlessness (once you achieve zero-g’s it doesn’t matter what you’re orientation to earth is, a fact I wish more coaster designers would take advantage of) but I was slightly skeptical it would actually work as intended. The further seats front or back of the train where negative-g whip is more likely to be achieved would here translate into laterals, and that assumes a perfectly accurate launch speed able to generate zero-g’s for the center car. As it turned out, there was much less distortion of forces than I anticipated and I was more or less held perfectly in my seat no matter where I sat save for the very front or back rows. While it’s nowhere near as dynamic an opener as Intamin’s top hat designs, the visuals offered to riders are no less bizarre and it seems a fitting opener to a ride that’s gentle and unsure of its pace but packed with quirky maneuver nevertheless.

Sliding down into another cave tunnel the train shoots into a large, 32 meter tall vertical loop. Like the first hill this is really a very dynamically simple element but it doesn’t matter (yet) because it’s large and smooth enough to still impress, especially if you know how to take advantage of the free upper body movement while cresting the top near zero-g’s. Following this is a very quickly rotating overbanked skirt to the right, disharmonious to the gentle pacing that preceded it but a pleasure for fans of Stengel’s tight trackwork on advanced Intamin layouts.

The train rises up into a midcourse brake run hill, the front car getting a huge blast of airtime, the rest of the train getting nothing. As a side commentary, while magnetic braking offers many advantages, one of the biggest disadvantages to this technology is that it is binary and static. That is, it only has two modes (on/off) and even then it’s hard to switch between them without lowering the entire rigging in a way that makes split-second response times hard to activate unless they’re kept on at all times. This is a problem with Blue Fire’s midcourse brake (and perhaps why these aren’t seen on many other coasters relying on magnetic braking) because a fixed set of magnets ensure the train is always slowed down enough in case a singular pinch caliper at the end of the track needs to halt the train, which only occurs in the rare cases of e-stops. Better safe (and high capacity) than sorry, though this does kill some of the ride’s potential a bit too early into the layout.

Nevertheless the coaster quickly recovers with one of the better elements, the twisted horseshoe roll, offering more gentle, floating airtime around the tops of the two barrel-rolling inversions while incorporating it with rotational twists around the heartline. Rockwork daring us to scrape our extended fingers against does not detract from this elements quality, either.

It took me a while before I realized just how important floater air was to understanding this layout, perhaps due to an absence of straight airtime hills. The only one that is featured along the layout comes next, which appeared to pace slightly too slow from offride, yet it somehow always managed to provide a noticeable upward push whenever I was onboard the train. A carouseling lefthand turnaround follows before it’s into the ride’s final maneuver, an inline twist. I don’t think it’s perfectly inline; looking down the barrel of this element reveals what might be a heartline path which follows a slight bump so the train doesn’t rotate in a 1-g environment (I believe this to partly be the cause of failing on Maverick’s heartline roll). Sitting on the right side of the train was mandatory to best enjoy this element as the rotation pulls the seat right out from under you and around a full 360°, offering a potent g-force cocktail of ejector negative-g’s, rotational g’s and lateral g’s, such that whenever this element came around, even if I’d be experiencing the whole coaster up to that point in a tranquil, Zen-like state, I’d always be sure to throw my arms out as far as I could to get maximum displacement of my center of gravity. (Unfortunately since I was often the single rider, the other person would be the one to enter first taking the right side seat). A final turn and we slide into the brakes, I check the heart rate monitor on the handgrips to make certain I hadn’t died (often it reported I had).

Without question Blue Fire is one of my top three steel coasters in continental Europe. In its first year of operation it made a run for the top ten best steel coasters worldwide according to the Mitch Hawker coaster poll, and from the handful of other visitor who have had a chance to sample it I have read nothing but rave reviews. I think it’s clear that Mack has developed a ride system which set a new standard of quality to be envied by every other steel coaster developer currently working. The first park to buy the next Mack LSM coaster will surely be watched with tremendous interest.

However, by my estimations Blue Fire itself falls short of achieving the greatness some of its competitors have been able to achieve. My principle problem with the design is that the pacing and sequencing between elements is incredibly weak and directionless. Except for the second half of the horseshoe roll, no one element is in any way predicated or necessitated by the one prior or subsequent to itself. Part of this might be owing to the coaster’s gentler disposition with a greater emphasis on airy weightlessness than the raw force-fests of some of Intamin’s better launched looping coasters (Maverick, Storm Runner, iSpeed), which is a perfectly acceptable, even commendable alternative. But even still, a better effort at sequencing the elements, with particular attention paid to the transition moments as the train moves between the signature inversions, I am positive would have yielded significantly improved results.

One of the best ways to test whether a coaster is well-sequenced is to apply a pattern analysis to the layout and see if any discernible repetitions or progressions can be found. However in the case of Blue Fire it’s nearly impossible to even define what counts as a particular color or symbol when charting the layout’s pattern because nearly none of the elements described above share any qualities with the others, every maneuver or sensation remains undefined within the context of the entire ride. The weightlessness present in many elements was the only thing I indicated that is a consistent theme throughout the coaster experience, but the same is true of any B&M speed coaster and I’d certainly never declare one of those rides a champion of good pacing or progression so long as zero-g’s are arbitrarily applied throughout the layout and without discrimination.

It doesn’t help that I think the design was constrained by the requirements of filling a perfectly rectangular building area, necessitating that elements be sequenced in accordance to their ability to best fill that area than for any reasons of flow or progression. The high-speed turn after the loop surprises and excites because it seems violently unfitting in the context of the first two elements, but this is immediately followed up by a midcourse brake run whose placement on top of a hill only serves to make it a dead element for everyone not in the lead car.

Even the twisted horseshoe roll, despite the spectacular setting curling dangerously close to the rock structures, is weakly applied to the layout compared to the one seen on Maverick. On Maverick the roll is bookended by two flat curves which mirror the turn in the middle, each of these recalling the first ground-level flat turns. There now is a pattern. The element is ‘forceful’ not because of increased g-forces, but because each roll now stands as a stronger alternative to the established pattern of switchbacks experienced just moments ago. Each moment fits within the context of the rest of the ride. On Blue Fire however, they designed it so the horseshoe roll is bookended by slightly veering hills. Without the context, all we are left with when we start to rise back up into the first inversion is nothing more than a singular element, like the vertical loop that preceded it. The second roll is therefore an unnecessary (but still welcomed) surprise, another stand-alone element that happens to be similar to the one before it. This lack of necessity to each moment – we’re doing it just because the designers can – ultimately produces a “who cares?” attitude towards the layout as a whole, as summed up by the final heartline roll which totally blindsides us coming in the middle of a series of weak, meandering hills and turns, which thankfully stands in as an ad-hoc finale to an ending that otherwise would have been completely forgettable.

In the end I find myself riding and enjoying Blue Fire just because each moment does happen to be quite giddy fun, and in a world where throwing 15 million euro at a coaster project doesn’t even guarantee you won’t get a lemon, that’s all that should really be asked for. The variety is certainly there as well and there’s no question that the experience isn’t a consistent one (another fun element tends to crop up every several seconds or so)… it just consistently isn’t very well planned out. To reiterate my earlier statement: without question Blue Fire is one of my top three steel coasters in continental Europe. Whether that says more about the quality of Blue Fire’s ‘fun-ness’ or about the relative quality of every other steel coaster on the continent (that I managed to ride at least) I will leave the reader to decide.

Fully satiated with enough Blue Fire rides to last me until I may make a return to Europa Park, it was time to make my way to the park exit. While walking I had a nice conversation with the attendant on duty assigning seats who needless to say was able to recognize me and was curious to know how many time I rode it in one day. “You’re very fortunate”, he told me, “there are days in the summer when people will wait three hours for one ride.”

This stroll was a bittersweet one, as I had now seen everything I wanted to see for my eleven days of travel between four countries, and needed to resume classes. However, while I might have been done with this trip, this trip was far from done with me.

Next: Appendix

Previous: Europa Park (Part 1)

“Everyone in Europe speaks English!” Thus I flew over the Atlantic under the belief that statement was somehow truthful. After I arrived in Italy and discovered that doesn’t apply to all European countries, just a few (notably England), I was then told, “Don’t worry, that’s just in the Mediterranean regions! Everyone in places such as Germany, the Netherlands, or Sweden speaks English!” I sure hope at least that is true because my German is limited to perhaps all of three words.

As nice as it is to have a train service which makes it possible to get from one random small town to another, it does take a lot longer and there’s a bigger risk of waiting on a train platform waiting to catch the later connection because your last train was late. That was the situation I found myself in as I was trying to make my way from Haßloch to Rust. Since I’m now not expecting to arrive until closer to 11pm and still have to make my way from the neighboring town where the station is located to get to my accommodations, I figure I best give them a call so they down close up for the night before I arrive and if there’s a better way to get over there than walking. The place I booked was the cheapest I could find online, but it was described as a “Ferienwohnung” and I wasn’t entirely certain what sort of accommodations that entailed.

“Hirsch” says the voice.

“Hello, does someone there speak English?”

A hesitant pause. “Nein.”

Ah, one of my three words of German, put to very good use.

Robbed of the ability to use hand gestures, pointing or even drawing which have proven vital to communicating when there’s a language barrier, after a bit of fumbling I’m finally able to get two of the important concepts communicated “Jeremy Thompson” (I get a positive reaction indicating he recognizes the name on their reservations for the night) and “Ringsheim Bahnhof”. Now I just need to get “late” or “eleven”. Such simple concepts. Impossible to describe without other simple concepts. Such is one of the paradoxes found in the philosophy of language. I finally decide to just call out to random strangers in the station if anyone can help translate. I’m greeted with blank looks by a first group of people, but down a staircase I find a woman who offers to help. I explain what I need to communicate and then give her the phone. She remains in conversation for at least five minutes, at times appearing to me to be getting a lot of concerning information. Is there a problem? Finally she finishes, and informs me there’s no problem I will be arriving at 11pm, they will have a car at the train station to pick me up. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I thank her for her help, and she insists it was no trouble as she was something to do while she waits for her train.

True to her word, there was the car waiting for me outside the train station. The owner of the Ferienwohnung seemed somewhat stumped by me but nevertheless did more than necessary to welcome and help me. “Danke,” being my second word of German, was used liberally (“Bahn” being my third). Upon our arrival I discovered Ferienwohnung is a description of a guestroom the couple has on the upper floor of their home. He insisted on giving me a full tour of the room, how to use the television, coffee maker, the showers, etc. The room unfortunately was not heated, but the blankets were as insulating as I’ve ever found, making it very challenging to arise from bed the next morning to take an ice-cold shower and prepare for my first day at Europa Park.

I don’t think even the most basic of communications was needed for it to be plainly obvious to the couple my reasons for visiting Rust, and they instantly drew me a map of how to get from their house to the Europa Park front gate. “Yeah, yeah, simple,” I think to myself, “just walk in the direction where you see the huge-ass roller coasters everywhere”, which are sort of a hard sight to miss. Rust is an extremely strange town in as much as it seems to be a small, quiet, quaint little German village, almost entirely small cottages and homes with an extremely limited commercial sector, save for the western side of town, which is totally dominated by Europe’s largest theme park with 230ft. roller coaster structures sticking into the sky. The contrast is quite striking, to say the least.

I arrived about 45 minutes after the park opened, and was surprised to find that a semi-decent guest population had already arrived, despite being a Monday in March when the last four parks I visited from Thursday to Sunday were all dead. I suppose that’s to be expected of places that are able to make it to the elite category of “destination parks”. Nevertheless, while the place was lively the rides are all designed to be capacity monsters, and I had not more than a ten minute wait to get the front row of Silver Star (running only two trains) to begin my time at Europa Park.

To say I boarded Silver Star with low expectations was an understatement. I have a pretty good critical record of not being particularly enthusiastic about most of their coasters from the past decade (around the time when they stopped contracting with Werner Stengel and did their own design work), which are generally unimaginative, dull, and poorly paced. I think some people mistook my criticism to be that they aren’t forceful or as intense as other rides, which I admit might factor slightly into my personal distaste for their products, but in fact I think that a gentle ride which offers a smoother flying sensation could be done very well (that’s the semi-official stance I take towards Millennium Force), but there still has to be other sorts of substance or the experience is akin to listening to New Age music, it’s nice if the context is an elevator but it’s not all that interesting. That’s not to say that I don’t recognize the impressive scale of the investment in relation to other less towering attractions, or that I think Silver Star doesn’t deserve its status as one of the park’s signature attractions. But after hearing reports from fans of B&M speed coasters that they felt Silver Star was the most overdrawn and least interesting of this particular genre, I had good reasons to be concerned that the whole experience would be a total duff.

I came back pleasantly surprised. More surprised by the pleasant surprise than the pleasant surprise itself. To be sure I gave it three to four rerides in other seats, and still found my impressions to be tipped toward the positive side of the scale. A gentle, smoother flying sensation, yes, one of my personal favorites, no, but it seemed to accomplish what it set out to do without too many points that I had me thinking something better could have been in its place. Most crucially the airtime was present in every location in was supposed to be, which had been one of my primary concerns after hearing stories of an overtrimmed ride which barely gets 0 g’s in any seat other than the back, especially after Expedition GeForce the previous day seemed to have molasses coating its wheels due to early season slumps. It was no stronger than anything found on Diamondback or Nitro, but it did not suffer a worse fate than Raging Bull. Perhaps it being early season meant it was running just slow enough to prevent the trims from triggering, as it was difficult to feel if they were having any affect.

Fans of speed coasters may be satisfied with this review so far, however I’ve still yet to describe anything that might put it a notch above other speed coasters I’ve been more critical toward. I think the parts where it wasn’t doing straight camelback hills but instead was attempting some sort of turning maneuver worked better for me. The turn into the first major camelback hill after the first drop helps it sustain the speed a bit longer and makes the entry into the first airtime crest a bit more interesting, and the swishy S-curve into the far turn around gives it more character than the perfectly symmetrical, one-note hammerhead curves found on other designs, plus as the turn is more spread out there’s a more distinctive change of pace which helps highlight the gentle ‘flight’ sensations they might be going for. Admittedly the second half isn’t quite as strong, but even things like a slight rightward tip on the dive out of the spiral are more interesting than what B&M have been serving up on the drop profiles of more recent examples, and the final sudden S-curve between some trees and into the brakes is a surprisingly vital pace change for a last second exclamation point, a trait conspicuously absent from other designs. Unfortunately the first drop is the worst out of any speed coaster, a big bowl of steam from the front row made worse by a large sound shield obscuring the view on the right side. However, I’m more forgiving towards bad first drops as by the time I get to the end when I’m forming my opinion on the experience, that’s the first thing I’ll have forgotten.

I think what most aided my relatively positive reaction was that between my two days there I never had to wait any longer than the first time I waited 10-15 minutes for the front, and most of the time I could get a walk-on provided I quick enough to spot a group of two or three about to board a certain row; on my second day I managed about 10 rides in a period not much more than 45 minutes, most of the time spent walking down the exit ramp back to the exit. In that way it was an inoffensive treat, fun for a kick of smooth airtime on one of the few coasters built in Europe of a scale comparable to a signature Cedar Fair or Six Flags attraction (even going as far as to re-create the parking lot setting, a rarity for a European theme park) so I could hardly complain about its existence. Could a better, more interesting ride have been built? Absolutely. Did I care? Not so much today. Mostly I just wished they could cut that insidiously repetitive surf rock Silver Star theme music in the station. One final thought, while I appreciate their resistance to painting it the brightest shades of red, orange or blue as is the trend with every B&M installation at a Six Flags or Cedar Fair park, was the drab granite track and silver supports really the best palate they could come up with? To me it suggests they’re almost ashamed of its profile and are trying to hide it as much as possible.

My next ride also in the French area ended up being another pleasant surprise: Eurosat. At first glance it would appear to be nothing but an obvious rip-off of Space Mountain from Disneyland inside a rip-off Spaceship Earth from Epcot, and essentially that is what it is. However, this spherical geometry brings with it special consequences for the coaster housed inside. When Disney builds their coasters they’ve realized that the conic ‘mountain’ shape is the best geometrical figure to house them within, as there’s less space towards the top when the train is slower, and gradually more space towards the bottom as the train increases in speed, requiring wider elements (plus simply a larger percentage of the track length needs to be closer to the ground due to friction). A sphere doesn’t allow this. They have the most lateral room in the middle, but towards the end of the ride they have to design even tighter elements when the speed should be at its fastest. Can you think of many other spaghetti-bowl coasters which could be tightly encased by a spherical structure? It’s just not natural, is it?

Building a lifthill to the top which isn’t super-steep is another problem with the spherical design, but Europa Park solved this one by building a rotating spiral lift which takes the better part of three minutes to reach the top. Plenty of time to build anticipation as I became encased in an ever-more robust darkness, the space-age music and countdown to launch drowning out the screams from trains before ours.

Once the coasters leaves the lift it becomes a descent into insanity, there being no single large drops to give the train a boost of speed, just the continuous downhill maneuvering through a tightly wound collections of curves, switchbacks, helices, figure eights, and the odd block brake. Each section builds on the last until it gets to the point where its whipping through turns so fast it hardly feels legal, especially considering we’re blinded by the darkness and can hardly anticipate when it’s suddenly going to dodge to the left or right again. Some glow in the dark asteroids and warp tunnel effects make an appearance later in the ride, but by that point I’m mostly focused on making it to the brake run alive. Thankfully the cars are of a roomy, minimalist design with nothing more than a simple lapbar meant I wasn’t having to fight to protect myself from encumbering restraining devices on the hard turns, and made it by far one of the most breathtaking and thrilling roller coasters I’d find in Europe. An underrated gem and an absolute must ride, this is also the only coaster I’ve seen with an escalator in the queue!

Also in the French section of the park was the Euro-Tower, a 75 meter tall observation deck, which I ascended to get a collection of photos surveying the rest of the park landscape:

One thing I noted and appreciated (this was also true at Holiday Park) was that each of the employee’s name tags had little flags on them indicating which languages they spoke; most had a French or British flag next to the German, sometime all three, and it became a game to spot workers with flags from other locales, or even find a few with four or more flags. The degree of multilingualism in Europe is quite embarrassing to the United States, where it seems to be believed that learning another language is more of a hobby than a necessity (which it sort of is over there). I remember in high school there being a special recognition assembly for students completing the upper-level language classes, and one girl was given a special plaque for being able to hold a full telephone conversation with a representative from a German-language institution, which seemed quite an impossible feat to the rest of us. Over here, that’s to be expected of anyone under the age of 40 (if not universally in English), and whenever I got in conversations with anyone I would want to make apologies on behalf of Americans for how we expect everyone to speak English for us wherever we go.

