Eurodisney – a good enough reason for having kids?

Before we went, I told the children that I’d been looking forward to taking them to Disneyland since before they were born.

We all have vague notions and idealistic visions of becoming a parent, and I was no different. I basically had kids so I could take them to Disney. Don’t get me wrong, I think Disney princesses are nauseating, the films reductive, Pixar looks plastic, and the tut they sell lacks charm, for all it’s overpriced. I’m not a Disney fan, but having been to Disney World Florida thrice as an over privileged brat with an overexcited dad myself, I am not immune to the idealised world that the Disney parks represent.

The first time, I went as a toddler, of which I have no recollection and to be honest, I don’t recommend for any parent wishing to actually enjoy themselves. The scale is too big, the queues are too long, the food so utterly dismal this is no place for genuine smalls, for all they may stay and play for free. The second, like Ava this time, as a gappy six year old where I had my picture taken with Mickey Mouse with crimped hair and a rara skirt. Luckily my daughter has more taste and was largely petrified of the characters save for a bunny who looks an awful lot like the sexy one for the Cadbury’s Caramel advert, which saved a lot of standing around in the rain. The third time, I went as a teen, when released from the shackles of parental over attention, I managed to conduct five separate love affairs, marginally escaping deflowering by a Disney lifeguard who sent a dalmatian puppy to my room, but who thankfully baulked when I told him I was only fifteen (I was 14 in fact, but had apparently been successful in bumping my age up five years).

But while my escapades all took place in the glorious sun and hurricanes of Orlando Florida, where we ran the gamut of Cape Canaveral, Busch Gardens and my favourite aging 60s classic, the Epcot Centre, my children’s, through reason of finance and time povery took place at Disneyland Paris.

We drove through the tunnel, leaving at 5.00 am on Friday morning and arriving raring to go at around midday, allowing an hour time difference. Heading first for Disney Studios, the part of the park that’s more about the films than the fantasy, after we had checked in at Davy Crockett Ranch – the budget Disney option about ten minutes drive away, but one that enabled us to sleep in separate bedrooms from our kids – essential – and had everything we needed when we all flopped down for the night, and retreat for a chilly swim in the perfectly adequate pool – we went straight for Rock n’ Roller coaster and a 20 minute queue. Despite the attendant managing to slam the restraint so hard on my womb I fear for any future offspring, both live kids came off grinning. “This is Awesome”, Jonah enthuses, and so the adventure began.

The sun crept scorchingly from behind the many clouds, as we gave in indulgently to toffee apples and a sticky fingered meander through a behind the scenes tour, which didn’t disappoint by virtue of lowering expectations to begin with, followed by a technicoloured wander through Toy Story where the kids and Tom queued for half hour to go on a stomach wrenching JayCee Rider while I baked my face  in the sun. It’s just as well I did. The weather turned against us, but not before we’d had the delicious experience of wandering into the main park to be greeted with beautiful spring flowers, and the quaint perfection of Main Street and saccharine Fantasy Land beyond. I have to confess, this was my favourite part. For all I’m a hard bitten cynic about most things, my inner Daddy’s girl came out as we wandered round the castle walls, discovered Cinderella’s coach in the grounds of the park’s most expensive restaurant – Auberge de Cendrillon – waltzed on a shockingly swift but charmingly decorated carousel, and meandered through Blanc Neige at les 7 Nains (which Ava thought was the most terrifying ride of all) –  and all the other cutsie Small World attractions, while the crowds were temporarily mesmerized by the parades. Even Jonah, not a fan of costume drama by any means, found it within himself to smile at the festivities, but he made me laugh by remarking about “poor those people having to dress up all the time” as if it was the most hideous job in the world. But then, perhaps he’s got a point.

