Where's Fairy Godmother When You Need Her?

Donald Duck welcomes you to Disneyland!
Photo by Kris Pullante

Kowloon in an atypical December: the sun was shining as though its greatest desire was to greet the coming New Year with a strong glow fit for the summer. Hong Kong mainstays, crisply dressed and predominantly clad in clothes hued in dark palettes, were out and about in the streets.

It might have been a bit chillier to tropic dwellers like us, inured as we are to a slight breeze and cardigan weather during the last month of the year, but my family thought nothing of it as we looked forward to a magical day at Hong Kong Disneyland. And indeed, our first look at the theme park was nothing short of magical: a steady drizzle of ice-cold droplets of rain coupled with a frosty wind gave us a rather unexpected welcome, to say the least. How could the weather change like that so quickly and drastically? It was the magic of Disneyland, I guess.



Visits to the squeaky-clean, family-friendly tourist draws of Hong Kong are to be expected when traveling with a middle-aged aunt and uncle whose personal travel philosophy seemed to be to maintain a range of experiences that should not surpass the standards of safety and comfort much better suited for a five-year-old. That, and we were also traveling with their equally sheltered little daughter, who was, back then, an actual five-year-old. So no matter how much I would like to climb up the 288 steps leading up to the Giant Buddha and eat a steaming bowl of freshly-cooked noodles from the grimy street shops of Tsim Sha Tsui, I really could not risk the worry and possible ire of the people who financed our entire trip.

At the Sunny Bay station of Hong Kong’s MTR, a sleek, white and blue train with Mickey Mouse-shaped glass windows screeched to a halt. The train doors opened smoothly, and, with a metallic thump, welcomed the passengers in its lush interiors. Inside were velvety curved seats in brilliant indigo, and black Mickey Mouse-shaped handles accommodated eager tourists in case the seats filled up. Pristine, glossy white walls and a roof resembling the starry night sky dominated the rest of the train. Various Disney characters were immortalized in bronze, perched in circular pedestals, and encapsulated in clear glass between the seats.

A cool woman’s voice issued out of the train's invisible speakers, articulating warnings and announcements in two Chinese dialects, and then in English. I wanted to ask her if we were still in Hong Kong. The train itself seemed to be an extension of some alternate universe—anything Disney tends to give you that otherworldly feeling, except that it somehow lost its strangeness and it is easy to embrace, unlike that creepy feeling you get from seeing pictures of crop circles and UFO sightings.

A Disney-themed MTR train would not be complete without Mickey Mouse-shaped handles and windows. Photos by Kris Pullante

The peddlers outside the majestic iron gates of the theme park seemed to be the only ones prepared for the sudden downpour; they were modeling their merchandise (as if they had any other choice, given the torrential rain) of cheerfully-colored umbrellas and rain ponchos the color of summer skies. Disgruntled tourists all but mobbed the tiny carts, a godsend for those who had but one day available in their itineraries to tour 299 acres of pure earthly fantasy and risk-free adventure.

With chattering teeth and knocking knees, our rain ponchos flapping furiously in the wind and the cold rain lightly soaking the bottoms of our trousers, we trudged our way towards the Fantasyland area. First up on every adventurous five-year-old’s list is a death-defying ride at the Mad Hatter Tea Cups.

Truth be told, I was a bit apprehensive at the prospect of riding anything that revolves—even though they were nothing more than pastel-colored teacups the size of a lavatory cubicle. An image of me throwing up after a nauseating ride involving a hanging seat going round and round for what seemed like hours on end flashed before me as I locked my gaze on kids inside the revolving teacups, screaming with glee and childlike abandon.

After a few minutes of gentle coaxing, my mother managed to convince me to ride a teacup. I did wish I was as warm as a real cup of tea often is, though. I shot a death glare at my brothers and told them that under no circumstances should they turn the steering wheel that would revolve the teacup, unless they wanted their ponchos drenched with something other than rainwater.