As you perhaps already know, the majority of the rides and attractions in Europa Park are designed by MACK Ride, who own the park and use it as a sort of large-scale showroom and proving ground for their rides. I heard from someone who thought I might be against this concept at Europa Park since it seemed from some of my other reviews I was critical towards parks which had any corporative motives less pure than making the best possible theme park they know how. That’s true only to the extent with which those ulterior motives start to influence what sort of experience the guest receives, especially when it’s an overt push toward idealizing consumer culture (i.e. spending millions on a dark ride system which provides not much more than an expensive display of technology in service of promoting whatever franchised intellectual property they have the rights to). In all other cases corporate motives are essential to moving resources and getting things built, and in the case of Europa Park I think it’s an excellent system and one more ride manufacturers should try, at least those with a diverse enough portfolio to support an entire theme park. The incentive to design unique, fun and well-presented rides is increased because they’re not only trying to sell their products to park visitors, but potentially to other parks as well. It’s also beneficial to the manufacturer, as it gives them greater license to develop new concepts with the knowledge that they’ll have at least one guaranteed buyer. The greatest limitation is of course if Mack doesn’t offer the ideal range of products that Europa Park would desire, partly evident in their lack of a world-class roller coaster until they bit the bullet and hired B&M to work for them (the Mack representatives must have an awkward job when touring potential buyers around who spot Silver Star and ask “what’s that really big ride over there?”), but now they also have Blue Fire and I don’t feel the park is any lacking for their exclusive relationship with Mack.

One of these corners where the park is more obviously ‘Mack showroom’ is the Switzerland section, which contains at least two of the staple Mack products, each contained in its own square plot of land and presented with some very extensive Swiss themeing (the small stream of water running through the midway that guests would have to step over was a great touch). The first ride I’d try is a classic, the Schweizer Bobbahn. Despite having about four trains on it the capacity’s not the greatest, owing to the six car trains which each car sits only one or two people, depending on if sitting on one’s lap is kosher to both parties. I’d recommend avoiding this one during peak times of the day.

Assuming you are sitting by yourself like me, the seats offer plenty of legroom and a very simple lowering bar leaves me not feeling much more secure than if I were on a tilt-a-whirl. After the lift there’s a flat turn at the top which lets one survey the French area of the park, and then a straight drop and rise. This first part made me a little uneasy, because I generally assume that when you’ve got a coaster train with no upstop or guide wheels, most of the track should be designed as banked curves and helices to keep the cars pinned to a specific trajectory thanks to centrifugal force, not regular straight drops and hills which the cars could seemingly slide any which way they should choose.

After this there’s a quick block brake to slide through, and then the rest of the ride is what I’d expect from a Mack Bobsled, a series of slightly downhill s-curves, eventually progressing all the way to a few helices, and then a final brake run. Some themed structures such as a brief tunnel make an appearance toward the end, but the final brake run comes too soon after just when this section becomes interesting. On the transitions between turns there was an odd effect where the cars wouldn’t follow a heartlined path but instead seem to navigate over a slight ‘bump’ in the trough where it made the banking change, feeling more uneasy when very loosely strapped into free-wheeling cars.

Right next door was the newer but no less Mack-essential Matterhorn Blitz, one of their large park wild mouse models with some nice scenery interaction and an impressive vertical lift. Think Pilgrim’s Plunge but on a much smaller vertical scale (translating to larger relative outward curvature on the bends) and indoors. I’m fairly certain if Mack wasn’t the owner of Europa Park wanting to show off this technology it would never have been built, which would be a loss as it may have been the highlight of the entire ride. The rest was identical to every other instance of this model wild mouse I’ve been on, save for the nicer themed surroundings and an absence of recursive trim braking, making the last switchbacks at the end actually feel like part of the ride and not an extended brake run as on Canada’s Wonderland’s or Kings Dominion’s versions. One of the better examples of a simple, production model roller coaster done well enough to warrant a reride or two.

Also in the Swiss area was Jungfrau Gletscherflieger, a spinning flat ride with biplane cars that circled each other from suspended arms. From the midway it appeared a very chaotic scene, but once I was on the ride and could easily track the way the cars were made to rotate about each other it was rather boring. Not sure if I’ve ever seen a model like it anywhere before, however. Nearby back in the French section was another dark ride, Universe of Energy, which sounded like something I’d find at Epcot, but instead was just an odd collection of B-movie dinosaur animatronics, apparently connecting the ‘educational’ energy theme to the fact we get our fossil fuels from Tyrannosaurs? (??) Apparently there were a couple other dark rides and a Mack exhibition hall that I missed located in the Italian section of the park. It did strike me that for as many opportunities that Italy offers to create an immersive theme zone, Europa Park seemed to have skimped out on their Italian section, as only the Ciao Bambini dark ride has any apparent connection to the peninsula, the other dark ride is still named the Geisterschloss.

At this point I went on to explore deeper into the park, taking in the Greek, Russian, Scandinavian and Icelandic portions of the park, which I will cover in more detail tomorrow. I will say however that my impression of the Europa Park aesthetic wasn’t as explosive as I felt it had a reputation for. It was a theme park, with lots of attention to landscaping and detail, but not much more special than that. It’s on flat and limited land, so they have to squeeze all the rides and shops together along a basic midway structure with something always there trying to catch your attention around the next corner. The busyness of bright colors and loud rides was replaced with a busyness of lots of themed buildings and displays with rides constructed over and inside the edifices, it never managed to ‘transcend’ the theme park experience like one might find in the most beautiful and cared-for parks around the world. That was my impression mostly sticking to the upper side of the park (away from the town of Rust) where all of the big rides were located; on the other side of the park it was a very different story. Almost no action at all, save for the occasional flat ride or interactive display, just walkways and gardens. I appreciate the inhomogeneity of the layout, but I didn’t think it came off as naturally as places like Alton Towers or even Busch Gardens Europe, and the lack of any crowds back there honestly reflected the area’s dullness as not being an essential component of the park experience (this also led to some crowd-management issues with the more popular sections). If the exact same ideas had been built over an area 1/3 larger and integrating more natural terrain elements (along the lines of Alton, Busch or Terra Mítica) it could have been a tremendously special experience, but as it was it was just ‘quite good for a big theme park’, one which grew up with the original Six Flags and Paramount Parks but maintained the original vision rather than succumb to high returns on lowest possible expenses. This isn’t a complaint, but I suspect many fans want to declare it something more than that. Just an observation.

At the end of my day I took a long walk around the parking lot getting photos of Silver Star’s layout, then began to wander back to my room for the night. Did I know how to get back? “Yeah, yeah, just walk in the direction of the… houses… which all look identical.” Crap, why didn’t I think to take more detailed notes on how to get back when I left that morning? I have the quick directions they drew me, but there’s no road labels, and after getting as close as I can remember, it becomes obvious I’m still off by a couple blocks. A man on his front lawn with his family sees me looking lost and I find out he speaks some English. I try to describe where I’m staying, which he’s never heard of, but I still have my phone with the number in it so I give it a call and he offers to translate directions for me. Not only that, but he insists on walking with me over there so I’m sure I’ve found the right location. He and guesthouse owner share a five minute conversation while I stand there red-faced, only vaguely recognizing they’re discussing this idiot’s lack of any German skills. As I return I offer the owner the two euro I was short on when paying for my stay the night before, but he flatly refuses and insists I keep it for myself. I want to go on record saying that German people are so incredibly nice and helpful, it’s impossible to think that within a single generation back in history this very same country was responsible for teaching the rest of the world the joys of National Socialism.

Next: Europa Park (Part 2)

Previous: Holiday Park

I’m an hour late due to daylights savings. I assumed my phone would automatically reset for the change-over, but it didn’t. Oh well, I needed the extra rest. The taxi fare jumps another 10 eurocents. I suspect the driver is taking the long way to the park to chisel as much extra from the dumb American tourist as he can. This is not the main object of my concentration, which is scanning the passing tree lines looking if I can catch my first glimpse of the track through the foliage. It’s a long shot that doesn’t pay off, but at least it distracts me from the fact that the fare rose to a good 15 euro by the time we arrived at the entrance. Whatever. What matters is that I’m finally at the gates of Holiday Park.

The day is frankly not an idea one to spend at a park, a thick, gray blanket of clouds shielding us from the sun and a faint mist in the air threatens the potential of rainfall but it seems to be staved off for the moment. I can see this means that no one else is here, very good news for me. Holly the Parrot perks up when he sees a potential guest get out of the cab, shaking my hand as I buy my admission ticket. If it’s obvious to them I’m not from the country, they don’t comment on it. Despite being a small park they do have a particular attraction that they must be used to people traveling great distances from all over the world for. That’s certainly the reason I’m here today.

Inside the gates, an abundance of foliage blocks the view beyond the main entry plaza, which I find nearly humorously unassuming. A mental note is made of it, and then I move on. My walk attempts to imitate my impression of someone enjoying a casually relaxed day at the park on an early spring weekend, but secretly I couldn’t be more anxious as I wonder what my first glimpse of the ride will be. Will I catch the lift hill sticking above the trees, or the final turn into the station, or some other random part of the layout? It’s an odd parasocial relationship one can have with a roller coaster they have read and dreamt much about, feeling as if they’ve already ridden it a hundred times through photos and POV YouTube videos online. And yet when you’re actually there in person, the realization that what you see is real and not a collection of pixels hits you like a flying brick wall.

My retina catches the first light particles reflected off its metallic track. The little part of my brain that makes my hair stand on end is subsequently hit by a flying brick wall.

As I make my way up to the station the operators seem calmly ambivalent about their occupations as they welcome me to choose an empty seat. “Don’t you realize what an honor it is to be operating a roller coaster of such worldwide significance?” I refrain from asking them this, if only because I do not know how to say it in German.

Every seat on the seven car train is waiting empty for me to choose, save unfortunately for the two in the very front, so I decide rather than wait any longer to take the back; in all honestly that’s probably going to be the best seat on the ride. I climb in, pull the restraint secure. After waiting a few minutes for more guests to arrive, the operators run their check, and the train is dispatched.

The train breaks free of the lift and my back car is spun down and around the twisting first dive. Every moment that follows is pure bliss, the work of a master coaster designer at the height of their form. This is exactly how I wish every steel roller coaster in the world could feel, but sadly few in the time since have come close to duplicating the sensations produced on this one. Perhaps most importantly… as the banking whips the car back to level, greeted with a moment of hard, sustained airtime on the rest of the drop before hitting a hard pullout… it was a ride to actually feel. All too often the act of riding a coaster becomes merely a formality provided one has familiarized themselves with the POV footage. This coaster one must experience for themselves, as an individual’s unique response to the ride can have a dramatic affect on the dynamics experienced, partly owing to the fact that the dynamics present over the course of a single circuit are about as unusual and pushed to the limits as they come.

A re-ride in the front rows is mandatory, in order to see firsthand and appreciate the little nuances which make this trackwork so advanced. While the lift over hills and valleys is presently superb as expected, the delight is in observing how these undulating motions are integrated with banked curves of all varying radii, sometimes done within the constraints of extremely narrow transition lengths. The cars twist around their axis on heartlined turns, slamming everyone to the side and keeping them guessing as the geometer behind the layout’s blueprints gleefully plays with his literally captive audience, plugging all manner of mathematical equations into one another, packing far too much track into far too little spaces, producing results which at times can be frankly horrifying… but this designer knows exactly where the limit is, taking us straight to the edge before pulling us back with a magical flash of calculus. Unfortunately for many spoon-fed on today’s breed of B&M designs this coaster may still prove all too intense for them, which is perhaps just as well as it is the only real way to separate the children from the adults in the world of coaster enthusiasses.

Of course this was built long before manufacturers got it into their heads that a wheel assembly needs to grip the track tighter than a six year old on their bicycle with their training wheels off for the first time, supposedly under the delusion that it will make the experience smoother, when all it really does is require they design neutered layouts that prevent the slightest bumps from appearing lest these ‘imperfections’ ride all the way up from the rigid contact between the wheels to the seat into the spine of the rider. You want a bit of slack between wheel and track, this lets the damn thing actually coast freely and smoothly over the rails, and with just the right amount of play one can get a feel of what the gravity is actually doing to the cars and let the full personality of the design shine like a jewel, while making sure no two cycles are ever exactly the same.

The train hits the brakes, rounds a flat right turn and I disembark fully satisfied with my ride, only slightly sad that I’ll no longer be able to look forward to riding it for the first time ever again. Walking away from its bright yellow structure I think to myself, “how unfortunate that so many people will purposely skip the opportunity to experience for themselves this magnificent design, especially as it’s a pioneer in the history of modern steel roller coasters.” I promise I’ll be back later for more re-rides after exploring the rest of the park as I catch one last glimpse of the retro-German lettering on the station spelling Super-Wirbel.

Nearby is the Bounty Tower, a HUSS Condor ride which always prove to be worth a cycle even if they’re not particularly white knuckle. A similar spinning tower ride next door would prove more apt for that description is the Lighthouse Tower, my first encounter with a Star Flyer not on a pay-per-ride basis. The prospect of being lifted up 250 feet while being secured only in a basic chairswing seat held by chains seems a rather frightening one to consider, although as there’s nothing particularly thrilling about the dynamics itself, the ride’s effectiveness depends more on how victim to acrophobia and vertigo one is. I can get bad vertigo if I also sense I am standing freely on my own two feet and have the potential to fall (glass-bottomed floor on the CN Tower, forget about it!) but when I feel secured to something like a roller coaster car or drop tower seat then I’m fine with no problems. The chairs on the Lighthouse Tower were minimalist at best so I wasn’t sure how I would respond, but I discovered that simply by being seated in a chair, no matter how exposed, got me off my feet and as a result I encountered no nervous feelings whatsoever. Actually I sort of wish they placed it closer to the center of the park as after a minute of cycle it became a bit boring without the views of not much else but endless trees and countryside.

One of the other standouts in the park is Teufelsfässer, aka the Devil’s Barrels. I’m not sure if this was built before or after the Bathtub Ride at Tripsdrill as they seem clearly inspired by each other, the Devil’s Barrels being more spread out, stripped down and rustic, making it also feel more familiar to me as I’m used to the old Arrow flumes at American parks built in the 70’s. Three drops, reversing sections with indoor dark ride segments was all there, as too were leisurely meandering troughs through the woods with a long double-dip splashdown finale. Didn’t get more than a sprinkling of water on any of the splashes, which was good considering the weather was still rather chilly and gray. That was also part of the reason I would end up skipping the Donnerfluss rapids ride, although also because I ran out of time before my interest in doing that one exceeded my interest in other potential activities.

Towards the front of the park was the 230 foot Free Fall Tower, from my understanding one of the first of Intamin’s second generation magnetic braking drop towers. It was set in a large industrial ‘extreme’ plaza area which seemed slightly out of touch of the rustic aesthetic of the rest of the park, but as everything at Holiday Park is fairly eclectic anyway it doesn’t really matter (the name and theme would feel right at home in any Cedar Fair park). The ride was the same as any other free fall tower of this sort, good because they don’t sully it with an attempt at faster-than-freefall drops, and being in the center of the park there are nice views to be had from the top. Walk-on queues this time of year are a nice treat as well.

Burg Falkenstein represented the last of the major attractions at Holiday Park I’d need to sample, and I got there at a good time as the skies were just starting to open up to a light rain as I ducked into its turreted ingress. I recall lots of darkly lit scenes of medieval chivalry with a large dragon animatronic near the end being the most notable. If there was a narrative linking the scenes together I missed it, although I really didn’t care because there was a unique sense of atmosphere to this dark ride that felt like it could only come from this part of Europe.

I liked that Holiday Park didn’t try too hard to create their own atmosphere and instead let the natural surroundings do most of that work for them, their job was just to fill in the gaps with an eclectic but high quality assortment of rides. In that way I’d nearly say it felt more real than Erlebnispark Tripsdrill the day prior, although that one has enough strange “only in Germany” moments as well that it’s hard to compare. In some ways Holiday Park nearly reminded me of a Six Flags park crossed with Knoebels, if such a hybrid is even imaginable within the limitations of space and time.

Before I wrap up this report of Holiday Park I feel there is still one more ride of some importance I’ve forgotten to review. It wasn’t the new for 2010 mouse coaster Holly’s Wilde Autofahrt as that one had yet to be announced let alone built. I’ve already spent some time describing the peerless Super-Wirbel (not that it doesn’t deserve more of my words). Oh I remember, the semi-official number one rated steel coaster in the world (depending on who you ask): Expedition GeForce.

If it’s not been wholly evident from many of my other reviews I lack the same degree of enthusiasm for many of the top rated modern steel coasters that most other fans tend to share. I’d be lying if I said that Expedition GeForce was the single-most coaster in all of Europe I was anticipating. Nevertheless, I would also be lying if I said watching for the first time a train take a circuit around the track as I waited next set of front seats didn’t in some way give me a bit of a thrill. “There it goes down the first drop! Look how fast it’s flying over that first camelback! I can’t believe I’m actually here to witness this coaster in action, a few months ago I never would have imagined…!”

After watching it fly through the overbank which looked slightly more iffy in terms of pace, I lost track of the train for the next little while. It reemerged, returning over the final bunny hills. Oh crap, that train is going slow. I knew some cold morning, early season slowness should have likely been anticipated, but by the end of the layout this train appeared to be having trouble making it over the last hills without risking a rollback. Even after entering the brakes we still had to wait a good twenty seconds or so for the train to advance far enough out of fixed magnetic brake run to catch the first drive tire back to the station. I suddenly was boarding the train slightly apprehensive if I’d even enjoy my ride. Reflecting their coaster, the attendants were also rather slow in getting it dispatched but I wouldn’t fault them for it today as every train was being sent out with several empty rows, and that was even with the last three rows of seats filled with water dummies. (That it had one-train operation all day probably doesn’t need to be stated).