The characters do bring out the child in people, and not always in a good way, clamouring for a photo, but refusing to queue to draw a distinct parallel between Tom and Woody, Woody drew his hand across his throat at me. I rather suspect he’d had it with pushy parents, and I can hardly blame him. There was a definite Frenchiness about the staff. There was no Floridian “have a nice day” fake sincerity here. Plenty looked glum, particularly the single woman behind the coffee queue serving about a zillion people with crappy machine coffee and over priced soda. I’d lose the will to live too, in that situation. I think they are chronically underpaid and it shows.

Mostly, the staff were perfectly pleasant but one of two got my goat. The waitress in the Blue Lagoon which takes in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, was frosty for no particular reason – although she probably served the best food in the whole park – certainly among the plethora of overpriced junk that we forced down our throats. And the woman letting on fast pass riders for our second round of Rock n’ Rollercoaster was downright rude, shoving Ava against the measurement stick for all we knew she was tall enough and pulling down her hood in the pouring rain. When I objected, she told me I could get off if I liked and as I walked away I caught her laughing at me with the people behind, which drove my adrenaline up more than any of the rides.

For all Disney is spectacular, and the French version even more beautiful than my memories of Florida, the rides are fairly tame, but for me that’s no bad thing: the Tower of Terror with its vertical drops is pretty much my limit, and I loved the 1920s styling and immersive theatre. And those bigger rides situated at the outer extremes of the park – India Jones and the Temple of Doom, for example, attract much smaller queues than some of the tamer rides closer in. You do have to be a bit strategic about queuing. Fast passes allow riders to plan their day and come back to one ride to save queues. We beat long queues for the runaway train and felt like we were winning before we’d even got on.  Our longest was for Star Tours, a motion simulator that at the very least unclicked my back, and which thankfully Jonah felt was worth it. He didn’t, however thank us for insisting on waiting for the steam train to take us across the park in the persistent drizzle, after we waited over 45 minutes to get on. To be fair, we could have walked it in half the time, but that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him make a statement to the effect of preferring to use his legs.

In fact, the attractions we all thought were the most fun were also the ones that required the most participation, The Curious Maze, a madcap Alice in Wonderland themed rat race was a hit with everyone, as was a wander through Adventureland, which given the weather really did feel like an adventure. But we wrapped up in multiple layers and waterproofs (having the car meant we could literally bring all the coats) and by and large our spirits were kept up, aided and abetted by frequent topping up of our sugar levels.

In the main, though the food is abominable. We paid in advance for vouchers that gave us breakfast, and afternoon snack, and an evening meal, and it was a case of spot the nutrition. Baguettes and croissants with Nutella are all very well if you want kids who can’t sit still. But for me, who is gluten free,  corn crispbread (my substitution) as not enough to keep me going till Magnum o’clock, which itself necessitated a 20 minute queue.  So we gorged on £50 quids worth of fast food at lunchtime, which was kinda gross, even in the themed restaurants that looked nice from the outside but felt kinda hollow on the inside, which is probably the best metaphor for Disney you can find.

However, an all you can eat buffet at Carter’s on Main street was a nice experience for all the kids gorged sweets by their handful, and probably didn’t need a stick of candy floss to finish them off for the journey home. In all, though, Jonah kept saying thank you so much for taking us, and I bonded with Ava, back packing her around in the rain, as well as a slightly sozzled night rollercoaster with the boy that had us skipping home along the travellators at the exit to the park (PEOPLE YOU CAN ACTUALLY WALK ON THEM). It was fun.

We drove home in the worst of the weather, for which we felt grateful we weren’t attempting to stay cheerful in, and watch that night’s evening show, which we’d caught the on first night’s balmy evening, but whose multiple climaxes bored Jonah, and Ava was so shattered she fell asleep in Planet Hollywood straight afterwards face down in a plate of expensive ribs.

It was, in all, a weekend that just about justified having children, and for Jonah, who told me in a heart wrenching confession in the Blue Lagoon he wished he’d never been born, it provided at least temporary respite from the trauma of living in the real world. But like I said to him, the very fact we have been to Disney at all makes us luckier than probably 99 percent of the rest of the world. But whether that’s a reason to be cheerful is, perhaps another story.