I haven’t seen a Starbucks in three days. I’m sitting here on the floor in a hall at the Coronado Springs Hotel, bereft of Internet access, jacked into a hallway plug for power. First, a message to NCTE—DO IT BETTER NEXT YEAR! Let me elaborate, in structured paragraphs.
First—Internet access. Supposedly we are at a conference for 21st century educators. Not everyone, however, has the money to have the 4G data plan up and running, either on smartphone or netbook. This would not be too much of a problem, were a) everyone staying at the conference hotel, getting $10-20 per day tacked onto their fees (though I hate that, too, when I can stay at a Comfort Inn in Flagstaff Arizona and get free Wi-Fi with my inexpensive room), or b) if Wi-Fi were transferable between Disney Resort Hotels, the problems would be solved as well, since Disney owns everything within 8 square miles, or c) if the conference had arranged consistent, free, wi-fi. But they didn’t. Apparently (and I’m just guessing here), there are times of sponsorship by companies that give the fleeting illusion of decent wi-fi access. However, these times come and go without warning, or instruction for that matter. To try to hold a convention with educators used to ubiquitous access is nuts, if you don’t have the very tech tools you exhort them to use.
Second—Choose a better place. The Disney World experience is beyond the scope of this particular paragraph (more later), but, simply put, the hotels are too far apart and too difficult to get around between. When I found out that the route to my residential hotel (Disney’s Caribbean Beach) would be shut down for two hours in the mid-afternoon, I checked to see if it was possible to walk back. The two-word answer, “Not safely.” The other possibility was taking the Disney Resort shuttle service, which would whisk (or chug) me to a theme park, from which I could grab a connector back to my resort. I decided to wait until 4:30 and grade essays. Even the two convention hotels are a couple of miles away from each other. Disney World is so structured that one almost must take motorized transport (preferably a Disney shuttle) to get between any amenities.
As an addendum to the previous paragraph—I hope you got a SMOKIN’ deal on the venues, NCTE, because otherwise it’s not worth it. Disney’s certainly got a lot of the attendees’ money to boost the corporate bottom line, so I hope the organization benefited as well.
So, what color is the sky in Disney World? Totally other. Walt Disney’s vision of an integrated amusement center has come true over the last almost 40 years, and it’s a brave new world. Most of this world’s elements relate to the complaints I’ve voiced. But where shall we start?
It’s impossible to walk anywhere safely except inside the demarcated areas of the resorts and attractions. All the broad boulevards and freeways are bordered by pine woods (probably planted), with that difficult-to-penetrate thorny undergrowth and hanging moss characteristic of Southern forests. But there are no sidewalks or trails, either beside the roads, or into the woods. The only choice is to walk on the pavement or the relatively narrow grass verge.
However, all is pristine—no trash along the roadways, no billboards, few advertisements, and, interestingly, not that much traffic. I assume the ubiquitous buses on their routes are responsible for that lack of clutter. This does come at a cost; if the bus doesn’t come, you’re stranded, as I was for an hour and a half this afternoon.
And, by the way—pristine? It’s too pristine. The colors are there, the music is there (as in Aruba, the Holiday Inn-like complex where I’m staying), the beach is there, the water [no actual swimming in it] is there, but the life . . .? Here is the Caribbean, inhabited by Americans, Canadians, Japanese—an international set of consumers. The slums, the dive bars are nowhere to be seen. This is the Disney vision; a sanitized version of culture.
But it’s all good. I’ve just never been into the amusement park experience, and this is certainly the ultimate amusement park experience. What’s intriguing, though, is the way reality is screened from view in a place like this. As one rides the shuttle buses, one becomes aware that, half-glimpsed behind a screen of trees, are maintenance yards and commercial parking lots, lots that hold all the garbage trucks that haul the trash to keep the parks pristine.
And I’m conscious of a certain irony—Starbucks is an international chain, so why do I have a problem with Disney? (But I actually like Starbucks coffee, and the less tasty Disney version costs more.) I remember being impressed by places like Browns or Loch Fyne in Britain, until Nathan told me they were chains. But—again—I like their food or fish. So what does this mean? Do I just want choice in my patronization of conglomerates? But there is something more, something real. I see it in Mexico, at J.J.’s and Xoltis, in the Mazatzals and elsewhere. But, enough. At the top is a picture of my hotel, from across the lake, below, a picture of some flamingo-like birds that congregate like gulls around the resort, and, in the middle, the resort central restaurant and store where I do most of my eating.