Dispatch is given and up the elevator lift we go. We waste no time getting to the top, the elevator lift felt more rattly and lo-fi than I would have expected from this technology (especially being identical to the one-year older system on Millennium Force). The first drop is definitely a showstopper when you look at it, a 90 degree twist along an 82° drop seems to provide tantalizing possibilities for all sorts of absurd dynamics especially in the back of the train (a shame, as I already noted, the last three rows were all closed off today). My suspicion is this was developed as a ‘test’ for the 90 degree twisting drops to debut on Xcelerator the following year, although personally I think Expedition GeForce’s plunge may be more interesting as rather than simply twist around the heartline on a vertical drop, there’s some slight banking pitches thrown in as well to help navigate the less-than-90° fall, most obviously given away by the slight leftward counter-twist seen on POV videos when it start to reach the pullout.

However this didn’t produce as spectacular results as I might have imagined, the twist actually muting any sensation of negative-g’s or the incredible steepness of the drop, as those dynamics are countered by the inward seat forces needed to accommodate the twist at such a steep angle. I was aware by looking at my surroundings we were approaching vertical, but my inner ear always insisted “nah, you’re not much steeper than 65°”. Sitting on the right side of the train helped somewhat as the twist would pull you down and around the heartline rather push you up around it. First drops can be a tricky thing in any circumstance since technically, if you are starting the drop near a speed of 0 and are sitting forward from the center of gravity, it’s impossible to design a parabola from that point which produces less than 0-g’s of vertical force, which is the very best you can hope for.

The pullout comes fast and the next element was, for me at least, the shining moment of the ride, the sustained negative-g camelback hill. It took me several rides until I realized just how scarce an element like this is for so many coaster, as it seems on most modern designs which attempt a tall camelback airtime hill like this, the best you can get is sustained floater or mild ejector air. Most ejector I’m familiar with is of relatively shorter durations so it was a surprise to get that force for this long. Good opening act, and thankfully, unlike B&M, Stengel and Intamin wouldn’t be content to simply repeat this same maneuver on ever-smaller scales with random turnarounds thrown in until the ride is complete, every element on Expedition GeForce from here on out has its own unique set of properties.

Take the next one, the first overbanked turn. Well, okay, I never find overbanked turns to be anything too special from a perspective of ride dynamics, but they can be made more interesting by looking (and maybe leaning) way over to your side if you happen to be on the inside of the turn. A fast pullout produces the next moment of sustained negative-g, a low camelback dodging underneath a section of track on the return run. This one keeps its speed more evenly sustained than the first camelback which is taller and more parabolic, but the force should be about as great. I say ‘should be’ because I believe I could already start to feel the effects of the early season slumps playing with the frictional coefficients which causes the train to go ever-slower than intended the farther the ride goes on. Still a cool moment no matter what and I’m enjoying the ride thus far. In terms of dramatic sequencing it doesn’t deliver a stunning knockout punch the way better coasters such as Maverick or Nemesis are able, but I appreciate that it has a good sense of pacing and power, and is able for forcefully move us from one element to the next with a sense of clear purpose and destiny to the proceedings, unlike many newer speed coasters which feel like they’re indifferent towards what they want to achieve with each element.

Then we get to the next element, a second overbanked turn over the rapids ride. I’m not a huge fan of the first instance of these but I put up with it because they at least provide some interesting perspectives for those on the right side of the train, do I really need a second one this soon just so the left side of the train can get the same thing? For those that need extreme g-forces at every moment to be satisfied with your ride, overbanked turns are the wrong elements to be building as they not only neutralize any laterals (which apparently are taboo on modern steel coasters anyway) but they also weaken the potential for strong positive g’s by slowing the ride’s speed down with the higher altitude, and also having to work counter to the downward pull of gravity. Under the best of times there might still be a bit of power in this turn, but as it was for me today, it was a rather ‘meh’ element; enjoy it for the views, but this isn’t the part that earns it the name “Expedition GeForce”.

Neither is the next element, a sort of halfway-there overbank which rolls out at the top into a shallow downhill straight stretch of track with a trim brake on it. I’m so glad that when Stengel and Intamin came around to designing Intimidator 305 they abandoned these sweeping banked fan turns in favor of flat, ground level switchbacks, but apparently many are complaining of gray-outs and restraint problems on these parts so I’ll have to wait and ride it for myself to make a final judgment. But I actually do find this straight track sort of fitting in the context of the ride, as it comes more or less precisely at the halfway point in the layout, and it provides a moment to set-up and anticipate the beginning of the second half. Also a win: the magnetic trim brake was removed.

The train banks and pulls around to the right, still high above the ground, and the train pulls up into my favorite part of the second half, the right to left s-turn at the crest of a hill. Sit in the left side of the train (so you get ‘pulled down’ by the heartline rather than ‘pushed up’) and there’s a yummy pop of air mixed with the delightful rotational workout for the car’s chassis. Not scary or intense, just a random fun moment which also provides the most unusual dynamics of the whole ride, even moreso I’d say than the first drop (depends on if you’re sitting on the left or right side; I preferred the left just for this moment and getting to hang over 2 of the 3 full overbanks, although the right’s still better for the first drop and overbank, so whether you’d prefer port or starboard sides is a matter of personal choice).

The train then navigates up into a final overbanked turn… and by this point I’m falling out of the side, so little momentum does our train have remaining. That might actually work in favor for this otherwise unspectacular element, but unfortunately my sluggish velocity does nothing of service for the ride’s finale. In fact, why am I even going to bother analyzing this section, since all it’s going to get me are statements of “oh, that’s too bad you caught it on such a lousy day, it’s normally not like that, you should come back again sometime and you’re sure to like it much more.” Just so you know what I was getting, on my first batch of morning rides I wasn’t even getting close to floater air over any of these hills. Later in the afternoon the first two hops along the main camelback produced a faint tickle of near-0 g’s at their apex; the last two, still nothing (no doubt thanks to a second still-in-affect trim brake; on that thought, can someone tell me why they needed to build most of the second half of the layout 20 to 30 feet above the ground?) For me this final sequence of bunny hills was sort of like eating dry bread: you know that with the right stuff they could be the binding ingredient for something positively delicious, but by themselves they’re so bland that eating/riding them is more tortured than this analogy.

Before I pout too much about a missed opportunity to fly to the moon on gossamer wings, even if it had performed as well as it did for everyone else that rates it Europe’s Number 1 coaster, I doubt it would have cracked my personal top ten. While I appreciated things like the extra power and force Stengel put into this design, I suspect a lot of the criticism I had of Diamondback would echo over to this one, in particular regard to the layout, which I find functional at best. As I mentioned, there’s really no sequences of elements that does anything special for me, although a series of four ejector air bunny hills at the end might have given it a boost over most other modern megacoasters. I think most of its popularity comes from the fact that it’s one of a handful of Intamin products that produces several moments of sustained ejector airtime anywhere along the layout, as that really seems to be the only criteria many people have to make a coaster #1 in the world. When I think of what an ideal World’s #1 coaster should be, just the idea of the layout should be enough to wow me, and in the case of Expedition GeForce I only ever saw an average layout that happened to perform with a better pace than most of its competitors, sufficient enough for a very good ride but not much more. That most of that pace was missing from my own experience made me unable to put it anywhere on my top 25 list of steel coasters, especially after I had rides such as Blue Fire, iSpeed, Nemesis and (yes) The Ultimate slip into more of those vacancies later during my European travels.

However… while my relationship to Expedition GeForce might not fare very well on a semi-arbitrary top 25 list, out of every coaster in Europe, it may still very well be the one ride towards which I hold the most affectionate memories. Never once during the day was a train sent out without at least a few empty seats that could be filled, and with an open re-ride policy it made the day essentially one never-ending ERT for me. My first mini-marathon that morning saw nine cycles, before on the last ride, halfway up the lift, the cable winch came to a sudden dead stop. It was moving fast enough that the train still had enough moment to roll forward a couple feet before freely rolling back down, reconnecting with the winch with considerable force and noise. “Are you sure traditional anti-rollbacks aren’t necessary for this system!?” We waited it out for some five to ten minutes as an employee ran up the stairs to tell everyone (in German) everything was okay and they’d have it fixed in a few minutes.

After those first nine rides I got one more in around noon before the coaster went down for maintenance for several hours. I was slightly worried those ten rides might have been all I’d get for my time at Holiday Park, but before 3:00pm it was once again operational. I returned around 3:30, knowing I’d have to leave to catch the bus back to the train station before 6:00pm. I waited for the front row, got my eleventh ride in. Then I moved to a seat further back on the next cycle, twelve rides. I continued to stay on, sometimes switching seats, sometimes staying put for several rides in a row, occasionally even getting a cycle when no one was waiting for the front row, until by the end of the day I had racked up a total of 36 rides on Expedition GeForce. This was not a rushed day by any means, in fact it was one of my most relaxing of during my spring break trip.

There are few greater pleasures than finding a seat on an enjoyable coaster,and staying there until the day grows long, getting a feel for every nuance in the track, every sight to be seen along the surroundings, trying it with my eyes closed, trying it with my hands up the whole time, trying it while looking backwards, or to the left, or the right. Best of all is finding a spot to people watch, as a new set of folks are waiting on the station each time, each with their own set of visible fears or excitement or apathy, and their own story to tell you during the course of a two minute ride if you watch closely enough. There’s no such thing as a language barrier when you’re sharing a roller coaster ride.

Eventually I had to leave, and I was sad for that as I really enjoyed my time at Holiday Park. I will most definitely make it a high priority to return should I ever find myself in Germany again… hopefully sometime when the weather’s warmer and the coasters faster.

Next: Europa Park (Part 1)

Previous: Erlebnispark Tripsdrill

How meta can this place get? Erlebnispark Tripsdrill is Germany’s oldest operating amusement park, opening in 1929 with a windmill slide built as a side attraction for the restaurant. Over the years as it became more popular, it grew into a symbol for the Germanic culture with museums featuring the local history, buildings constructed using the local architectural styles, and an all-around atmosphere that couldn’t be found anywhere else but in Germany. It’s for attractions like these that we travel, right? But as the zeitgeist marched towards modernity, Tripsdrill became a theme park, and a first-rate one at that. Rides with impressively-detailed settings and elaborate enclosed queues with audio-animatronic characters and multi-media displays meant to create a fully-immersive environment… all themed to what? The very same Germanic culture that this attraction was once a symbol for! Erlebnispark Tripsdrill is a traditional German park themed to traditional German parks!

As I first walked into the gates on their drizzly, overcast opening day of the 2010 season, it struck me as a rather peculiar choice of representation that there should have to be façades themed to be hyper-real versions of the buildings within the same town, animatronic characters representing the very people whom presumably still live not a few kilometers away, and landscaping meant to simulate the German countryside that surrounds it but on a smaller scale. After all, isn’t the main selling point of a theme park to escape from reality into someplace different? For locals this really isn’t an escape and for tourists that have bother to come all the way to Germany, why settle for a replica they could theoretically get anywhere in the world when the real thing lay just beyond the admission gates? There’s probably another one of my famous analyses/rants boiling beneath the surface of that thought. I’ll let it simmer for a bit as I do a review of the park and all of the rides, and then pick it back up at the end, okay?

The infrastructure layout of Tripsdrill is possibly the strangest I have ever encountered at a park. To get to the corner on which Mammut is located (think of the park as a large square, the entrance and Mammut are at opposite corners) you first have to cross to the back of the park, and then turn around and cross back to the front. You then have to walk along the front edge until finding the open clearing along which the Flume and G’sengte Sau are located, where you may then walk directly back to Mammut. Essentially it’s the same distance as if you were to walk the entire perimeter of the park once. Incredibly confusing without a map, but once I adjusted it was not without its charms.

For one, it’s a very beautiful park, especially in the original section near the entrance. Lots of timber-framed buildings, gardens, trees, and other miscellaneous objects scattered about as if a small German hamlet, oddly complete with clotheslines hanging out to dry over the pathways. At the end of the main midway is the park’s first ride, the Maypole, a small, rotating parachute/observation tower of sorts. It doesn’t quite go high enough to get a view of the entire park, but still remains a pleasant diversion and is a good way to begin a visit to the park regardless.

On the left was a woodsy section with a few rides located around a small pond, a petting zoo I believe just beyond it. A few attractions of note include a walkthrough fun house with several sections of downhill catwalks made of rollers that would sure to be banned in the US. Even better however is the Doppelter Donnerbalken, which at first glance appears to be a slightly larger and more expensive version of an S&S Frog Hopper, which in a way it is. Extra height and two-row deep floorless cars are a plus, as is an elaborate treehouse theme disguising the tower (actually towers, as there are two facing each other) which shows no expense was spared. But best of all, is after a bouncy cycle to the top, the entire car suddenly tips forward by several degrees before plunging in freefall all the way to the bottom. As there was no queue I didn’t get to see a cycle run before I tried it for myself so the effect took me completely by surprise. Honestly a bigger thrill than Tower of Terror five days ago. Definitely a must-ride for anyone visiting the park (hopefully I didn’t spoil the surprise for you).

Around the side of the pond meeting up with the ‘main midway’ (as central a midway as can be found at Tripsdrill, at least) is the Altweibermühle, aka the Old Windmill, and the park’s oldest ride. Inside you can climb to the top, and then take the most awesome burlap sack slide I’ve ever been on back to the bottom. I did this thing at least five times over the course of the day, despite having walked the distance uphill myself, the drop down always goes much further and faster than expected. Another must-visit for the park.

Beneath their large restaurant was a room labeled the Trillarium which I went to investigate what it contained. It turned out to first house a large machine gun collection, followed by a second room filled with various life-size figurines of German people. Odd to say the least. Around the side of the building was another stable with yet more animatronic people on display, a rather creepy sight whose purpose wasn’t entirely clear.

Of more clear purpose were some of the rides in the area, which included a lengthy powered car ride (Weinkübelfahrt), with the cars shaped as spinning barrels which navigated an elaborate course around trees and gardens I’m sure would look stunning if not for it being the first day of the season and they had yet to be in bloom. I passed on a ride on this particular attraction which I shouldn’t have, but such is life. Further back appeared to be another children’s section which I didn’t explore (partly for fear of becoming completely lost even with my park map).

Interactive fountains, dioramas, and other features litter the network of winding narrow pathways almost to the point that the entire park feels like one big walk-through attraction. A few of the mechanical rides present in the area include the Gugelhupf-Gaudi-Tour (a tilt-a-whirl ride themed to a bakery) the iconic Wirbelpilz (Mushroom Swing) and Schlappen-Tour (a sort of Jr. Himalaya themed to shoes). Of most especial note to the coaster enthusiasts is the first roller coaster to find in the park, the Rasender Tausendfüßler.

This was having some lift hill problems when I first arrived, but they fixed it after applying the practical diagnostics method of testing it ten times in a row until it spontaneously works one of those times. Technically there’s nothing special about this ride as it’s a basic Large Tivoli layout which can be found at parks all across the world, but what makes this one special is the fantastic landscaping surrounding it making it almost as fun to watch as it is to ride. Riding is great fun too, however, mostly because of how close to the ground it gets. Anyone that wants to can easily reach out and run their fingers through the grass on the ground-level banked turns, of which the bottom part of the I-beam rails essentially sit flat on the soil. Never before has a 15mph roller coaster feel maybe a little bit too fast.

As I had not had anything to eat since the vending machine snacks at the Vienna train station the previous night, I needed to grab a lunch. A walk-up tray service location with a long menu seemed the more promising in the park outside of the sit-down restaurant, but unfortunately the menu was entirely German cuisine and they offered no translations. Looking over it I could easily figure the “mit Pommes” phrase attached to every entrée meant “with Fries”, but for the main course itself I was clueless if I might inadvertently be ordering roasted hog’s snout… save for one item I recognized: Bratwurst (mit Pommes). Since today was my first day in Germany I felt I should be a bit more adventurous than that, so I decided to ask at the counter if anyone speaks English, and if so if they can make a menu recommendation for a first time German traveler.

The first lady I spoke to knew almost no English, but they rounded up the one cook who supposedly did speak my mother tongue. I re-asked my question “what is recommended?” (which is a lousy question since it seems all hospitality businesses are required to helpfully unhelpfully answer “whatever you’d like the most”) but my supposed translator looked at me as if I were chanting voodoo incantations, so I gave up and settled on the bratwurst, which wasn’t particularly special, at least for the price.

Rounding out the set of attractions in the original part of the park is Waschzuber-Rafting, which I believe was their first truly large scale ride investment sometime back in the mid-1980’s. Perhaps against my better judgment given the cold, wet climate I decided to take a ride, not knowing how wet I might get but operating under the impression that “European water rides aren’t that wet”. While I would definitely discover that statement to be false, it would not occur to me today, as I made it through with only the lightest of sprinkles tosses up on some of the rapids. That’s not to say I didn’t nearly shit myself when I saw the channel approaching a large waterfall… which turned off a moment before the raft passed under. Thank god those sensors were working properly the first day of the season. While nicely landscaped and themed (apparently to clothes washing, as there were detailed sets built along the queue illustrating), there wasn’t anything of particular excitement along the course of the rapids save for the waterfall effect. That’s not counting the whirlpool element near the end, which from offride looks like a pretty fascinating element, but from onride it’s just a flat, curving channel around the outside of a whirlpool effect.

Unfortunately for fans of parks featuring quirky, well-landscaped and serpentine midways, the three largest attractions in the park are all located away from the rest of the layout in the middle of a big, cleared grassy field with long empty midways stretched between to connect them. My natural instinct is that this is the site of long-term future developments to eventually fill in the empty space, but if so they’re certainly taking their time as they started this expansion with the Bathtub Flume Ride in 1996 and then G’sengte Sau in 1998, and haven’t added to it since until Mammut opened in 2008, extending the area of unfilled land back even further. Perhaps it’s useful for picnics and events during warmer months. Regardless, it hasn’t prevented them from applying an attention to detail to these three attractions that would be the envy of larger themers such as nearby Europa-Park.

First up is the Jungbrunnen (aka Bathtub Flume Ride) which honestly might be my favorite flume ride in the world. I only rode it once as it only operated for a couple hours in the afternoon and I didn’t want to risk getting any more wet from repeat rides, so I can’t remember every detail, but what I do remember is fairly impressive. Starting with the queue, which is practically better described as a museum with bathing artifacts as well as displays apparently concerning the mythology of the Fountain of Youth (as well as some other peculiar odds-and-ends), we eventually board our bathtub boat and then depart around a short flume, feeding us into the first small lift. A refreshing drop of about 25 feet or so gets things off to a good start. The channel curves us around indoors where another lift is approached, where at the top is a short dark ride section followed by a reversing mechanism feeding the tub directly into a backwards drop I was not anticipating. This next drop is apparently to ensure everyone in the boat, front or back, gets equally doused. Back outdoors, the flume meanders around a bit more before engaging the third conveyor lift which takes us all the way up to the maximum height. At the indoor section on the top is very large set displaying the Fountain of Youth, which includes about fifteen or so very anatomically correct nude female bathing figures. This is still a family ride in a family park, correct? Anyway, after this room we finish with the big drop which seemed steeper than most flume rides (they claim it’s the largest in Europe which I have a hard time believing). A splashdown which wasn’t too horribly wet and then back to the station.