We had long since decided that we were supposed to embrace water as a blessing to Earth and its inhabitants, no matter the circumstances; to commemorate this epiphany, a ride on the Jungle River Cruise was in order. There was no point in keeping ourselves dry in that kind of weather at an outdoor theme park, after all; we immediately queued in front of the line labeled “English.” Two more lines for Cantonese- and Mandarin-speaking tourists flanked ours. The river cruise was a Tarzan-inspired boat ride that featured hippos spraying water on unsuspecting sightseers, apes destroying an early 20th century camping site, and other jungle animal automatons in their natural habitat.

With a wide-eyed look of perennial incredulity, our tour guide Stephen, donning a khaki adventurer outfit reminiscent of the late Steve Irwin, spewed out a well-rehearsed script in a permanently amazed tone of voice. “Look to da rayth! Oh no! Da cubruh iz tryink to bite you! Be curfull! Oww, da heepuh is skwurtink wahtah at you! Is okay, is okay, dun be apfred!” If I failed at understanding his heavily accented English, at least I felt the enthusiasm in his voice. As part of his spiels, Stephen makes rather clever wisecracks as well. Just allow two seconds for accent processing.

As the boat ride reached its final stop, a great Tiki god loomed ominously, looking down on us as he sat regally upon the artificial river’s shore. Without warning, the sculpture emitted a deep, booming roar and released an explosion of bright orange flames from within its petrified mouth and under its colossal head, just as our boat was drifting innocently past it. Instead of feeling alarmed, I felt a rushing, soothing feeling of intense warmth. “Oh no, da fayur god iz enkri!” Stephen exclaimed none too emphatically. Anger soothes no one; but, as it turns out, there is an exception to every rule.

Seeking refuge from the bitter cold involved munching on freshly-baked pastries; as evident from long line at the Market House Bakery, no one could resist the aroma of buttered croissants and ham-and-cheese pizzas wafting along Main Street. Also, entering the souvenir shops and gawping desirously at the overpriced items on sale is a good option. Another is going on indoor rides, such as the Space Mountain in Tomorrowland. 

The "dreaded" Space Mountain, the bane of my brother's existence. Photo by Kris Pullante

Space Mountain is a roller coaster ride completely swathed in darkness, except for galaxies, shooting stars, and spaceships flashing all around you as the roller coaster dodges them. I was laughing all the way through, not just because of the thrill, but because I could plainly hear my seventeen-year-old brother screaming in his bass voice that he wanted to get off the ride. I can vividly imagine his terrified face as the roller coaster plunged into the abyss, and all five feet and nine inches of him trembling in fear as we made yet another hairpin turn.

At the exit, a couple of flat-screen TV monitors displayed pictures taken in one of the ride’s scariest moments, and it ostentatiously flashed a photo of my brother cringing, his eyes tightly shut and his head turned slightly away as though he was bracing himself for a sudden space laser shot. In contrast, my youngest brother had his mouth open in an apparent expression of delight. My brother quickly ushered us out, mumbling something about Mom waiting for us outside in the cold.

 

Yours truly, pretending it was a nice, balmy evening in Disneyland with the rowdy bunch (including that oversized kid of a brother). The Sleeping Beauty Castle is even more gorgeous at night.

As the clock struck nine thirty, the crowd put on their 3D glasses and looked upon the night sky. Against the enchanting backdrop of the Sleeping Beauty Castle, Disney’s most prominent icon after Mickey Mouse, a spectacular shower of multicolored fireworks filled the sky and paled the stars in rhythmic harmony to a beautiful medley of Disney classics. It had stopped raining by then, but it was still rather blustery.

The weather did wreak havoc as it is wont to do at the most inopportune moments, but the place was still abound with nostalgic smiles, sparkling eyes, and skipping feet, and the air was thick with the joyful laughter of grown men and the excited chatter of preschool-age children. Disneyland might just be the “happy” in the human’s collective unconscious. Why, indeed, was there fun to be had under grey skies, surrounded by cold wind and rain? It’s the magic of Disneyland, I guess.

So this is how Hong Kong Disneyland looks like in more pleasant weather. Photo by Kris Pullante

A foggy view of Hong Kong's central district, from Victoria Peak. This is how Hong Kong really is during December. The photo was taken a day after our Disneyland trip.