Page 143 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

But I was not there to criticise the American way of life, even that witnessed
from a bus speeding through the less desirable environs of a great and growing
city. What was far more to the point was Disneyland itself.

Built only some ten years before my visit, the manner in which this paean
to pleasure operated was a revelation. I have to admit that I had never been to
a British parallel to Disneyland (not that there was a true equivalent, Butlin’s
Holiday Camps perhaps being the only pleasure-palaces that catered to a similar
segment of society), but I was completely taken aback by the sheer efficiency of
the operation. There were thousands of visitors, but if a queue was necessary, it
was always moving quickly, the staff were abundantly polite and attentive, the
food was well prepared and fresh (if, in taste and imagination, pretty dreadful)
and the attractions themselves ingenious and spectacularly maintained. Given
the fact that I was visiting from a ship, an entity that sought to provide some of
the same thrills to its younger clientele, in retrospect it seems odd that I did not
foresee that many of the deftness of the whole operation could well be transposed
to a cruise ship designed for the young in spirit, and, of course, to the young
themselves. Furthermore, it was, to my eyes at least, supremely affordable to the
ordinary family. Quite plainly, in this particular line of business, the Americans
were miles ahead of anyone else in the world.

Upon my return to the ship, I sat down at one of the deck bars to enjoy a
cooling beer. I was not long left alone, however, for Lou, one of my favourite
stewards, came over to me with a rather attractive young lady and introduced
Paula to me. He said that she was a very charming girl who had been a passenger
on a previous voyage and that I might like to meet her. His meaning was plain,
he himself patently having absolutely no interest in good-looking young ladies,
though as a person I knew him to be a very charming young man. He couldn’t sit
with us of course, and I was thus left with this all-American girl with blonde locks,
a wonderful (probably manufactured) smile, and lovely legs. She was attending
college in Pasadena (though I did not know how broad was the definition of
‘college’ in the US, there not really being a similar educational structure in UK)
so I assumed a degree of intelligence, and she certainly had a bouncy, melodious
voice to which I could happily listen all afternoon. The time slipped by most
agreeably (it was also cheap, she not wanting any alcohol, choosing instead a
Coke, which I believed, and still believe, to be a disgustingly sweet concoction
that, I was led to believe, dissolved all the verdigris on coins if they were exposed
to a few minutes of immersion). This little talk improved my mood immensely,
lending a glow to Disney and Southern California.

My subsequent report to Black Mac was entirely favourable; whether it could
have been a better tour I did not consider, it having shown me much about American
efficiency that was to long stay with me. Even the depressing run back to the ship did
not impinge on my consciousness of well-oiled Southern Californian commerce.

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