Intertwined with parts of the flume structure is G’segnte Sau, Gerstlauer’s debut roller coaster creation and possibly the best non-spinning, single-car family roller coaster I’ve ever been on. Aside from the great landscaping and close flybys with the flume buildings and stone tunnels, it’s simply a complete ride. It fits so many different maneuvers into a logically organized progression sequence that’s normally only associated with massive, multi-million dollar signature attractions which are voted in top ten lists, not a quint little bi-rail family toboggan coaster, but yet it is. Let me bring out my old friend, the sequencing pattern analysis (see Fahrenheit, Thunderhawk, Millennium Force or Voyage for previous examples) to show you exactly what I mean:

(1 = banked spiraling drops/helices; 2 = switchbacks w/ laterals; 3 = airtime hills. Text darkness = intensity)

1 – 2 – 1 – 3 – 1

A simple and effective sequencing pattern, the beauty is that each number represents a radically different ride experience. I might make some issue with a sequence that doesn’t end in climax, but there’s regardless a sense of closure and satisfaction with the last gentle, looping figure-eight that echoes the ride’s earliest moments. Having ride carriages which are super lightweight, open-air and unobtrusive only helps to up the fun factor by many notches. The second, middle section can feel particularly intense when riding in such vulnerable cars. And then there’s the airtime hill sequence… why does it seem so hard for family rides to do airtime? After the rather hard laterals of the second part and the slightly scary spiraling intensity of the third, to get to the airtime sequence is such a joyful, happy way to start winding back down to the end. Special bonus points for the landscaped hills these bunny hops follow, and having the last airtime drop reach slightly further down into a trench than the rest. Made me slightly sad I missed Paulton’s Park’s version later that spring, but that one was without the landscaping and final helix.

So far I’m two-for-two with Tripsdrill’s large rides, now for their third and largest, Mammut. My gut feeling is that when looking to build Mammut, Tripsdrill originally talked to Great Coasters International about doing the job. It’s all there: curving first drop into a spectacularly banked fan curve, more high-banked, ground-level partial helices before a finale consisting of fast, back-and-forth directional changes. However, after being given an idea of a layout they really liked, were either unable to settle on a contract or simply needed to work with a local German firm instead. Either that or Tripsdrill just went to Stengel from the beginning and said “design us a wooden coaster like that!” (points to Thunderhead).

The ride, as you may know, was designed by Ingenieur Büro Stengel and built by Ingenieur-Holzbau Cordes (the same people responsible for bringing Intamin’s prefabricated wooden coaster technology to life; Intamin has no involvement with Mammut, however) and the result is pretty simply that: A GCI ride built as a Plug-n-Play. If you were to look up both of those terms in the dictionary of Things Coaster Enthusiasts Like, the result should have been orgasmic bliss, but instead it unfortunately serves to highlight the weaknesses of both with few of the advantages. Note the track doesn’t actually use prefabricated track, but the product seen here doesn’t feel that much further off except for allowing a bit more wiggle room for the wheel bases.

The reason GCI’s style of layout with plenty of direction changes works is because it can feel out of control. Stengel is generally good at making rides ‘forceful’ or ‘fast-paced’, but unfortunately he seems yet to have developed a computer algorithm for ‘out-of-controlness’. Even in the case of Mammut, those two qualities that are present in rides such as El Toro were missing here. Most dearly absent were the little airtime pops that GCI tends to imbue in their transitions, here I only got a series of over-heartlined s-curves.

That’s not to say that these two concepts are both fundamentally incompatible in creating a top-tier wooden coaster, but when also factoring in the three-bench Gerstlauer cars, I’d hazard a guess that makes it especially tough. Not afforded the rotational flexibility of the single-bench Millennium Flyer cars, the transitions into high banking on Mammut are required to ‘sweep’ up and around (along the x and y axes) rather than ‘twist’ inline (along the z axis) as a GCI will do, which produces both slower pacing (more track length is required to reach a certain pitch) and more subdued dynamics which emphasizes light positive g’s over sharper laterals and fast rotational movement.

Of course for this to be criticism rather than commentary, is to be presupposing the question that Tripsdrill even wanted a coaster as intense as a GCI or as forceful as a Intamin Prefab. Most likely they wanted a ride that was fun without being at all scary for visitors apprehensive towards riding a wooden coaster (this was after all one of the first modern wooden coasters in the entire region). I will say at this they succeeded, as it manages to be a fun, easily reridable coaster, although moments like the airtime hill lacking anything of the sort do still lend slightly to a feeling of failed ambitions due to over-cautious engineering; it’s also entirely possible part of my lukewarm experiences with Mammut are due to it being the first day of the season and the trains had yet to warm up or break in yet. For a park the size of Tripsdrill this possibly the most perfect attraction they could have added since it’s a new signature ride but doesn’t exert unneeded dominance over the existing rides, the larger ambitions of a full-scale wood coaster standing about equal with G’sengte Sau’s greater relative success as a small family mouse.

This is also the first wooden coaster I’ve been on to feature a pre-show before the lift. A lumber mill with all sorts of lights, buzzers and switches going off with a saw buzzing overhead, the strangest effect was the fog they used for some reason shifted the light spectrum of the visible sky outside the tunnel to a greenish-yellow, the first time I rode momentarily making me think some really strange storm clouds had suddenly move in until we had cleared the fog and were back in open air. It wasn’t like the fog itself was yellow, it was just… weird. I have a premonition one of these days they’ll release medical findings that these types of theme park fog effects release a chemical causing neurodegeneration.

With a heavy rain storm coming in late that afternoon cutting the last hour of riding short, I had to call it quits for the riding and find the entrance.  Before hopping on the bus to get to Haßloch that night, I need to go back and answer one of my original questions: is Tripsdrill an authentically German park, or is it a park themed to appear authentically German? This brings up a thorny issue in the argument between postmodernist social critics of theme parks and advocates for theme parks, in which the one side declares themed experiences to be superficial and fake, to which the other side points out that, ontologically speaking, theme parks are no less real than any of the things they are themed to. And this is extremely true. Whether you’re looking at the real Taj Mahal or a Styrofoam replica in Florida, both are extended objects made up of the same constituents that compose the fabric of the universe as any other object (although at the molecular level there’s a difference between extruded polystyrene foam and recrystallized carbonate minerals). Some of the better theme parks are so sophisticated that the items found within them are structurally identical to their real life counterparts, to the point that if taken out of their context they are indistinguishable from each other. After all, if Disney is to purchase a steam locomotive that once serviced the gold-mining areas of the Pacific Northwest, what’s to make that piece of equipment any less real once it’s relocated to sunny California and made to haul around paying tourists instead?

But still, anyone should intuitively realize that this is not what the theme park critic is arguing against. Clearly all objects have the same degree of ontological realness, so the idea of imitation must be about context, and describing the social or subject-object relationships that affect how people viewed themed attractions differently from other structures. Perhaps it’s holding the simultaneous belief that an object is authentic while at the same time knowing that it’s been intentionally crafted by other people with the intent of deception which is what some people find problematic with theme parks. But that still leaves open the question of how does one separate the artificial from the real. If it’s a matter of context, then Tripsdrill would seem to be in the clear as it’s a German-themed park located in Germany. Logically that should neutralize any concept of themeing and turn the enterprise into a wholly authentic one, right? Then why do I still want to associate Tripsdrill more along the lines of theme parks like Disneyland Paris or PortAventura rather than locations authentically integrated with their local culture such as Knoebels or Tibidabo?

I think a large part of what makes me want to label a park as authentic is that there’s an implied lack of choice and an absence of global awareness in their design. When looking at the layout and attention to detail present in Tripsdrill, it was clear that a hefty amount of calculation had gone into determining the precise look and feel of the park. If that is the case, then presumably one can conclude that, when designing a ride, equal effort would be exerted regardless if it were themed to Germany, Asia, the Old West, the Cretaceous Period, etc. What makes something feel authentic is if there’s a sense of necessity to its appearance which is external to the human calculation which built it. That is, you build stone walls in Ireland because those are the building materials you have access to, you grill mahi-mahi in Hawaii because that’s what you find in the water, and you build timber-framed restaurants which serve schnitzel and bratwurst in Germany not because you choose to theme it as such, but because given the environmental circumstances (this can extend as far as traditions, local tastes, etc.) that’s what people are required to do. That’s where cultures come from, isn’t it?

This definition immediately presents some problems because it implies that for something to be authentic it has to be culturally isolated, and the number of places in the world where this is true is shrinking at an astonishing rate thanks to a little thing called globalization. It’s become assumed that any place in the industrialized has the money and resources to build their cities any style of their choosing. Pagodas in Paris? We have the knowledge base and resources to do it, so why not? Adobe cottages in Austria? Same applies, more or less. This argument seems to lead to the conclusion not that theme parks like Tripsdrill are as authentic as the cities that surround them, but that those cities are as fake as theme parks built to replicate them, as a necessary consequence of a fully globalized world in which cultural differentiation still exists.

I do think there’s a good deal of truth to this. In the fifty years since Disney the concept of ‘imitation’ or ‘hyper-reality’ has become so ingrained within worldwide cultures that it’s now impossible to separate that which is real from which is a façade; much of what defines a culture (especially American or others in developing markets) is the ways they imitate others, or even themselves. One of the phenomena I found most interesting during my time in Italy was how so much of the Italian culture I observed seemed to only be there for the sake of the tourists. Do you think the tableside violinist at a candlelit outdoor ristorante would still be playing Bella Notte if the tourists that came to Italy didn’t demand it? Of course not, they can play any other song composed from anywhere else in the world of their choosing. The entire city of Venice is today one giant tourist attraction; it doesn’t actually function as a working metropolis besides to generate travel revenue for the surrounding region. For a tourist, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to see the “real Italy” unimpeded; you instead have to settle for the real Italy as it attempts to simulate the “hyper-real Italy”.

Hold on, this criticism is being taken too far; I have a horrible feeling I missed an important and key consideration somewhere. Yes, it is true that Erlebnispark Tripsdrill is a theme park in all the ways I described above rather than some of the other parks I might describe as more ‘authentic’. However, it cannot possibly exist anywhere else in the world without losing the one feature that makes it a very special feeling place: the fact that it’s a proud statement of identity for the people that built and operate it signifying that this heritage is so important to them that it’s worth building a theme park to celebrate.

Now THAT is something you can’t find just anywhere, Tripsdrill is one of the few parks in the world that has it, and an attempt to duplicate it anywhere else in the world would never yield the same results. The same goes for Italy or anywhere else in the world that maintains its unique appearance despite the fact that little extra effort would be required to transform it into something else. It’s not still an imitation like you find at Disney, the existential expression of identity is something very real and important, and that’s more or less what I think I can conclude Tripsdrill to be.

The animatronic people around the park were still creepy as shit, however.

Next: Holiday Park

Previous: Budapest (including Vidámpark)

To travel alone in foreign countries is a true test of character unlike any other I’ve personally experienced. There’s no one else to keep track of your itinerary, no one else to remember the walking directions to get to the train station on time, no help of any kind save for an occasional friendly stranger who may or may not speak any English whatsoever. Even if you go with a single traveling partner who’s no more experienced than you are, at least you’ll have the comfort of knowing that if you become lost, you’ll be lost together. Trying not to think about it, you soon realize that you are in fact thousands of miles from home and if you end up in trouble no one but yourself will be responsible for your safe return. This unquestionably makes traveling alone an adventure, and the stories you bring back with you are far more colorful than when you buy a preplanned, prepackaged bus tour and everything goes according to plan. This is one of those stories.

But first, some back story. I didn’t have to travel solo. Everyone else in my apartment planned their spring break together in Greece. It would have been a trip the envy of any other college student. Waking up on a beautiful Mediterranean isle, spending all day hanging out on the beach, and at night going into the local villages to get completely drunk and hook up with chicks, getting up the next morning not remembering a thing and then doing it all over again. That easily could have been my spring break story, and it also would have been a helluva lot cheaper than the plans I cobbled together requiring multiple airfares, train tickets, small town hotels, etc. Why was I disinclined to go along with all of that? Well, because –duh!– Greece doesn’t have any good roller coasters!¹

My plans were perhaps overambitious. I had a week off in late March to go wherever I wanted, but the problem was not too many parks in Europe were open yet. Disneyland Paris was, and for a while I figured I’d only do a simple trip to Paris to see the sights and then return home to Rome well-rested and with a couple fun stories to tell. But then I got talking to someone else who commented wanting to see some cities further east, which got me to thinking I could go to Prague, Vienna and Budapest instead and fit Disneyland Paris on an extended weekend sometime else. Lo and behold, as soon as I looked into that itinerary, I found that both the Wiener Prater and Budapest’s Vidámpark would be open that time of year. Then literally one day after I thought up that plan, I found Vidámpark made the Screamscape news headlines (seriously, how many times a decade does a place like that make the news?) announcing that it would be shutting its gates permanently for the 2010 season. I could have gone ahead with those plans but the sudden closure robbed my enthusiasm for the idea, so I made silent apologies to the Wiener Prater and went back to mulling over a trip to Paris (the weekend plan wasn’t working anyway.) But with airfare so cheap in Europe I soon discovered it would be economically possible to fly from Paris to Vienna in the €30 to €40 price range and cover both. So then my plans went to encompass Paris for the first four days and Vienna for the next three, and then home. And then I found out that a couple of the German parks I’d like to visit opened for their season starting the Friday of that weekend, so the question only became why wouldn’t I take a train back instead and hit a few of those as well?

So there, I had my travel plans all lined out. I spent much time drafting different itineraries to figure out how these parts would fit together, then countless hours trying to decipher foreign language websites to figure out where I should be staying, checking Google Maps to print out various walking directions, booking tours of the cities I’d be in, and then trying to piece together an nearly impossible rail journey through Germany. It was two nights before I left as I was up late figuring out what to do with my third day in Vienna that I randomly noticed a new for 2010 coaster listing on the RCDb for the Jetstar, location: Vidámpark. That is not something one would expect to see listed for a park that’s supposed to have gone belly up. I checked their website, and not only did it seem to indicate that it would still be operational, but it even seemed to indicate they would be open until 6:00pm on Friday during my third day in Vienna. One roundtrip day ticket from Vienna to Budapest later, I was now trying to piece together the details for an extremely last-minute excursion behind the iron curtain into a country I knew almost nothing about, except its language appeared to resemble a dialect used by Martians.

Disembarking the train, I made my first priority to get some money exchanged for Hungarian Forint. I was told there was a €50 minimum for tourists spending one day in the city, despite the fact that I had already my walking tour prepaid and the only things I needed to buy before catching my 6:10pm departing train were lunch and an admission ticket to Vidámpark. (Incidentally, I still hold a substantial amount of forint in my wallet to this day over four months later, and with the forint even weaker than the Japanese Yen it can be fun to show people a “$5000 bill”.) After using some of the shittiest pay-restroom facilities manned by an old gypsy woman, I went in search of the Metro, where I was sold a three-pack of tickets by a guy near the entrance with a big cardboard and Sharpie sign advertising tickets. No idea if they were overpriced or the steal of a lifetime let alone if that was the official way one is supposed to buy Metro tickets, but they were valid and the guy spoke English so I won’t complain.

I was told to meet my tour group at 11am at the Deák Ferenc Tér in front of the church. While waiting, I was approached by a large man in his late- twenties who began speaking to me in Hungarian. I stopped him to let him know I only spoke English, at which he then friendly asked if I had any money to give him so he could buy a beer. I appreciated his honesty but told him no, and without any protest he thanked me and went on his way. Ah, the interesting people you encounter while traveling…

In any event, our tour group eventually convened (which I believe at first consisted of only four people but then we pick up another family of Brits on holiday after the first stop) and I must say it was one of the better walking tours I experienced while in Europe, and exactly what I needed; a way to see as much of the city as possible in a short amount of time while getting a feel for the atmosphere, culture and heritage and enjoying myself at once plus it required very little pre-planning on my part. The main problem was hauling around my 20lb backpack containing everything I’d be living off of for the week and a half of travel everywhere we went (and it was to include hiking up the side of the tall hills dividing the city, but thankfully I seem to have developed a decent stamina that I could manage such a thing without having it wear me down too greatly.)

As you may already know, Budapest is a combination of two cities named Buda and Pest. One thing I did not know is that apparently the proper Magyar pronunciation is “Budapesht”, as the ‘S’ in the language is always spoken like our ‘Sh’. Good to know. I also recall being told that the Hungarian language’s closest relative is actually Finnish (not in the words themselves, but just in the grammatical construction of sentences). I won’t go into detail of the entire Hungarian history but I believe the Magyar people originated as nomads and after settling down on this part of the continent, every chapter of their history book closed with, “and then they suffered a horrible defeat.” Not surprisingly the Hungarian sense of humor is very dry and dark.

We started taking the Budapest Metro (the world’s second-oldest subway system after the London Underground) to Hósök tere, also known as Heroes’ Square. Surrounding the large ‘Millennium Monument’ were two quarter-circle colonnades with bronze statues of the various heroes of Budapest’s history, of which their most proud was Stephen I, who did something or other to get special recognized by the Pope, a great success for Hungary.

We then moved on to the nearby Vajdahunyad Castle; this was not an authentic historical castle but was built in the late 1800′s as part of a world exhibition that Budapest held. It was a pretty interesting place to see, as the buildings were each designed after one of the major historical architectural styles of the region: Romanic, Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque. Whenever visiting a European city I’m always told such-and-such building was built in the Gothic style but such-and-such is a fantastic example of Baroque, and I just nod my head and go ‘sure’, but seeing these all together in one place does give a good impression of the differences between them and almost made it seem like something I might have seen in Disneyland. Also in the area was the Dementor-like statue of “Anonymous”, where local legend has it if you touch the pen held in his hand you’ll be brought good luck. I obliged.

