At four in the morning, the summer sunshine breaks through my bedroom window. The drinks from the previous night still flow through my bloodstream, yet I decide to wake up and pack my suitcase for a long day of flying.

Most of my long-haul traveling occurs in the Northern winter months. Pieces of hot sunny indulgence which aim to break the gloomy landscape of December Dublin, and journeys to the airport amidst the cold early morning drizzle. This time however, the sunny beach at Sandycove gently merges with the blue waters of Scotsman’s Bay in the peak of summer whilst the streets of the neighborhood slowly populate with morning joggers, coffee-thirsty youngsters and the odd camera-in-hand German tourist.

Practical for traveling, I am waved into the United States at the Pre-clearance facility in Dublin and, as I wrap my arms around an overpriced ciabatta, I meet two fellow work colleagues for a briefing about the business trip we are about to embark upon.

– ‘It is a nice day for flying’, the captain announces before the safety briefing and runway rotation. The aircraft soars over sun kissed neighborhoods and U-turns left, our flight now becoming Atlantic bound.
Eight hours pass in between movies and books. Every seat on the aircraft is occupied and chats about weather, holidays and school inundate the cabin. On hour number nine, we start our final approach and Daytona Beach announces the arrival into the Floridian Peninsula, now at full mercy of Orlando International ATC.

Long motorways connect the airport to countless gated neighborhoods. A landscape dotted with the omnipresent bodies of water, which are the testimony of natural swampland now contained in the numerous lagoons infested with snakes and crocodiles.
A flashy arch-shaped sign marks the entry into a world within a world. The once marshy land now paved and lined with a flat asphalt sea of parking spots, the hot humid sky now shining at the lights of a worldwide known attraction: Disney World.

At the Grand Floridian Spa, an over-friendly receptionist looks through my passport.

      – ‘You have been upgraded to a lakeside room from where you can see the fireworks. Here is your Magicband. Enjoy your stay at the Floridian’

Cynicism and fatigue clash against the ‘Disney happiness motto’ at ten at night. The room is spacious and a welcome chocolate has been placed over my pillow. Boats covered in neon lights cruise on the lake and play a loud version of ‘The Little Mermaid’, adding a tone of pure patriotism at the end of it with some American flags. I grin, I need to sleep.

An over-sized breakfast places me in the right time zone. Around me, dozens of families sit around tables decorated with plates of fried bacon, scrambled eggs and pancakes. The sunshine breaks through the tall palm trees at the resort and for the afternoon, I decide to explore the area. A concierge arranges a ticket and scans my Magicband. It is all set for the Kingdom.

The sleek monorail design conceals rubbers wheels which attach to a concrete track. A legacy from the time in which the parks were built around the murky waters of Lake Buena Vista in 1971, an era in which Americans were obsessed with space exploration and utopias around the so-called ‘American dream’ were still a distant aspiration.
At ‘Main Street USA’, stuffed animals hang off door frames. The smell of cotton candy turns the hot afternoon air sweet and entire families pose in front of the long promenade.

For the first five minutes, I find the place crowded and overrated. I never liked children that much and around me, thousands of them cry for pictures and souvenirs. At the Cinderella Castle, which is a plastic copy of Neuschwanstein in Germany, music is loudly played.
Before I know it, my feet tap and, enchanted by the overpowering combination of smells, sounds and imagery, I turn my heart to Disney.

Like a ten year-old on a sugar rush, I speed through colourful giant teacups, to a ‘land’ in which flying elephants carry children in swirls of pure innocent magic. My mind forgets about the logical mechanic behind each ride. And it is just that for the next hours, I can detach from the business trip, I can detach from adulthood.
I scream at the top of my lungs at the roller coasters. At ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’, the ride stops halfway and leave us stranded in the dark world of animatronics for several minutes. Bad jokes are cracked by a tour guide at the Jungle Cruise, whilst a fantasy about being eaten by local tribes in Africa is well embedded onto the guests’ minds.

Several hours later, I leave Magic Kingdom in awe. In an era of immediateness, the outdated rides look almost vintage, the grounds of the park that have conquered the heart of generations have also conquered mine.
Later in the day, I meet some people in the swimming pool. Under the clear summer sky of Florida, I am explained about the logic behind the pilgrimages to what has now become a cult, families planning their annual holiday around the parks, the events and the new rides.

The next two days are spent sheltered in the air conditioned encasement of the convention centre. Meetings, greetings, quick meals, the real deal. Leakages of adulthood sneaking through the cracks of a Disney Resort.

On one of the nights, the event takes me to Epcot Centre. Standing next to Disney’s version of France, canapes and French desserts are served in amounts as copious as alcohol. The fireworks show perhaps looking even more flashy through my gin-intoxicated eyes.
I am then dragged through the backstage of a large pavilion. Minutes later, blue neon lights guide our way through an empty corridor. I graciously buckle up for the unexpected. The lights go off and my stomach sinks right to the back of my body.

It is the Matterhorn. ‘Do not vomit, do not vomit’ , goes on repeat in my head.

We fly over it and the steel-framed ride jets through Sydney, the Serengeti, the Arctic Circle, The Great Wall of China and the Taj Mahal. I can feel the smell of ocean over Polynesia and over Paris, we transition back to the world of Disney.  It is all virtual reality. The magic of one of the most beloved rides in Disney World, for we have just been ‘Soarin’.

Once the convention is finished, a long video follows my way back to the airport. A sugar-coated message inducing visitors to return, to buy merchandise at the airport or to affiliate to one of the many companies associated with the Disney brand.

The adult within me sees through it. In the end, Disney World is a perfectly coordinated money-making machine victoriously standing over the conquered marshland of Florida. However, the child within me treasures the smiles, the new friends made, the cotton candy smell , the soaring over a world of virtual reality and the wind beating my face in the roller coaster.

Best part of it all, I was paid to be here.

New Orleans is next.