Traveling to Orlando Florida


Article submitted by Ruth Davitian of Cheap Hotels

Land of California Crazy Architecture, strip malls, and kitschy tourist attractions, The Sunshine State’s Orlando is no longer a vacation destination to whisper only to your AARP group. Sure, this place is cheesy and crowded and loud and commercialized beyond belief. Yes, the flashing neon lights and beckoning billboards of desperation-based commerce are there, but so are the good old Winn-Dixies and the pecan stands, the rubber alligators and the Drive-Your-Own-Racecar-Just-Like-Richard-Petty tracks. Orlando’s not only the perfect place in which to soak up some southern sun, but also to sponge up the local quirky color that makes a vacation one to remember. Who could forget a toothless woman wearing brilliant blue caked eye shadow and a pink flowered housedress, selling palm tree earrings by the side of the road? She will forever remain the poster woman for the state, in my brain.

I’m in Orlando now, on my terrace at Westgate Vacation Villas. It’s only about a mile to the gates of Disney World, and miles and miles from real life. I’m looking down upon a sunset-reflecting ripply lake with a white swan paddleboat planted in the middle. There are black ducks quacking around the edges, and kids splashing in the pool. The waterfalls splash, too, and the water effects are better than one of those Japanese machines that are supposed to relax the way-too-stressed average American. From here I can see a tall building outlined in 1960s neon aqua-green, and a mini-golf course replete with grimacing dinosaurs. The ducks have just whooshed into the lake and they’re skimming, en masse, below my screened-in private porch. It’s autumn where I live, but summer seems to be eternal here.

Most people recognize the name Westgate as a time share deal. It is indeed a time share, and probably a very good one, but I’m here as a guest, which seems to be a little-known option associated with Westgate Resorts. It beats the heck out of a cramped little hotel room, and my huge hulk of a 16-year-old son thinks so too. Traveling-with-parents teens (and traveling-with-teens parents) need privacy, and Villa #1516 has just that. It’s a double unit, complete with its own enormous apartment on each side. The place is so spacious that I almost get lost. Each apartment has a cutting-edge kitchen, living room, TV, Jacuzzi, granite-walled shower, bed (I wax euphoric about the beds here: the high-thread-count pillows and linens and blankets; oh my!) Each individual unit has its own washer/dryer, dishwasher, sink, stove, fridge . . . All the comforts of home, and then some. There’s HDTV in my living room, and a sectional leather sofa, large enough for good stretching. The place is immaculate (not a dust bunny to be found), and quiet, and ever-so-efficiently run. Somebody here is an Expert Folder of Towels. She – or he – has folded washcloths into adorable baby ducks and perky penguins. Towels are folded to make baskets to hold towels, and on my bed rests two towel-swans: heads meeting to make the shape of hearts. The surprise tonight was a towel elephant, perched saucily cross-legged on the side of the Jacuzzi. The folding is an art, and I hate to mess up the finely-executed efforts by actually using the towels.

My son’s doing his own laundry on his side, and I’m doing mine over here. He’s watching his TV; I’m watching mine. How sublime. I can’t wait to bring the grandson, once he’s old enough to patiently bear the lines at Disney. Speaking of Disney, it is still — TA-DA! — magical. I was worried about that, as it’s been 34 years since I walked these sparkly streets. I last saw The Magic Kingdom when I was 14; now I’m nearing 50. I still, however, got the same chills upon boarding the boat for the quintessential Disney exhibit “It’s A Small World.” I climbed the tree house of The Swiss Family Robinson, after asking a teenage attendant if I was too old for the climb. (“Shoot, no!” she drawled. “We even have grandparents who do it!”) and I zoomed through the darkness of Brer Rabbit’s Laughing Hole in a fast-moving boat. I met a tattooed biker dude who said that The Flight of Peter Pan was fantastic (even for a grownup), and he was right. The sight of Cinderella’s castle moved me to tears. We Baby Boomer kids of the ‘50s and ‘60s were raised on fairy tales, you know, and we’re still in search of Happily Ever After. In Disney, we can believe that it really exists, that fairy tales can come true, and that magic happens. It’s as if the Kingdom is sprinkled with fairy dust.

Of course, there have been some improvements and modern innovations in the past decades, such as the likenesses of Johnny Depp in the Pirates ride. Who, though, could complain about that?! I just spoke on the cell phone to my grandson Connor, who’s 2. He knows Mickey, and Minnie, and Goofy, too. I debated the jealousy factor of whether or not to tell him that I met them, and that I kissed Mickey on his soft mouse cheek. It was one of the best moments of the week. I decided to spill the beans to Connor, and hoped that he wouldn’t be too envious of the fact that his grandmother beat him to the mouse. “Guess what, buddy? I met Mickey Mouse! I met Minnie! I saw Goofy! I kissed Mickey! It was so cool!” There was a typical toddler silence on the other end, and then my sweet little grandbaby said, “I . . . love . . . you.” Ok; just melt my heart and put it in a pan and fry it up with grits. I cannot wait to bring this kid to Disney.

Epcot has an amazing ride called “Soarin’,” and MGM has Star Tours and the Aerosmith Rock ‘n‘ Roller Coaster. MGM’s competition – Universal – has a wild Twister attraction that puts you in the middle of a tornado (Um, yeah. A tornado. Doesn’t everybody want to do that?) Islands of Adventure has the best 3-D Spiderman ride and a cool Dr. Seuss section.

After 4 days straight of amusement park hopping, I’m tired. It’s a good tired, though, a magical wand-waving flying-elephant dwarf-whistling tired. It’s the kind of tired that’s transformed by falling into a bed at Westgate Vacation Villas, where fairy tales come true every day and night. I’d write more, but it’s late, I’m tired, and Disney dreams are waiting, even for an old fogey like me.

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submit on February 9th 2011 in Travel

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