We made our final stop on this side of the city the Széchenyi-gyógyfürdó, aka the Széchenyi Medicinal Bath for which Budapest is famed. It’s a bathhouse supplied by two natural thermal springs, keeping the water at 74°F and 77°F, and is host to one of Hungary’s favorite national pastimes: Water Chess. How it works is you take a chessboard and make it float, so you can play it in the water. Same rules apply as regular chess. Makes sense, right? I was told that Vidámpark was located very close to the area (as our guide told me, “Vidám” means “Happy”, and “Park” means “Park”. Also makes sense, right?) but unfortunately the tour necessitated we start on this side of the city and work our way to the other, so I would have to cross back here at the end of the tour.

Budapest is far from the same level of glamor found in Paris or Vienna, but from what I experienced it seemed a very interesting city with a lot of history and a lot of character. I’ve heard from other travelers before me that Budapest is a must-see city because it’s “cool”. I wasn’t there long enough to confirm or deny that statement, but I could easily see how that could be the case, if I had more time to explore some of the hidden arts and culture corners of the city. I also liked the layout with the different ‘sections’ divided up by the Danube river and the large hills dividing the city. At this time we made our way into the downtown area of Pest to see the Magyar Állami Operaház (aka the Hungarian State Opera House) and the large Szent István-bazilika (aka St. Stephen’s Basilica) which apparently contains the mummified fist of St. Stephen. Also on our way was a bronze pot-bellied police officer statue, where local legend has it if you touch his belly you’ll be brought good luck. I obliged.

Making our way toward the river we passed some striking buildings done in an Art Nouveau style, and also an oddly memorable statue of “the Little Princess” sitting inconspicuously on the railing next to a tram. One of my favorite stories from the tour concerned the creation of the Széchenyi lánchíd, aka Széchenyi Chain Bridge, built in 1849 as the first bridge connecting Buda to Pest. It was designed by Englishman William Tierney Clark who was in the city to attend his father’s funeral, but was unable to find a way to cross the river in time. Furious by this inconvenience, he determined to build a bridge for the city so this would never happen again. After ten years of construction the bridge opened and Clark declared it a masterpiece, daring that if anyone could find a flaw, he would jump off the edge into the Danube. However, he did not take into account how starved for entertainment the Magyar people were, and consequently a year-long search for flaws commenced, as the city really wanted to see him jump. Just as they were about to give up, someone claimed they finally found a flaw. Can you guess what it was? The gaping-mouthed lion stone statues flanking either end of the bridge appeared to have no tongues. True to his word, Clark jumped off the bridge… and died.

(Actually that last bit was a lie; it was a well prepared for jump and a rescue crew was waiting for him on the river.) After crossing the bridge we took a moment to marvel at the funicular scaling the steep hillside to the Castle District on top. “Right, so now we’ll walk.” Bear in mind I’m still hauling around my fully-loaded backpack, although the way up provided some spectacular views of the city, particularly of the Hungarian Parliament Building (Országház). At the top was a massive statue of the Turul overlooking the city (a falcon of legend which would probably be the name for a roller coaster if Busch Gardens Europe ever opens a Hungarian-themed section) and Budai Vár, aka Buda Castle, which wasn’t the most spectacular of hillside castles I’d see while in Europe. Beyond the castle was a neat, contemporary-medieval commercial district centered around a Plague Column and Mátyás-templom (aka Mathias Church). Also on top was a bronze statue of Stephen I on horseback, where local legend has it if you climb up and touch the horse’s balls, you’ll be brought good luck. I declined.

To this point my day had been without dilemma. I arrived in the train station, found the Metro, rode it three stops down to the church, met the tour group, and from there I handed personal responsibility for my travels over to our wonderful tour guide who made sure nothing went without hitch. It was a little after 3:00pm, the tour was now over, and I was once again left to my own devices with only a simple set of instructions from my guide on where to get a quick lunch (a very good Hungarian pizza-like bread with a strudel for dessert) and then back to Vidámpark, from a hillside on the opposite side of the city where no Metro service was present. This would require buses.

I fucking hate buses. As I was walking up to the stop I saw the #16 bus service labeled for such pull up past me, but I wasn’t able to catch it in time. However, I watched as it curved around a plaza and then stop on the exact opposite side of the road. This bus is still headed for Deák Tér, right? I think that’s what the destination board on the front says (it’s a bit harder to read than the one on the back) so I get on. None of the locals appeared to be paying for anything, so I figure to hold onto my two remaining Metro passes I’d need to get to and from Vidámpark and in case anyone said anything I’d play confused American tourist. After riding for a couple five to ten minutes, I began getting the distinct impression that I was not going down the side of the hill I needed to be in order to get back to where I started my day. I asked some of the other riders (all elderly, wrinkled Hungarians) if any of them spoke English; one old lady replied “a leetle”. I asked if this bus is going to Deák Tér. “Yes, this goes to Dísz Tér.” That doesn’t sound quite right. I don’t know when trying to pronounce a foreign name if speaking more carefully and deliberately helps or hurts the communication process, or if I should say it in the same mumbled, accented way I imagine the locals do. I repeat the name of the stop I require to make sure I was correctly heard. “Oh, Deák Tér, no!” Hmm, apparently when it circled that plaza the service changed from the 16 to Deák Tér to the 16A to Dísz Tér, on the opposite side of the city. Like I said, I fucking hate buses.

Nevertheless the locals were helpful in pointing out a service on the next stop which would quickly whisk me away to the located I truly did intend, where I needed to take the Metro six stops down to Bajza Utca, and then Vidámpark was less than a ten minute walk away, past the thermal baths. As I approached the gate a couple minutes before 4:00pm, I took my camera out to start getting pictures of the front entrance. The gates were open and manned, and as far as I could tell the rides were operating, although it was immediately clear very few people were at the park that day. It’s not a large park, so an hour and a half should be more than enough time to do everything before leaving to catch my 6:10pm departing train for Vienna. Before reading the next paragraph, I want you to take special notice of the photo on the right: the entry gate is very clearly open.

As I took a couple steps back to get a shot of the main entry side, I heard a strange rumbling sound. It couldn’t have been an amusement ride, yet it was coming from the direction of the park. I looked away from the viewfinder to be greeted with a horrifying sight: the large, solid metal barricade was sliding down over the entrance. Sprinting to the entrance, I would have had enough time to get through but stopped when I saw the attendant there who appeared to be waving me away. I thought momentarily, “I know the site said they’re open until 6:00pm and the rides are still running, they must be closing one of the two gates. I hurried over to make sure the other gate was still open – and found it too was only two inches away from being shut. Stepping back to survey the situation, there were indeed only two gates for the entire entrance and both were completely barricaded. I looked carefully at the information sign trying to see if I could decipher any of the cryptic language, and noticed where the hours appeared to be listed (12.00-18.00) a small notice underneath read, “Pénztár Zárás 16:00”. I checked my cell phone. It was 3:58pm (aka 15:58). Apparently they must close the gates to new entrants at 4:00.

That’s right. I traveled over 4,600 miles from home all the way to Budapest just to visit this park, and got shut out because I was ten seconds late!

So was that the end of the story? Was I just going to pack it up and go home?

Not even close.

First I went back to the metal gate entrances and began knocking on the doors, gently at first to see if the attendants were still there. “Hello?” I rap harder, making quite a bit of noise. “Hello! I need help!” Pressing my ear against the metal, I hear silence. The park, while still open, cannot have more than ten guests in it. It’s dead. I move on.

There must be another way to find someone inside. I walk along the outer perimeter wall to see if I can find anyone to talk to. Nothing but high, industrial concrete barricades, very Eastern Bloc-ish. As I get around the back side towards the highway I see the Hullámvasút, which appears to be standing silent. Crap, it might not even be open today. I take a few pictures, trying to accept the sad fact that this may be all I’ll get to experience of one of the few remaining scenic railways in the world, standing on the side of a highway looking up at its silent structure.

But then I hear something, the sound of steel wheels gliding across rails. Looking up I see a lime green train pull off the lift and a small child on board screams in delight. I COULD BE ON THAT! I continue searching, and soon find a large, locked gate I can at least peer through. Wow, this place really is dead. Absolutely no one walking around… save for what appears to be a group of four employees sitting on a bench idly chatting. Yes! I wave my hands to attract their attention, and am greeted with a friendly wave. I wave some more. They get the game and match my waves back. No, come over here! They make a large shrugging motion and go back to chatting. I continue waving desperately, as if I’m in a Hollywood horror movie or island castaway adventure, trying to get the attention of the random passersby who thinks they’re just playing a game, not realizing they’re stranding them to a horrible fate. I get another small wave, but it’s clear they not coming over. I squint closer. They don’t even really appear to be employees save for the name tags, possibly they’re just guests? Regardless it’s not working. I turn back the way I came, as it’s clear there’s nothing further down along this side of the perimeter.

Back at the park entrance, I can hear those yellow metal barricades laughing at my predicament, a dry, hollow laugh. No one else is around except a mentally handicapped man who wanders by alone, also appearing to vaguely want a way into the Happy Park. I directed a small comment his way about it being closed to see if he even speaks English, but get no acknowledgment back. I figure he’s of no help anyway. Double-checking the entrance sign, it clearly says that they will continue operating for another two hours so I still refuse to give up. There are (few) guests still in the park, so that must mean there’s an exit for them somewhere that I could maybe slip in. I walk along the other perimeter. This seems more promising as it’s a mesh gate I can see into the park. And what’s this: a portly fellow in a white-collar shirt and tie is walking by – must be a manager! I call out for his attention, but he gives me a rude flip of the hand and turns a cold shoulder. “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy!”

Finally I locate the exit. There’s no one around. Could I possibly slip in unnoticed? No, it’s one of those prison-designed, iron revolving gates with anti-rollbacks. I test my size against the width of the bars. Even without my huge backpack, there’s no way it’s possible. Not that I wouldn’t have tried if I thought it possible, such was my desire not to miss that scenic railway.

It seemed ridiculous that I would have to turn around and go home when the park was just a few yards away and still technically operating, but that appeared to be the situation I was in. Walking just a bit further along the wall, I found another large gate. And what’s this, it’s located right next to the park’s security office! I call the attention of one of the employees on duty. She walks over, greets me with a friendly smile, and I ask if there’s a way in.“Oh, uh, no English” she tries saying. I continue through hand gestures my desire to enter the park. I can tell she wants to tell me they closed but doesn’t know how, and my persistence requires her to get her coworker who speaks slightly more English than she. “No, closed,” he tells me. “Yes, but I was only 10 seconds late. I’m from America. Can I please get in?” It’s clear he didn’t understand any of this but may have caught the “America” part, because after considering me for a second he says “one moment” and goes back to the office to call someone on the phone. The female guard and I stand there waiting, we both smile awkwardly. I seem to be making progress.

Eventually the manager of the park walks around the side of the building (not the portly man who ignored me earlier), and he speaks English. I start talking away, explaining the situation as I’d been narrating in my head for the past fifteen minutes. He stops me, asking to speak slowly. Okay, I start over, slowly and simply.

“I was late to getting into the park by just a few seconds. I really want to get in. I traveled a very long way just for this park. I run a roller coaster review website, and take pictures of parks from all over the world. I didn’t know the front gates closed at four, otherwise I would have made sure to get here on time. Your website is all in Hungarian. Please, can you make an exception?”

He seemed to understand all of this, then stood there and thought about it for a while. Finally he asked, “You have a website?” He hesitates some more, then decides, “Okay, you can come in” and motioned to the guard to open the gate.

I thanked them profusely as the manager went into the office to retrieve something. “This is a VIP pass” he explained as he handed it to me to clip on my jacket. “You may walk around the park, take as many photos as you want. You cannot ride anything.”

Oh come on! He insists that once the front gates are closed, they can no longer sell any ride passes and he cannot make any exceptions.

“So you are English?” he asks.

“No, I’m all the way from the United States,” trying to imply the much greater distance involved.

“You are probably here for the wooden roller coaster, yes?”

I confirm that is the primary reason for my visit, and insist once more on a ride pass. “I’ll gladly pay twice the normal ticket price due to the inconvenience.” He smiles at my dogged persistence but declines again. However, this time he adds:

“You will get one ride on the wooden roller coaster.”

“Oh, thank you! And the spinning coaster too?”

“No.”

Alright, I won’t push him any further, as it was true that one ride on the Hullámvasút and to take pictures inside the park was all I really needed out of the visit, and compared to where I was ten minutes ago I could hardly be in a position to complain.

I walk with him as he leads me into the park, telling me about their history and ride collection. “We have been open since 1896, and have several rides of interest to historical amusement park groups. The carousel is the oldest and the only one of its type in the world. The roller coaster opened in 1926 and is the most popular ride.”

“You have three other roller coasters, I think?”

He hesitates. “There is one other, the spinning coaster, opened last year.” He must not think their Big Apple counts. I ask him about their original plans to permanently close, which he confirms they’ve had troubles but elaborates no more upon.

“And are you building a new roller coaster for 2010,” I inquire. There appears to be no sight of it anywhere.

“Yes, we are planning to build Jetstar later this summer.”

We arrive at the entrance to the Hullámvasút which is completely deserted, and he goes over to explain the situation to the operators on duty. Before leaving he reminds me that once I am done with my ride I can take as long as I want to take pictures, and then return the pass to the security gate when I’m done. I thank him again for putting up with me (especially since it occurred to me he was giving me all of this for free), and then find a place for my backpack. Just as he’s about to exit the platform I ask one last favor, if I can bring my camera on board. “Okay, but carefully.” I now present for your viewing pleasure, my singular ride on the Hullámvasút:

To provide a few notes on the ride, it was much slower than I was hoping for (most likely because of the brakeman) although this wasn’t a huge problem as there were still some decent drops and being my only ride of the day the fact that it stretched out over four minutes was rather welcome, giving me a chance to savor it without regretting missing out on more re-rides. I think for the layout it would have been better realized as a traditional roller coaster rather than a scenic railway, but it made it a more unique experience for me (especially the open-air cars with zero restraining devices of any kind), and I also enjoyed the aesthetic qualities of some differently styled wooden support structures.

Rather than waste any more words I’ll let this photo slideshow sum up the rest of the time I spent wandering the park, which featured a nice collection of idling rides, most particular of note was the carousel set in a beautiful pavilion with an odd setup of outward-facing horses.

It seems quite a shame that the park is struggling so hard with attendance when they have some really nice attractions of historical importance. Very few parks of this quality exist this far east in Europe. Admittedly that’s possibly part of the reason for their difficulties, as amusement parks simply might not be part of the culture. Considering they have been around for over 100 years and are located centrally in Pest near many other cultural landmarks, I would imagine a stronger local following would have developed, but by the absence of anyone else in the park besides myself and possibly three others, that seemed not the case. Perhaps part of the problem is the addition of newer rides has lent the place a tackier, dirtier carnival feel than it once had, which has been a turn-off for local visitors. If so I’m not sure a new Jetstar will work to reverse that trend, but here’s to hoping they can more permanently stave off bad debts and remain operational at least long enough for me to return one day to try everything else I missed today.

As I turned in my VIP pass I had to laugh slightly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. While it was still disappointing to only be granted one ride on the Hullámvasút and miss out on everything else, I realized then and there that the story I had to take away from the experience was far more priceless than any additional coaster credits on a production Big Apple. Plus, as I felt my wallet, I never spent a fillér!

On my way back to Vienna I listened to Mogwai’s debut album “Young Team” at the request of a friend who was a fan, and because the opening track entitled “Yes! I Am A Long Way From Home” seemed particularly fitting. Nice music, exactly the mood I needed, and a perfect way to close out the day. After hanging around the Vienna train station for a little while and calling my mom to let her know I was okay (I never informed my parents of my last-minute Hungarian add-on) my overnight train to Germany was ready to depart. I had an enjoyable hour-long conversation with an Austrian girl sharing my train compartment, whom I learned was studying Japanese with the hopes that she’d be ready to travel there sometime in the next two years. My advice was, “don’t worry if you can’t speak the language perfectly just yet, just go and learn as much as you can while there. I didn’t even leave two days of planning before I decided I’d go to Hungary, and I managed to get through my day without any problems. More or less.”

With no beds, the sleeping arrangements were somewhat awkward, but after the day I’d been through I wouldn’t have asked for anything more. Tomorrow would be yet another long day, taking me to my first German park, Erlebnispark Tripsdrill.

[1] There was also the minor point that the entire Greek economy was in ruins and the country was undergoing a massive civil upheaval with daily riots and no working police force to restore order at that time. But mostly it was because of the roller coasters.

Next: Erlebnispark Tripsdrill

Previous: The Wiener Prater

Competitive markets are supposed to be the Greatness and Glory of an infinitely perfect God as incarnate through supply and demand grids. This is what they teach you in Economics 101. If mankind were denied the free competition of even one of the thousand different brands of cereal, then not only have the terrorists won but they’ve begun looking at paint swatches to redecorate your foyer with. This is fact, while silly things such as evolution and gravity remain just as theories. Without competition free of any governing organizing body which can have an influence on the naturally occurring supply and demand slopes, you get monopolies, high prices, reduced output, lowered quality standards, a disincentive towards innovation, greedy executives, slothful employees, wrathfully envious middle-managers, and a trend towards mercantilism, socialism, communism, atheism, Nazism, CO2 emissions, famine, bubonic plagues, cancer, the defeat at Waterloo, and Theme Park Review becoming the most popular online coaster fansite. Free-market capitalism will automatically fix all of these problems and more, plus it includes a free oil change on your first visit.

So then tell me, why is it that on my visit to the Wiener Prater – the one park in the world that best embodies the ideal of free-market capitalism through the decentralized organization of competing showmen building and operating each ride independently of each other on open, public grounds – I am spending much more money to go on fewer attractions of lower quality?

I arrived shortly after 4:00pm to discover the park was not that busy (although it was a Thursday in early season). Since I had skipped lunch I made the first item on my agenda to order a pizza and Viennese sausage from Salamucci, one of the nicer-looking food bars near the entry gate. When one eats alone in silence while in a foreign city, be assured that that individual’s mind is not sitting as passively as they themselves are. In this case, my initial calculations of how to best distribute my money and time over the next several hours quickly led me onto an internal discussion on one of my more favorite topics, the philosophy of economics.

