Disneyland: A 21-year-olds Playground


Standing at St Pancras, ticket in hand and a bag full of snacks like a school kid on a day out, my boyfriend and I waited patiently at the Eurostar ready to board. We were heading to Disneyland and the centre of Paris, a present for my 21st birthday. The couple in front had clearly no sense of geography, we were in London, not Paris, yet they seemed to be consumed by each others faces. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with a bit of PDA now and again, but when you’ve got two people slobbering all over each other like a pair of bull mastiffs in a butchers, you’d wish you were a butcher yourself!

After an hour or so we arrived at our first stop, who knows where this was because I don’t. All I remember is looking out to what I could only describe as somewhere that looked like the stereotypical Eastern Europe you would see in a film, Slovakia perhaps! It looked as if the life had been drained from not only the people walking around the station, but from the place itself. Never had I seen a more depressing, dull and grey environment. Sticking to our guns, not literally, we did what any quick thinking Brits would do, follow the English family in front of us, surely they’d be going to Disneyland. And guess what, our luck was in, they were!

Before long we had made the journey to Disneyland, dropped our bags off at our hotel (fully equipped with bunk beds) and were in the park ready to explore what Mickey Mouse and his furry pals had to offer. I had never visited Disneyland as a child, a mistake my parents should regret for the rest of their lives, but I was soon in that child mentality again! In a way you could say that it allowed me to appreciate it much more.

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