Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
The wonder of Wonderland
Last Friday morning I posted on Facebook that I was off to Canada’s Wonderland for the day on a bus charter, and that I was just so darned excited I could barely wait for the kids to get on the bus. Several of my “friends” who are substantially younger than myself cheered on my enthusiasm, and were just as excited as I was (many of them were going on said trip as part of a school band/choir performance outing). They all just wanted to see me on the Behemoth. Several of my older “friends” wrote on my Wall that they completely understood my disclaimer against going on the “spinny” rides. Seems us old folks just don’t do those anymore. But give us straight and fast, with lots of hills, and we’re in!
Well, the day had promised to be rainy and wet and not altogether pleasant, and then did a delightful job of proving itself wrong, providing a slight breeze, plenty of sunshine and a few clouds to make it pretty. And Wonderland proved to be every bit as fantastic as I had hoped it would be.
Why on earth do I love this place so much? It’s noisy, expensive, crowded, expensive, commercial, expensive, and just another amusement park. Lining up for two hours for a 30-second thrill should not be how I spend the precious minutes of my life. Like heck they shouldn’t be!
I do believe my first trip to Wonderland was when I was around 12 or 13. It was a class trip to the “new place” – we were so excited we didn’t have to go to the zoo, or Ontario Place AGAIN. The night before that trip was the first time I pulled an all-nighter, sitting on the floor beside my brother’s bed, prodding him awake with my excitement. That trip gave me my first real roller coaster ride. And even then, I didn’t really like the spinny rides.
I fondly remember those first days of the park – walking behind the waterfall that flows off the mountain (a mountain that, funnily enough, strongly resembles Mount Pilatus in Switzerland, the mountain we lived at the base of for seven years), the themes of each of the sections of the park, and the neat music pumped through the speakers that was befitting each area. Medieval music by the Dragon Fyre, Chinese music in International Fair. I also remember a Chinese restaurant where all the parent chaperones mysteriously disappeared mid-afternoon that day. Turns out it was the only licensed restaurant in the park at the time…
Wonderland is also where my husband and I spent our honeymoon. When we married, we couldn't take a huge amount of time off from our respective jobs, and we knew we were getting the honeymoon of a lifetime when we moved to Europe later in the year, so, two days after the wedding, we spent a romantic day wandering the park, screaming our faces off. The new ride that year was the Drop Zone. We tried it, got fervently religious on the way up, and got off the ride in tears, clinging to one another and vowing that, if we could survive that ride, we could surely survive the years ahead of us.
Now we take the kids, and, where we once spent more time in the lines for the biggest roller coasters in the park, we now spend time in Kids Zone, watching and waiting as they go on the little balloons that don't rise more than five metres off the ground for the 15th time in a row. That's okay. We wait, letting our stomachs settle after the feed of funnel cake that is an absolute MUST when visiting Wonderland.
The park has changed a great deal over the years. In the beginning there were no Dairy Queens, or Pizza Pizzas, or Starbucks. It was charmingly independent.
But times change, of course, and business is business, so it’s not the same. Rides have come and gone (does anyone remember the Zumba Flume?), big conglomerates have taken over. And yet, it’s very much the same. It smells like nothing else, that mixture of fresh air, cotton candy, fried food and, if excitement can have a smell, it’s there too. It looks the same. Still pristine clean, still neatly trimmed lawns. (I only take exception with one thing – they’ve gone and painted the rainbow over the bridge to what was once Hanna Barberaland, so now it’s all bright and vibrant and completely, well, wrong.)
While there last week, my colleague and I, while standing in line for The Bat, noted that we were arguably the oldest people in the queue. We practically jumped up and down in delight when we spotted a gentleman with snow-white hair hop off the ride ahead of us. He survived, so would we!
My body doesn't react the same way it used to when "doing" a ride. My stomach still does the funny little jumps, I still scream like an idiot, and I still shake a litte when disembarking. That's part of the fun of it all! But I have to pace myself. Gotta take a break for a little while, or I won't feel well enough to drive my charges, whoever they may be, home. Must be responsible. To tell the truth, though, I don't mind at all. I am just as happy to wander about, take in the sights, watch my kids, watch other people's kids, go nuts just like I used to. It doesn't diminish my experience at all. I love Wonderland, in all it's overpriced, noisy, manicured glory.
Did I try the Behemoth? My tummy told me not to.