Economists are interesting people. They are at once simultaneously business people and philosophers, and yet for the most part they fail to be either. Generally only a few levels above being dirt-poor themselves, they have chosen a profession in which they concern themselves with larger theoretical questions of how a society should organize itself rather than the more pragmatic question of ‘how can I make the most money’ in regular business schools; yet all-too frequently they leave huge, fundamental assumptions concerning a particular economic theory unquestioned and unprovoked in a way that has had real philosophers cringing for centuries on end. Where is it that a population’s preferences for particular goods and services come from when they take their money on the free market? Is the distribution of resources in increasing correspondence with those who have earned the most money an ethical imperative towards the just compensation of one’s societal value, or is it merely a pragmatic tool to encourage increased levels of production? Is maximizing the quantity output of quality goods and services the one objective that an entire nation should be directed towards, and if so, by whom was that decided? Few economists are willing to answer these questions, at least not while still wearing the hat of an economist. So while I am at it, let me ask a few questions about the economic organization and distribution of amusement rides at the Prater. First, a couple of observations:

1): There are many empty seats being cycled on rides which represent an excess of capacity.

2): There people on the midways (including, most importantly, myself) whose demand for more rides are exceeded by what they are being supplied given their financial limitations.

3): There is almost no marginal cost to suppliers depending on whether those seats are occupied or vacant.

This is, in economics, an absurdity. If there is excess capacity for suppliers and excess demand for buyers, then they should always satisfy each other until either the supply and/or the demand is fully exhausted. A staunch supporter of free-market capitalism will probably tell me that there is either some form of collusion or price-fixing which shouldn’t occur in a purely competitive environment, as a free-market will always adjust to a price which ensures the demand meets the supply, and vice-versa. I am willing to posit a different theory in which the perfectly competitive market is the cause, not the solution, to why the prices won’t adjust downward to balance supply and demand. Here are a few more observations about the nature of the consumer (i.e. me).

1): My demand for more rides given a price level of zero is approaching infinity (except in the case of the Zamperla Volare).

2): My marginal utility each additional ride is decreasing, especially after it has been added to my credit list.

3): My demand is highly elastic (economic jargon for “I am also incredibly cheap”), and I will not spend more money than I have to in order to get the minimum level of utility I expect out of the visit (i.e. all possible credits, plus a few culturally enriching activities).

From these premises a model can then be drawn showing that a customer will respond to a linear reduction in price with an increase in usage that is exponential, but in a way that sees a linear decrease in the total amount of money spent. I.e. the combination of cheapness and decreasing marginal utility for re-rides after I have credited them once will see that I am willing to spend up to €4 to ride the Megablitz once but no more; when the price level drops to €1.5 I will then ride it twice; to €.80 then three time, to €.50 then four times, to €.10 then ten times, and at €0 my willingness for re-rides approaches infinity, given a policy that doesn’t involve re-queuing each time. This concludes that the current price level which forces both an excess of supply and demand is the level that maximizes profit for each showman.

Traditionally, economists will tell you that at whatever price level the supply and demand curves naturally intersect in a perfectly competitive market is where the story ends. Everything is maximized to its fullest potential, and the pie is now fixed so it is not possible for either party to gain more without the other giving up some. The problem is that there are still spectators standing on the sidelines watching empty seats being cycled, wishing they could be in one of those seats but cannot because it will cost them too much money. Worst yet, those that are on the ride will find that with a mostly empty train, it doesn’t run as fast and airtime is decreased, meaning they had to pay more for a product that offers decreased utility than it would in a different economic system which ensures that every seat is filled and therefore the airtime is plentiful. This isn’t even beginning to explore the fact that the unstable nature of competitive markets ensures that every ride built at the Prater has to be cheaper and transportable in case they need to pack up and move out of town once market conditions change.

From a systemic point of view, this competitive market system the Wiener Prater has produces some extraordinarily awful results. Total ridership numbers? Reduced. Average value to customers? Reduced. Total profits to the Prater as a whole? Even this is reduced, as I may have been willing to pay up to €50 for a pay-one-price scheme, but as it happened I had to stop at €40 once I did all the major attractions I wanted to see.

What interests me is that I can’t imagine any way to fix these problems unless the competitive nature of the enterprise is compromised. A pay-one-price could be introduced, but then that would mean the hard work of some showmen who try to maintain their attractions to the highest quality would no longer be rewarded by a greater profit share from the public, while others would become free riders and let their maintenance or operating hours slip. The way around this I suppose is if somehow all the rides could collectivize into a single social entity, with the focus of providing the greatest overall guest experience possible given their resources taking precedence over the self-interest of each individual ride operator, to each roller coaster it’s needs, from each roller coaster it’s abilities, for the good of the entire Prater. But that would be approaching communism.

Wow. Somehow this argument managed to turn a 200+ year old public park in Vienna into an icon for the evils of free-market capitalism and profit motive, while designating systems found in Six Flags or Cedar Fair parks as “approaching communism”. I think it must be time to finish my lunch and (for myself and the good of everyone that reads this site taking it the least bit seriously) start killing a few more of my braincells on the Prater’s various rides.

First up was the Hochschaubahn, a 1950-built scenic railway, recreated from a much earlier ride that was destroyed during WWII. Cost to ride was €2.50. Of all the rides in the Prater’s eclectic collection, the Hochschaubahn was the singular attraction that I most wanted to experience. It was to be my first scenic railway. We don’t have any in the United States. It’s a shame, really, as the scenic railway originates on the shores of Coney Island, and we certainly weren’t lacking in preservation-worthy installations such as the L.A. Thompson Scenic Railway at Venice Beach, California. Yet they are all gone, while Europe remains the home of seven (eight once the Dreamland ride reopens after restoration from the fire). Oddly enough, Europe has a relative dearth of traditional historic wooden coasters outside of Blackpool, while there remain plentiful surviving examples in North America, even with the singular surviving side-friction left in the world.

At first this might seem an odd division of where the surviving classic wooden coasters are found (Europe keeps all the scenic railways while the US keeps all the exposed structure wooden thrill coasters), but in a way it does seem reflective of the respective cultures in each location. Even the name, “Scenic Railway”, despite having origins on US soil, seems to imply something more quintessentially European. Was my first experience on one of these rides to be everything I was hoping for?

Well, not really. The Hochschaubahn is certainly “scenic”, although I still expected a bit more of a “coaster”, and this was almost more of a gravity-driven dark ride; the footprint and size of the building isn’t much larger than an average dark ride, at least. There were some drops, but many of the other turns were slow. If it weren’t for the fact that there were maybe all of two uphill sections beside the lift along the entire course, I’d have strongly feared a rollback at many points. There was one time towards the beginning when it picked up some momentum, but every time it tried navigating a curve that would seem to rob it of all its kinetic energy. I have to wonder if the long 5-bench trains are responsible, as I wouldn’t imagine they have the easiest time fitting the track around some of the tighter turns. One effect that did surprise me however were the spitting elves in one of the last tunnels which taller riders would have to duck to avoid getting their ears cleaned by a jet of water. I’m 5’10” and made it through dry with a hurried slouch while trying to protect my camera; anyone above 6’ consider yourself warned…

Second ride of the night was the nearby Wilde Maus. Price was €3.50. It’s a basic Maurer Söhne mouse model, although with almost no trim braking anywhere on the ride, it may also be the most white-knuckle intense coaster in the park. I attempted to take pictures during the ride but so many turns were brutally intense I was only able to get two shots off while the car was in motion. Thankfully the final brakes didn’t dig the lapbar into my gut as strongly as other mice are prone to do. The only other note I have about this ride was the odd paint scheme for the track alternated between pink and green, making me wonder if this might actually be a splicing of two separate mouse coasters into one.

The Boomerang may have potentially been my next ride, but unfortunately it was closed for the entire length of my visit. Most enthusiasts will tell you that should be a cause for celebration, but this was perhaps the one Vekoma Boomerang in the world I would have most liked to try, for two reasons. One, it has a tunnel between the cobra roll and the vertical loop, and two, it features prototype trains with lapbar-only restraints. RCDb tells me these trains are from Schäfer Amusement Technology, a company I’ve never heard of before (although their website insists they’re involved with several large projects from other companies), and while generally lapbars are welcome over OTSHs, I have to wonder if a folded square steel piping is the most sensible design material to ensure increased comfort for riders. Since I never had the honor of spending €5 for a ride, I guess I’ll never know for myself.

Vekoma wasn’t completely out of the picture despite the Boomerang’s closure, as my next ride ended up being the custom-designed MK-700 Megablitz. It seems to be designed in a style recalling the classic Schwarzkopf fairground coasters from the 70’s, with an evenly patterned layout piling helix on top of helix with bright red track and sky blue supports and a retro, multi-colored neon sign display. Unlike the original Schwarzkopf rides, it was not built for capacity, running only two, three-person cars (although they might fit up to six if smaller riders sit bobsled style). For the Wiener Prater, where each rider will be shelling over €4 for a single ride, this was more than enough capacity.

It starts with a curving, righthand drop down and then back up into a spiraling downhill double helix which begins to pull some decently strong positive g’s around the bottom (accentuated more by the length of time they are sustained than by the force itself). It banks back uphill around the left before a short midcourse brake sends it diving down the only continuously straight drop on the entire ride. Another double-helix, this one uphill, is quite weak in terms of forces, and this feeds into a final, downhill triple-helix, which starts to see a few forces before it lets up on the upper ring to enter the final brakes. I hope that if I could have ridden a fully loaded train in the heat of summer the ride might have provided a bit more bite around each helix, although just the pure, curve-happy joy of the layout makes it oddball enough to warrant one ride, and the smooth tracking with open, unrestrictive cars make it one of, if not the best coaster in the park. Not that that’s saying too much.

At this point I was mildly worried I might be megablitzing through my cash and list of rides to try too quickly to last the entire evening, so I slowed down and did some more exploring of the park, noting the oddly eclectic decorations and an under-construction Star Flyer, a sort of elevating flying-chairs ride, which would be towering some 117 meters (360 feet) in the air when complete. I just want to say: “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” It wasn’t even close to topped off yet and I was getting vertigo just looking up at it. I can’t imagine what it would be like for those that have actually had the chance to ride it. One interesting thing to note however was the active construction site around it had no barricades to block patrons on the midway from entering the ride site; anyone that wanted could go right up and touch the tower. Perhaps to native Austrians this is the status quo, but it made me stop and think to myself, “never in America”.

I also took a moment to grab a ride on Der Zug des Manitu, the Prater’s single steel children’s coaster. Cost for a credit: €1.80. It’s not too bad of a ride, surprisingly starting out of the station in reverse and traversing half the track before changing direction and motoring through four or five laps going forward. With some rather flat, tight turns it’s also just jarring enough that one might need to lightly hold on to the handle bar with one hand while trying to take pictures with the other.

Back towards the entrance was the Super 8er Bahn, a jumbo non-looping coaster model from Pinfari. Any coaster with a Pinfari stamp of approval on it can be guaranteed to not be a device of the highest engineering quality, although the question can still remain over whether it might be a fun fairground romp or an updated tool used by the Spanish inquisition. Thankfully, the Super 8er Bahn is much more the former than the later. In fact, running through a quick mental list of Pinfari’s oeuvre, Super 8er Bahn might even take the cake for the best ride they’ve ever made. Tall, fast, long layout, occasionally random forces from a mysterious source, and best of all, relatively smooth with comfortable, OTSH-free rolling stock. I’d have given it a second go if it wouldn’t have cost me another €4.

Immediately next door was the Dizzy Mouse, a Reverchon spinning mouse and also the second mouse coaster of the day. Unlike the Wilde Maus, this one lacked the intense laterals around the turns and sudden, suicidal dives, but the ride time lasts longer with the slower average speed and it includes spinning, which was only moderate on my cycle. In other words, everything I’d come to expect from this model. The one unexpected feature was a ‘cat’ tunnel on the final leg of the layout before the bunny hop. However, this proved to be better used as rationale to convince myself the €3.50 ticket would be worth it because it has a unique feature from other spinning mice, than it was on-ride where the tunnel was barely noticed.

So far I had my focuses set solely on the roller coasters, but I had been taking mental notes on which of the flat rides and dark rides I passed might be worth taking a spin on. There were a couple old-school style ghost houses (Geisterschlosses, I think) which looked promising, but it was hard to tell which would be the one best worth the money, so I held off for the moment. There was an odd, cable-suspended inverting swing-type thing which looked cool, but at €5 a ride it didn’t look that interesting. The Star Flyer would have been a must-ride if it were completed, and the smaller model they already had installed I knew I’d be getting a chance to ride for free at Holiday Park in a couple days. A large, themed, elevated rapids/flume ride was one of the more attention-grabbing non-coasters on the Prater’s premises, but the weather didn’t allow for operation yet.  Extasy was by far the most insane flat ride I’ve ever seen, I nearly went on it but I literally feared it would be too intense for me. I wasn’t even comfortable standing too close to it because if someone were to  heave, it would be sent flying out of the ride area. Other classic flat rides all appeared to offer above-average cycles, but again, it was hard to muscle the resolve to put down 2 to 3 euro on the counter for something I’ve been on before. There was one ride, however, which I decided I could not pass up. The Tagada.

Basically how it works is, there’s a giant disk which spins tilted at slight axis while bouncing up and down. Around the outside of the disk are the benches which face inward. There are no seat dividers. There are no individual seats molded around the continuous bench. There are no restraints. There are no seatbelts. There is nothing to hang onto except for an outside railing along the bench behind you and the friction created between moist palms and a smooth, plastic bench covering. I’ve said it a couple times before but it needs to be reiterated here: Never in America. (Okay, maybe also: holy fucking shit. However, more in a “that’s cool!” way rather than “that’s scary” as was the prospect of a 300ft. chair swing. But maybe a little bit scary, too…)

In my opinion the primary value of flat rides is almost entirely social, as I generally don’t find much is gained from them if I’m just riding it for my own amusement. Such a set-up as found on the Tagada then possibly makes this the ultimate flat ride, as there are essentially an infinite number of ways to interact with it and with others who also (against their better judgment) also decided to ride. In this instance the ride operators even ask for your name so they can call out to you on the loudspeaker during the ride cycle. Unfortunately there were only two other girls on my cycle (again, curses to competitive economic theory, not that the ride might have been too busy this time of night anyway), but it was still one of the better things I experienced the whole evening at the Prater. I have to wonder how such rides manage to operate when it seems the potential for accidents might be pretty high, but I suspect it might be that the culture knows how to assess risk on their own and then behave in a way that will minimize that risk, rather than in the States where the assumption when there are no explicit rules is to behave as you always do wherever you are and then sue when that results in injury. Then again, the girls on my cycle were switching positions, standing, trying to walk across the center, etc; while the operators tried to time the bouncing in such a way that they could throw them off their feet, so maybe that’s not the best theory to posit in this scenario, and Austrians simply don’t care if there happen to be a few more accidental deaths each year when it comes at the expense of everyone else’s fun.

Speaking of fun (and/or accidental deaths) there was one more major coaster I needed to ride before the night was out: the Zamperla Volare, creatively named “Volare”! Now while I might be a fairly hard judge on good coasters, I tend to be a bit softer towards coasters most other people would call out-and-out deplorable. Even bad coasters have something to offer that makes at least one ride worthwhile, if only to find out just how bad it is. While I can’t say that there are any rides I’ve been on that still to this day I claim I regret doing (overly-long queues or breakdowns aside), if I were to target one in particular for such a thing, it would probably be my first and (until today) only experience with a Zamperla Volare, way back in 2002 when I made a singular lap on the then-brand new and prototype Flying Machine at Six Flags Elitch Gardens in Denver. That entire day still probably ranks as one of my worst park experiences ever, and the Flying Machine ranked high as one of the instigating causes, not least because I was only a year-and-a-half off from open heart surgery, and a ride that put constant pressure on my chest with a poorly designed resting pad featuring a hard crest down the middle left me feeling sore and a bit worried for the next twenty minutes. The only other near-encounter I had with a Volare came three years later at Canada’s Wonderland, but we decided to skip it due to long lines.

After paying my €4 admission, I stepped up into the car and was pleased to find that the padding had at least improved since the prototype version. There are no restraints in the traditional sense to speak of, you just step onto a small ladder at the base of the car until your head fits into the birdcage at the top, and then a metal cage wall folds down behind you and the car tips forward into the flying position. There’s nothing behind your feet to keep you from stepping off the ladder and slipping out during an uphill climb, but hopefully the ride won’t be so bad that you have any reason to will that, (P.S. if I made it sound unsecure, I don’t believe it is any less safe than a coaster that posts common sense “Do not stand up” signs). The lifthill is clever enough solution with the rotating central column pushing the cars along the uphill spiral, but I do have to wonder what happens if the device pushing the cars into the lift zone mistimed it slightly.

Rather than dive straight down as on other Volare models, this one was customized a bit to feature a straight section of track off the top as it lines up with the start of the layout, the time spent along this track not entirely unlike the time a murder convict spends walking along the catwalk to the guillotine, wondering what’s at the other end of the precious remaining time they have left. A drop, quick turn and then a heartline roll (geez, considering they’re rotating us a full 360 degrees you’d think they could design a better restraint system that holds us in comfortably whenever we’re not resting directly downward on the pad) and then a block brake. Seem to be surviving so far. The ride whips back into motion, giving the whole car and it’s riders a good jolt. “So far”, being the operative phrase of the sentence twice previous. I’m assuming the problem with roughness must be in the wheel assemblies and car design because the calculus of the track curvatures seems advanced enough from my perspective, but it does shutter around the track something awful. Lower speed sections aren’t too bad, but a final, high-speed s-turn that whips the car to a near 90 degree bank before slamming into an obnoxiously loud break run doesn’t earn the coaster or its designers any brownie points with a good finale.

Overall, good ride? No. Bad ride? Pretty much. Regrettable, as in 2002? Not really. I got off commenting to myself more over how much more painful it could easily have been, rather than how painful it actually was, and there’s no denying there’s few other experiences like it in the roller coaster world, for better or worse.

By this time the sun had long since set, and I needed to start planning the end of my night. According to the RCDb there were nine coasters total for me to ride, one was down (Boomerang), and with the Volare now checked off that brings my count up to seven. What’s missing?

