When my teenage daughters and I embarked on a week-long trip to the west of Ireland a few years ago, I had no idea that it would lead me to discover Róisín Ingle. I had heard her name before, but didn’t know much about her or her work. As a writer and journalist, I was intrigued to learn more. Little did I realize that reading her column in The Irish Times would be like receiving a gift that kept on giving. In this article, we’ll explore the impact that Róisín Ingle has had on her readers, her community, and beyond.
Last year this time, I was in Orlando, Florida, walking an average of 30,000 steps a day, standing in queues for hours in the scorching heat, and experiencing unexpectedly, the best family vacation of my life. Looking through the photographs of those unforgettable days, I feel a mix of sadness and gratitude for having spent most of a year saving up for what was an expensive and exhilarating couple of weeks.
I had planned the trip as a 13th birthday present for my teenage daughters. However, it turned into a self-gift. As a seven-year-old, I dreamt of visiting Walt Disney World, and it was still my dream holiday at 50. The pure joy and wonder of watching fireworks burst over Cinderella’s castle left me weeping.
Recently, I found out that some new friends were planning a similar family vacation. I invited myself to dinner to share the tips that we had gathered during our travels in Orlando’s Universal and Disney World theme parks. It was also an opportunity to relive our experiences and memories.
I was delighted to tell them about the must-try cheeseburger spring rolls from a cart in Disney’s Magic Kingdom, the time my friend Lisa and I rode the Escape to Gringotts Harry Potter adventure twice without leaving our seats, and endurance tips for long queues. Additionally, I recommended an all-you-can-eat buffet called the Golden Corral.
As we started to bond over our shared experiences, I felt I wanted to share an incident that occurred in The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. There is a roller coaster called Hagrid’s Magical Creatures Motorbike Adventure, featuring Hagrid’s treasured motorbike with a sidecar attached.
On the first day of our visit, Lisa and I decided we wanted to sit in the sidecar as we thought it would be safer. But near the top of the queue, we were pulled aside to test the seats. I discovered that the safety restraint in the sidecar would not fit me. Part of me was relieved that I couldn’t ride it, but then they suggested that I try the test motorbike seat which was slightly roomier, and to my surprise, I fit.
The ride was terrifying, and Lisa screamed like she was being murdered for the entire three-minute ride, while I squeezed my eyes shut and tears streamed down my face. Even though it became the favorite ride of everybody else in our party, neither of us went on it again.
On my final evening, feeling braver, I joined the single rider queue, which moved quicker than the usual queue. However, the staff member said that single riders didn’t have a choice and that I had to negotiate with the person I would ride with.
The person I ended up riding with was a small boy who didn’t speak English. Through hand gestures and smiles, I asked his father, who was riding with his other son, for permission to ride next to his child in the sidecar. With his consent, I got on.
However, I didn’t get the green light when I tried to get on the motorbike next to the little boy, and they asked both of us to get off. I apologized profusely as the bewildered and crying child and I were led quickly through the backstage of the ride. Three minutes later, the boy and his not-angry father were reunited and given another ride on Hagrid’s motorbike, with no waiting.
I considered telling our new friends this story, but I kept it to myself in the end. After dinner, we played table tennis on the dining table, and the top was then removed to reveal a beautiful pool table underneath. It reminded me of the importance of games and thrills at any age and of the small boy I inadvertently traumatized in Orlando. I hope his smiling, laughing, and forgiving father will have turned it into a funny family anecdote by now. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