Ah, yes, the Auto BergBahn, a quirky children’s car ride which runs on gravity and I guess for that reason people are willing to deem it a coaster. Where was that thing? I spent my entire day with a thought in the back of my head reminding me to keep an eye out for such a contraption, and now that my day was nearly finished I still hadn’t caught sight of it. Was it near the entrance by the Riesenrad, Prater museum, and the large, bronze showman statue welcoming guests to the Prater? No. Was it on the pathway back behind the Hochschaubahn and a large open green park with a funky-retro train running around it? Not that I could see. Was it anywhere along one of the main midways, sandwiched between or behind the ridiculously oversized, 5-story tall walkthrough funhouses or ghost trains? Nope. Was it in the back corner of the park, between all the chestnut trees or nearby the historic Schweizerhaus restaurant? Not that I could see. Even the children’s sections in the far back of the park, which appeared to be locked off for the night, I couldn’t see anything resembling the ride I was looking for. Unless it was somewhere else in the Prater parkgrounds that extend beyond the perimeter of the amusements area, the Auto BergBahn seemed to have been whipped off the map (which, indeed, had several listings for children’s “auto/bahn” type rides but none were what I wanted. Oh well, at least it gave me a chance to see the rest of the Prater after dark.

The Prater is pretty cheap and tacky, but it is also well maintained, and a times, even a little bit magical. Given the fact that it’s a patchwork tapestry built by several different competing families over many, many generations, it’s sort of hard for it to not develop a unique characteristic not found at any other amusement park in the world, especially not at any of the large, corporately owned theme parks built to work as a destination attraction in their opening season as so many theme parks around Europe, North America and even farther are. The only real equivalent to the Prater I can think of is New York’s Coney Island, but that one has been marginalized and neglected by the city and its citizenry for the past several decades, and now that efforts are finally starting to turn it around, I see the efforts are to conglomerate and neutralize it into a singularly- owned vision. In that way the Prater is something truly special, and if the rides weren’t all so damned expensive it might even have been one of my favorite places in all of Europe, but with its current pricing structure I doubt I’d ever have the desire to return unless I was already in Vienna again for another reason (which, given what a richly-cultured and friendly city Vienna is, I’d say is more than likely to happen again sometime in my life).

There was no other way to finish the night besides taking a ride on the Prater’s starring attraction, the 1897 built Wiener Riesenrad. The cost for one person was €8.50, but the personal cost of going to the Prater and deliberately not experiencing the Riesenrad was much higher. Since this ride is almost all about the views from the top, I’ll skip a written review of the ride to close out this essay, in favor of a photographic one found below.

Next: Budapest (including Vidámpark)

Previous: Vienna

It was a little before six in the morning when I thought I could hear a train rumbling into the station. “Shit, I better see if that’s one going in the direction I want,” I thought as I quickly hustled to scan my ticket through the gate to get down to the platform in time. Halfway down the stairs I could see it was on the other side of the platform going in opposite direction. Ah, no need for the hurry. Wait a second… the opposite direction? I’m on the side I’ve been using the past three days to get from Val d’Europe to Disneyland, I want to be going back into central Paris instead so I can get to Charles de Gaulle Airport to catch my plane to Vienna. I want the opposite direction! I scan my ticket at the gate once again so I can switch to the other platform. One more scan to get on the platform for city-bound trains – denied. Whoops. I guess this ticket is only valid for one scan in and out, regardless if they happen to be at the points across town as indicated on the ticket or at the same platform for 15 seconds. There are no ticket sellers or anyone else on duty at this hour. A help call point next to the gates reads off directions for requiring assistance in four languages including English, so I figure to give that a try and push the button.

“Bonjour?” a voice crackles.

“Hello, does someone speak English that can help me?”

I got a semi-agitated reply in French.

“Er… sorry? English?” I try helpfully.

Another agitated quip and then dial tone. Huh. Contrary to the signage that wasn’t very helpful.

Well now I’m out of ideas. A few other early morning travelers have since arrived in the station area. I call out to no one in particular, “does anyone speak English that can help me?” not really sure what assistance they’d be able to provide even if they do. After a moment’s hesitation, one lady volunteered. I explained my situation, and she nodded understandingly. She explained simply, “then what you’ll have to do is follow me through when I scan my ticket.” Okay, that works. I thanked her. “It’s okay, it can happen to anyone. Even if you are French.”

Thus began my first day in Vienna; riding the train to the airport not sure whether it would allow me to scan out once I arrived, or if airport security would be performing a random cavity search after discovering a foreigner carrying a large, weighted bag trying to skip through the gates with an invalidated ticket. The gates at the airport let me through no problem and I had more than enough time to check-in before my plane left.

The first thing I discovered upon my arrival was that Vienna is radiant in the springtime. The airport link shuttle dropped me off not far from Stadtpark, which marked the beginning of a long, rambling, semi-planned-but-eventually-fuck-it-I’m-going-whichever-way-the-wind-blows walk through the city before the check-in time to my hostel began. I’ll let the photos tell most of the story but a couple highlights of this stroll included: seeing the golden Johann Strauss statue playing a violin in Stadtpark, the Staatsoper (Vienna State Opera House), Akademie der Bildenden Künste (Fine Arts Academy, notable for being the institution which rejected a young Adolf Hitler’s application twice), the Secession (a second arts school which acted as the dialectical opposite to the bourgeois fine arts academy), and Karlsplatz (a large public square in front of the Karlskirch church).

The atmosphere I sensed in Vienna was that it was a very romantic city, although it was a different sort of romanticism than I experienced in Paris. While Paris (as least according to the American stereotype) is seen as being very glamorous and exciting, Vienna seemed much more… I don’t know how to describe it… familiar? Paris is romantic because there is a sense that it is somehow unattainable (I mean, just look at what they charge for food), while Vienna is the home of every classical composer whose music we have been at least fleetingly familiar with since we were six, and the music, the fresh spring air, the uncluttered streets, the cheaper comfort food, the friendly people, there’s no mystique to it, Vienna’s just a place I’d feel comfortable calling a second home. Of course my actual second home in Rome is by far the most Romantic city in all of Europe, although methinks it owes much of that achievement to a technicality in terms.

I checked into my hostel which is very near the city center, chatted briefly with one of my roommates, a Brazilian named Diego who was completing a month-long European trip of his own, and then left to explore a couple museums in The Museumsquartier and the rest of the city landmarks inside the Ringstraße. First was the MUMOK, aka the MUseum MOderner Kunst (aka the Modern Art Museum). Their main exhibition when I was there was called Changing Channels, and was an exhibition to experimental television that spanned from the late 60′s through to the 80′s. It was presented almost entirely and exclusively in English which was odd if not nice, and nicer still was the fact that it was free to anyone with a valid student ID. I’ve never been one for television programming; personally, I find film to be far more rewarding of my time if I’m going to sit down in front of the TV rather than anything found on cable. The serial, episodic nature of shows (punctuated with constant commercial interruption) just doesn’t have the same quality appeal on either an artistic or even basic enjoyment level, and the fact that they have to be censored and made easily digestible enough for public viewing makes even the edgier stuff on TV seem kind of toothless compared to what can be achieved cinematically. However, I apparently was not watching any of the shows presented at the MUMOK’s exhibit, which were in many cases experimental and artistically daring. One program was a 1975 Independence Day special in which a Cadillac drives through a wall of burning televisions, and another program (named “Shut The Fuck Up”) featured The Joker unveiling to a art society a blank canvas entitled “Death of a Mauve Bat”. An interviewer hesitantly asks if the painting might be about the materialistic emptiness of modern society. After a pause, the Joker decides ‘yes!’, at which everyone in the gallery cheers wildly, while the Joker congratulates himself on his latest nefarious victory. Characteristic of any modern art museum, Andy Warhol was given an entire room which featured shows produced by the pop-artist in glorious artsy-fartsy-bullshit-o-vision.

After the MUMOK I explored the Ringstraße some more (basically it’s this large circular road with trolleys that surrounds the city center including the Hofburg palace) and also made a stop at the Naturhistorisches Museum, which extends its opening hours on Wednesday nights. A Darwin exhibit was the primary special attraction, although only a fraction of the signs were posted with English translations so I got only the basic information I already was well familiar with. The rest of the museum is an endless collection of fossils, skeletal remains, precious stones, and prehistoric man-made artifacts. Just as I was about to leave I made one last glance over a museum guide to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important… and lo, discovered I had walked right by an exhibit containing the Venus of Willendorf. Needless to say I made a second round of the museum.

With the last rays of the sunset fully gone by the time I exited the museum, I took one more night walk around the city, aiming in the general direction of the stunning Votivkirche, before meandering back in the direction of my hostel. Rather than call it a night, I decided to catch a screening of Woody Allen’s Whatever Works at a nearby arthouse cinema. My original intention had been to see Austrian director Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon (Das weiße Band) while I was in Austria, but of course after sending them an inquiring email I discovered it would be impossible to find a theater in Vienna with a print including English subtitles, so I decided I was better off with an English-language film with German subtitle instead. The movie itself, starring Larry David, was classic Woody Allen, which might be as much a fault as a virtue. Watching Larry David insult anyone and everyone that comes his way is far from the best of Allen’s works but I’d still call it halfway decent entertainment, which was all I really required. As I was the only one in the theater, off went the shoes and socks and I stretched out in the front row of the dingy but quant little screening room, a fine way to end a very long day.

The next morning I arose around 9:00, took a very cold and awkward shower, and the prepared for another long day of Viennese sightseeing, careful not to wake my still slumbering roommates, a greater courtesy than the two girls who moved in on the bottom bunks were willing to extend to me some five hours earlier. Anterior to the opening of any more museums was a stop for breakfast, which in my case consisted of one slice of Sacher torte with a cup of hot chocolate, and liberal amounts of whipped cream on both. One of the best damn breakfasts I ever had, too.

I entered the Kunsthistorisches Museum shortly after its opening at ten, and discovered inside an incredible collection of historical works from all manner of classical artists, as well as even earlier, such as Egyptian pottery and a Greek bust of Aristotle. Some of the notable artwork in the museum included “The Tower of Babel” and “Summer” (the painting of an assembly of fruits forming the shape of a man’s head). If you read my report from Paris you may recall a rather cynical attitude I took towards these sorts of ‘cultural activities’, but apart from the two paintings listed above I really had no way to judge the relative fame or monetary worth of the different works, yet still occupied well over two hours moving from gallery to gallery. This was to become a theme in many more European cities, and while I have a bit more appreciation for modern art over classical (Do I need seven million paintings of another random scene from the Bible?), there is a level of technical craft in these works that I don’t think I’ve completely seen duplicated in any time period since, and it would frequently leave me standing in awe wondering just how any human could accomplish such a task.

I intended to make a visit of the Hofburg Palace next door as well, but admission to that one was a little bit more steep and by the time I finished with the Kunsthistorisches I didn’t know if my feet could take any more standing around inside buildings. I therefore made a brief retirement to the hostel before once again packing up with the intention of seeing a few more Vienna landmarks such as St. Stephen’s Cathedral (also totally randomly stumbled upon film director Billy Wilder’s former home) as I made my way to an evening at the Wiener Prater.

Next: The Wiener Prater

Previous: Disneyland Paris (Part 2)

Three days at Disney was probably overdoing it. By comparison, I only allotted myself one full day to see Paris, and yet for some reason I felt three would be needed to fully see Disney. That is not an itinerary one should admit to other people when they ask about how you’ll be allocating your time during your four days in Paris. Now to justify this slightly, originally I had been planning to only see Disneyland over a three-day weekend and not even step foot inside the city, which I wanted to save for another time (i.e. when Parc Astérix and Parc Saint Paul would be open). Then plans changed and after deciding I needed to buy my tickets at the Disney Store on the Champs-Élysées for the best discount and that I could make a stop to try out Jardin d’Acclimatation’s three coasters, I said, “alright, I’ll spend a day in Paris, too.” Just to get a taste of the city to motivate me even more to return one day. Meanwhile Disney I wanted to make sure I would have ample time to explore every nook and cranny and get so many re-rides on the coasters until I was sick of them that I would thereafter have absolutely no motivation to ever return ever again. But still, three days at Disney was probably overdoing it…

After wrapping up a brief two hours spent in the Walt Disney Studios Park getting caught up on some of the things I missed out on the day prior, I made my way to the entrance of Disneyland by noon. I quickly found the fastest route to the Big Thunder Mountain fast pass ticket dispensers, and then hopped aboard the Disneyland Railroad from the Frontierland depot to take me back to Fantasyland to kill the time before my fast pass return time was ready. There was still one major dark ride in the park I had not been on the first day and it was located in Fantasyland. Let me check my park guide to see what it could be… it’s not the Snow White or Pinocchio rides, although those need to be done as well. Already did Peter Pan two days ago, which leaves me with… oh, dear God, no. The Happiest Ride on Earth, “it’s a small world”.

It’s not just the song, which repeats the same chords over and over and over and won’t leave your head afterward no matter what you try. It’s not just the sets, which for ten minutes you float by the same candy-colored scenes of multi-ethnic children joined in song. It’s the fact that the whole thing feels so… innocently happy. To put this in perspective, my idea of a good time in the recent past has included attending a double feature of The Road and Antichrist, in which the first movie set in the post-apocalyptic world about a father and son resisting the urge to become cannibals like everyone else in the country as they futilely search for safety was, to me, the cheerful, uplifting film between the two. This has just always been a ‘thing’ with me; that is, I hear people say “oh, such-and-such movie or book was good but it’s also really depressing, I’d rather have one that lifts my spirits up and makes me feel happy at the end,” I don’t know how to reply because for me it’s the opposite. ‘Happy’ stories are inherently depressing because the narrative manipulations only highlight the fictional nature of the experience in contrast with real life; meanwhile those that other people label as depressing I would label as exhilarating simply because I’ve been in the presence of great art. If it’s ‘depressing’ and a bad work of art, then why should I feel depressed by it when all I should be is sharply critical of its faults. Hopefully that explains where I’m coming from when I stepped onto the boat of “it’s a small world”

But okay, so it’s a ride that celebrates the economic push for globalization that robs nations of their political sovereignty while promoting superficial cultural differences that should exist only as a novelty for the industrialized western world to gawk at. That seems like a perfect fit for Disney. And actually for what it’s worth I did not regret the experience at all, although perhaps for not the right reasons. Technically there’s some pretty interesting stuff in there, and so I spent most of the ride snapping pictures and marveling over the sheer amount of labor hours that must have gone into building each of these sets. Pleasing colors, well-proportioned sets, perfectly blocked animatronics… it could have been an attraction showcasing the wonderful world of tort reform and it wouldn’t have made any difference just as long as the sets were designed with the same level of care and precision. That’s the thing I’ve found out about Disney, most of the time it doesn’t even matter what the subject material is, the spectacle is simply being immersed in the presence of such an overwhelming display of technical craft (or, at the very least, an impressive capital budget) that all other concerns seem to float out the door.

So did I enjoy “it’s a small world”? Let the fact that despite a less than 10 minutes queue I only rode it once during my entire stay at Disney speak for itself. My immediate repulsion towards the concept of the attraction did make me stop for a moment to consider what does seem to be a rather odd sociological trend. Consider an individual who is always happy. No matter the circumstances, they always come to work with a smile on their face and song in their heart, and whose only unrequited desire is the ability to lift the spirits of coworkers who have the misfortune of lacking the same quantities of mirth as themselves have the good fortune to be bestowed with. If you’re like most adults, your impression of this individual will not be, “what a kind, strong-willed personality; I wish I could always be as happy as they!” Your impression will be to keep as far away from this individual as possible, and perhaps to even wish some ill-fortune to befall them in order for the sake of everyone else around them to stop acting so silly and start behaving like a real human being, with the proper amounts of depression, doubt and self-loathing that should always entail. And there you have the reaction to “it’s a small world”.

Where does this attitude come from? Is it just a general hatred of happiness in many of us? It seems the repulsion to anything in a perpetual state of cheer is automatic and unquestioned, suggesting it may stem from cultural conditioning. Perhaps the percentage of the population suffering from anhedonia collectively decided to make it appear ‘cool’ to hate on anyone displaying needless happiness, and so snark and sarcasm became the new dominant forms of humor in mass media rather than good old-fashioned song-and-dance and knock-knock jokes. Or perhaps there is legitimacy to this prevailing skepticism against happiness. For most of the corporate world the concept of ‘happiness’ has been objectified into a consumer product ready to be packaged, marketed and sold to the general public, with Disney most likely being at the forefront of this campaign. It’s nothing against happiness in and of itself, but the sentiment is that real happiness has to be earned; a severely handicapped person who finds picking up and dropping leaves to be the greatest fulfillment in the world may in fact be the happiest person alive, but we would almost never say that this person is leading the ideal of a ‘good life’. When I see joy and celebration simply floating around with no apparent reason, I find there is something greatly suspect about that, and it therefore rides such as “it’s a small world” become a target of derision in order to see if any holes can be poked through the joyful façade to discover what underlying machinations exist.

After “it’s a small world” I still had a bit more time until my Big Thunder Mountain fast pass was ready so I made a stop at the Fantasia Gelati to pick up a snack to tide me over until later in the day. The map was indicating that this was the only food location in the entire park that served crêpes, and seeing as I skipped ordering one during my one day in the city, it seemed it would be a great injustice for myself to leave France without having tried a crêpe. I only mention this because here’s where I easily had my worst customer service experience while at Disney: staffed by only one employee who had clearly already become too disillusioned with the futility of his task that he made no effort to hurry, I had at least a twenty minute wait for what ended up being a €3 soggy, extra thin pancake that was barely able to fill the size of the smallest diameter Dixie paper plate they served it on. I didn’t even get to enjoy a moment’s rest on a shaded table because by the time I finally was served I needed to make haste over to Big Thunder Mountain so I could pick up my next fast pass.

It was soon determined that after experiencing “it’s a small world” I needed a dark ride with hair on it, one that wasn’t themed to a celebration of singing children and world peace, but rather a celebration of looting, arson and rape. Thankfully Disney has an answer to my needs not far away in the form of Pirates of the Caribbean.

The queue for this was one of the longer ones between both days I was there but it moved fast enough (as is the case with most Disney attractions) and is also one of the better places to spend waiting in line. After a small outdoor switchback section we’re channeled into the Caribbean stone castle, winding our way through some dark corridors with an occasional display chamber featuring the skeletal remains of inmates. Near the terminus of the queue is the final loading platform showroom, and this represented one of the couple of places in the park in which I could truly understand why Disney attracts such a rabid fanbase. You know how in dark rides that are supposed to have night scenes the lighting technicians always get too proud and decide to put show lighting in every single corner of the room, resulting in too bright of a setting while also illuminating all the wiring and prop backings that are not supposed to be seen? That is not the case with this room, which uses just enough yellow and red lighting exclusively from the lanterns set along the pathway to create an exotic glow against the stonework walls and tropical foliage, while not enough to reach to the ceiling, which my eyes were telling me was a authentic starry night sky and not just a ceiling painted black and with small LED lights implanted into it. (After enough time had elapsed and my eyes adjusted from the outdoor brightness to this low-light interior I could see the outlines of some ventilation units next to Ursa Major.) The humidity and that aroma of running water from the nearby flume channel (I know water is technically odorless but hopefully you kind of know what I’m talking about) contribute to the creation of what many themed attractions seem to be sorely missing: atmosphere. Yes, for a few moments in that showroom I felt as though I really could have been transported to a different time and place, and without an overload of different props and effects whizzing around my head as on Phantom Manor I was able to simply take it all in. And now we board the boats.

Out of the loading platform, the first part of the flume channel is mostly a quiet rainforest lagoon with waterfalls, no swashbuckling yet. A terrace for the Blue Lagoon restaurant is built inside this environment as well, and everyone on the boat sees this and thinks, “ah, I’d like to have dinner there tonight but it’s probably too expensive!” Past the waterfall we begin to climb upward while the famous Yo Ho theme song begins the fill in the background over the roar of rushing water. The adventure is about to begin.

I am told by television theme park specials that what makes a Disney ride such as Pirates of the Caribbean so special is the fact that it’s not just a series of elaborate gags as you will find at other theme parks, but that huge amounts of time and energy are spent in making sure a story is told throughout the attraction. Once the bulk of the story’s action starts, as we float by I can imagine in my head the pitch originally made to sell this story to guests:

“Okay, so there’s these pirates, right? But they’re not just any kind of pirate, they’re Caribbean pirates! And these pirates, you know, they’re making a mess of things. Pillaging. Plundering. The works. Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘I’ve seen pillage and plunder before!’ Here’s the twist. You also have insobriety and attempted rape. Ah, bet you weren’t seeing those things coming! Now, you might be thinking to yourself, ‘okay, there’s the characters, but where’s the story?’ That’s coming, believe me, but first – and I think this is the thing that makes or breaks this whole idea, it’s not just something to have in there for laughs but is really the, uh, you-know – that’s having the audience come to understand and connect with the psychology of these characters first. I’m being really serious right now. Because, you know, these character can initiate events in the plot, but what does it matter if we don’t know why they had the need for such actions. So here’s that burning psychology summed up in four simple words: “A pirate’s life for me!” Five simple words. That doesn’t count the apostrophe since it’s a possessive. So, we have the characters and we have the motivation… do we have a girl? You betcha, several in fact! Alright, so now to answer the question, where’s the story? It’s, um, well, you know, I should tell you first off that it’s not really all about the story, you know, like with plot point A, B, climax, denouement, etc. That’s a very Hollywood way of storytelling, and I think our audience wants something a bit deeper than that. Pirates of the Caribbean, to me, is more of a character study, or just a kind of quiet, contemplative reflection on a certain state of humanity. In a way I would sort of liken it to being something akin to Yasujirô Ozu’s Floating Weeds. But with pirates. Anyway, I can see you’re starting to glaze, so I’ll wrap this up quick. They set a building on fire, and then everyone falls down a waterfall for some reason. Kids and adults love it, and then there’s the buried treasure discovered at the end to tie up any loose ends, the boat gets back to the station, people get off and go home, satisfied with how they spent their 8 bucks admission. So there you have it. End o’ pitch.”

Was I satisfied? Wait, where was that story I had heard so much hype over? I counted many gags. Chasing wenchs on a turntable gags, cats on a floating barrel gags, dogs holding keys in its mouth gags, drunken bottle-tipping near my head in a way that reminds me of several college roommates I’ve had gags, but I had a hard time finding a story linked between all of those gags. To be sure, some are very expensive gags. Engineering two animatronics to sync a swordfight between the two left me feeling very satisfied that the money I put down on my admission ticket was being used for something. But in the end I sort of felt the question of “how can we showcase our technical animatronics skills” preceded that of “what sort of narrative/emotional experience do we want to provide our guests?” It’s not like this is the first and only Pirates ride, so maybe I should try out the original California version which Walt Disney himself actually had a hand in before making any more judgments about the attraction myself.

My first reaction was that Adventureland was the overlooked white elephant between all of Disneyland Paris’s themed lands. Checking the park guide for ride listings I discovered only two fully fledged mechanical rides in Adventureland, Pirates of the Caribbean and the Indiana Jones coaster, and the latter is of very dubious quality at least in terms of Disney’s standard of judgment. Everything else to me appeared to just be jungle-themed walkthroughs or interactive children’s exhibits, nothing that should have been of any real interest to park-goers in my demographics. But after crossing by the area several times to get to Pirates or Indiana Jones, both of which are located on the far back edge of Adventureland, I came under the impression that there was an awful lot of land in between the main walkways, and I wasn’t altogether sure what was contained within it. So I decided to explore.

Much of the land contained in Adventureland is dedicated to Adventure Isle. It’s basically a never-ending series of narrow, winding pathways interlocking in and around caves, rope bridges, waterfalls and tropical foliage. It’s not a maze, per se (although make sure you plan at least five to ten minutes’ escape time should you need to reconvene with a group or find the nearest restroom facilities) nor are there really any exhibits or other displays to be found. It’s just a chance to get off the main midways and go exploring, to try to see if you can possibly find every pathway, and then leave wondering if you somehow missed an entire corner. It’s a touch that seems distinctly European, a chance to discover things which one would never be able to point out on a map. Nearby is also La Cabane des Robinson, another entirely walk-through attraction, this one in an even more breathtaking setting (high up in a man-made tree overlooking the entire park) although this is sacrificed for a purely linear pathway route that doesn’t provide a chance to explore. Various sets are inspired by the Swiss Family Robinson story but unfortunately there’s never a completely clear vantage point from the top. For me the main curiosity is figuring out how we’re supposed to believe that a family living in economic autarky could produce for themselves so many items of convenience. I suppose this does still leave Adventureland to be a little underdeveloped in comparison to the other lands, however, having a chance to fully explore this land I no longer believe this was wholly unintentional or due to neglect from the park’s Imagineers, not that an additional D- or C-ticket attraction wouldn’t be unwelcomed somewhere back by the pathway to Indiana Jones which currently forms an awkward cul-de-sac.

Looking over the guide to attractions I noticed something; many of the attractions listed were not even attractions but simply extensions of the main midways meant to explore without having to wait in line. Apparently there was an additional Aladdin walk-through I never saw, a barracks built over the entrance of Frontierland I did have the chance to climb over, the Nautilus attraction in Discoveryland I didn’t think too much of, and several built throughout Fantasyland, the principle of which was the ability to climb in and around Le Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant. Unfortunately since this was still technically the off-season, the majority of the castle was closed for renovations works and not open to the public to walk around, save for some of the caves built beneath it, one featuring a large, slumbering dragon animatronic (thankfully the only other victims of off-season rehab during my visit was the Casey Jr. Train powered roller coaster, and honestly I had a hard time guessing where in the park it was even located that had to be closed off, as it’s sort of way back in its own corner of Fantasyland.) Also in Fantasyland was Alice’s Curious Labyrinth, a sort of hedge maze with interactive figures based on Alice in Wonderland, my favorite always being the smoking caterpillar. This is one walkthrough that, before entering, you need to calculate two things: will you have enough time to complete this before you need to use the restroom and before you need to be back at Big Thunder Mountain for (another) Fast Pass? I very nearly failed on both counts, such did the complexity of this labyrinth exceed my expectations.

Before wrapping up any and all Fantasyland reporting,  I must add a few notes on two more dark rides to be found in the area: Blanche-Neige et les Sept Nains (Snow White’s Scary Adventures), and Les Voyages de Pinocchio (Pinocchio’s Daring Journey). I liked these dark rides. They’re humble. That’s what makes them so great, unlike every other ride in the park where the Imagineers working on terra firma aimed for distant galaxies with their ambitions and the result is somewhere in between. They also remind me of the joy of watching one of the classic Disney animated films back when the company was still all about Walt’s dream of creating hand-drawn magic, and nothing else. The ride vehicles are simple, 6-person Sally-esque buggies that hum along an electric track past hand-painted scenes with simple 2D cutouts, retelling in five minutes the classic Disney movies of Snow White and Pinocchio. The queues aren’t long because they’re so out of the way, tucked in a small thatched of fantasy-Germanic buildings behind the Sleeping Beauty Castle. There are some happy sets, but also some scary, dark ones, which are effective not so much because of what is represented on the sets but through that aura associated with being on a simple dark ride such as these. Worth riding just because in their simplicity they are possibly two of the most authentically real feeling attractions in the park.

However, if there is one attraction in the park that I would return to Marne la Vallée just to ride, it would undoubtedly be Space Mountain: Mission 2. This thing flat-out rocks.

The first time I boarded it two days prior in the front row, I knew only a few things to expect: there was a launched lift hill to the top of the mountain, there were three inversions, the last of which is called a ‘tongue’ and you want to be especially careful when that one rolls around (think of the cutback on the ill-fated Drachen Fire and you’ve got the same idea). It’s built by Vekoma, meaning it’s rough-as-hell, and no one that’s ever been on it has a clue what goes on inside between the launch and the brakes. As we were dispatched from the station, all I really knew was, “this could potentially go many different ways. Literally and figuratively”. When I got back to the station with my hair blown back, tears streaming behind my eyes and the quiet realization that I had just experienced one of the better steel looping coasters I’ve ever been on. Needless to say it went the way I was hoping, although I wasn’t sure why.

First of all, was it Vekoma rough? Not at all. Okay, back-axel seat rows, maybe a little bit; and more-so the further back in the train you get. If you’re in the back part of the car, it’s more a case of watching your knees on the seatback in front of you than worrying about an increased rattle which contributes to only a few jarring moments in some of the more dynamic transitions. During front row rides my ears never once made a connection with the harness due to any cause other than my own moral agency. It’s not too difficult getting front since there’s an attendant assigning seats but they’re pretty flexible towards requests to wait an extra cycle to grab the next train out.

We roll around the turn, make a small dip under the exit platform, and then come to a sudden halt on the upward inclined brakes. For some reason, despite having made a transformation into Mission 2 a few years back, there are no special effects or decorations inside the launch cannon apart from a few simple strips of Christmas tree lights. The acceleration isn’t particularly fast but the g-forces are increased due to the slope. This is the only part of the ride in which you can see the outside world, at the top, it’s a plunge into blackness. I think there’s also supposed to be a pop of airtime on the crest to signify the weightlessness experienced upon our entry to space, but it wasn’t launching fast enough.

So far the coaster is only a few seconds in and there are already several critical counts against it. However, once we crest that hill and the beat from the soundtrack kicks in, the lead car hangs over the precipice of a black abyss for a split moment before diving downward, and here’s where the fun begins.

Honestly, I rode Space Mountain over 20 times between my three days at the Disneyland Resort, and even I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on in there, at least in a way in which I can picture the entire layout in my head. However, I did gather enough that I can at least describe a general sequence of events for those of you wanting to know but can’t see anything off the POVs (anyone know if there’s a lights-on POV video floating around teh interwebz anywhere?) Here’s my take on what happens: descending left-hand drop to ground level, continuing up around a high-speed banked turn, eventually leveling out for a moment before pounding into the first inversion, a sidewinder type element which pushes the limits of positives and forward inverting rotational movement through its tight circumference, and then throwing a sideways twist out of the maneuver. From here I recall another tighter, elevated turn or two before it slides onto the first midcourse. If there was any slowness in the launch, it certainly wasn’t to the detriment of the ride on the inside of the dome. The midcourse grabs hard, nearly bringing us to a halt, the soundtrack changing tempo to reflect this lost pace, but the fact that the music seems perfectly synced to our trains rolling off the midcourse back into the ride action suggests this heavy breaking may be intentional.

Off the midcourse brake there is a curving triple down in the dark. Wait, what? I thought the Voyage invented that? Apparently Disneyland Paris and Vekoma beat Holiday World and the Gravity Group to that one by a good eleven years. It actually took me a good four or five rides before I realized all those dips were continuous, and while it doesn’t produce any extreme forces itself, the sensual effect of diving down three times in a row while rounding a right-hand bend can feel a bit unusual by itself once you know to look for it. At the base of the triple down is the ride’s second inversion, a basic corkscrew threaded between a couple day-glo asteroids. It then wraps around a bit more before feeding into the second midcourse block, this one in the form of a minor lift hill (à la Loch Ness Monster’s midcourse lift), something else I was not expecting my first time through the ride. Projected on a screen in front of us as the motors work to quickly get us over the top is a short clip of a supernova going off, the soundtrack synced to produce rumbling sounds and the music score fades out before diving back to its frantic beat.

Another diving curve, followed by, I think, a second banked turn (somewhere around here I was really wondering when that tongue I was warned about would happen, or if it had already gone by and I somehow hadn’t registered it). Bam, small dip and then we’re twisting up, upside-down, making a sudden and slightly unintuitive direction change right as we’re at our most precarious a full 180° turned away from gravity. The train rotates back out of the inversion, and then follows the floor of the mountain closely as it navigates a slightly undulating ground-level turn. While the dome has been rather sparse on custom themeing so far, a tunnel of spiraling red tracer light closes out this final turn, and the mindbending effect this produces makes me wish Disney decided to build this near a coffee shop in Amsterdam instead. The train plows into the braking area (viewable from the queue), and without even coming to a full stop it prowls around a couple flat turns as it navigates us back to our home port. At this point, if I was in the front seat, I was whipping the tears which had streamed from my eyes and fingering through my hair.

Alright, so sounds like a pretty cool ride, right? Why do I give it such particular praise? Well, for one, I like the fact that this is a layout I have never seen before and has a completely non-standard sequencing pattern from every other multilooper. Things like the first inversion taking place later in the layout and not being a vertical loop, the triple down off the first midcourse, the cutback and effects tunnel, it all stands out above the competition as having an original bag of trick up its sleeve.

Secondly, it’s intense without ever being rough. Especially in the dark setting, it’s easy to get really disoriented in there, and apart from the crest of the main hill I never felt like any element was slower paced than it was intended to be. The era of construction may be a factor, as designers had figured out force engineering and calculus by that point to build layouts that didn’t hold back on pace or intensity for fear that they may unexpectedly go too far. But they still retained a bit of a raw, untamed edge which would eventually disappear from their designs, plus the standards of what constituted “too intense” hadn’t yet been lowered to the level they are today. So it also has all of that going for it, which is generally all I ask from a good looping coaster.

But thirdly, and this is what really gave it the extra push over other like-minded designs and put it in the bottom of my Top Ten, is that it knows how to sequence itself properly, and it uses the let-ups in pacing to its advantage. While some designs pride themselves on no-holds-barred intensity from lift to brakes, Space Mountain is wise enough to strategically allow a couple moments’ pauses. They don’t come off as dead moments, but more like calms between storms (possibly aided by the soundtrack and visual effects which try to make these moments ‘fit’ with the rest of the action around it). I can always appreciate how much I enjoyed the previous section and how much I’m looking forward to the next, which is harder to do when the pacing is non-stop. The layout is divided into three thirds, and no one section outshines the others, and yet they’re all very different and unique. Each has a singular, original inversion sandwiched by various forms of curving and or dropping motions with some scant special effects. And unlike Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster next door, which is mostly just meandering turnarounds, here the layout feels like it’s actually setting out to accomplish something (anything!) for the riders.

If there is one point of criticism I’d have to take with Space Mountain it’s the conception of outer space present here. This is actually true of nearly all themed attractions that involve space travel, as well as the majority of Hollywood movies and other media involving the final frontier. It’s the failure to realize that what makes space so awe-inspiring isn’t improved by the ability to zoom past stars at “light speed” and hear a supernova explode just so you can fly away from it in the nick of time, nor is it using black holes as convenient teleportation devices or island hopping alien planets like you’re taking a drive down the neighborhood. What makes space so amazing is the inconceivably vast emptiness of it, the incredible inertia of the relatively microscopic heavenly bodies that occupy it, and the seemingly infinite quantities of time these bodies have at their disposal to get anything done. Why it is that popular culture feels these attributes need to be subverted rather than embraced is mystery only behind what shape the plane of the universe occupies. Personally, I always find these attempts to take space and make it more ‘exciting’ or ‘thrilling’ in fact just make it pedestrian and banal (the recent Star Trek reboot is only one of many suffering from this problem). Thankfully, DLP’s Space Mountain is a lesser offender since the retro-futuristic use of the Jules Verne story (and subsequent Georges Méliès film adaptation in 1902) gives the ride more of a historical, literary theme rather than one grounded in so-called science fiction. The transformation into Mission 2 was most likely not a step in the right direction, however, since from my understanding it replaced the iconic image of the spaceship landing in the moon’s eye with a supernova explosion, and –hello!– you can’t hear a supernova! I guess for a ride as fast-paced as Space Mountain an attempt to try to accurately capture those qualities of space would be misfit, so this is more of a general cultural criticism rather than anything to say about this particular attraction.

After a final ride in the front row of Space Mountain, my time at Disney was now over. As I walked down Main Street USA, stopping in the emporium to pick up a cheap refrigerator magnet souvenir, I asked myself whether or not I enjoyed Disneyland Paris.

Yes, I concluded. I genuinely did. While it might be easy to find criticism against the Disney Corporation as a whole, I think it’s clear that the people that work in and design these parks have a genuine love for what they do and for creating the best guest experience they possibly know how. While that might sound like an obvious observation, one look at other branches of the Disney Empire might not so quickly reveal the same thing, pretty much across the globe save for a certain studio in Emeryville, California. It was also more of a European experience than I may have imagined, taking some considerations of the continent’s culture and fitting it into the equation, rather than simply trying to export an American product to France with no afterthought. Surprisingly, this would be more of a problem at many European-owned parks I would later travel to, which seemed to be attempting to replicate the American model of theme park as closely as they could only with less success.

The story will not end there. Unfortunately I do not have enough time or patience to continue it with this review, but neither do I suspect most readers so I think it will be best to leave my final social and aesthetic critique of the “themed experience” for a later time and as its own special feature. To preface what’s to come: as I left the park my thoughts were as many enthusiasts, “wow, the themeing is some of the best I’ve seen anywhere.” But then a voice in the back of my head asked a follow-up question.

“So what?”

How do I answer?

Next: Vienna

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