Facing Fears and Finding Trust: A Rollercoaster Journey in Efteling

‘Watching rollercoasters’ is something Ezra and I have enjoyed doing for years. We search YouTube for the most insane rollercoasters on vacant lots in Dubai, plunge down a hundred meters, corkscrew after corkscrew, backwards, hanging under a rail, on Hagrid’s motorbike, and meanwhile provide hypocritical, businesslike commentary. “This progression clearly imitates the Takabisha in Fuji-Q Highland, but less virtuoso.”

“Would you please check the G-forces? Comes pretty close to the Kingda Ka, I believe.” When it really gets crazy, and we feel our stomach turning even from under our blanket on the couch, we become a bit quieter.

“Would you dare to do this?” Ezra always asks carefully. “Never in my life,” I say. “Me neither,” he says with relief, as if I had already booked the tickets for Phantasialand.

But suddenly there we were good old Bird Skirt in the Efteling. A roller coaster in the dark goes fast, but without any crazy surprises.

I thought about myself, back in the day. How, after a lot of delay and hesitation, I got into the Python cart, only to clamber out again in the same movement on the other side of the platform. Or the first time in the then brand new Vogel Rok. In the action photo you only saw a piece of hair, because I was curled up in the cart praying for deliverance.

Ezra swallowed. I swallowed. The giant eagle at the entrance looked sternly down at us. “We’re going to do it,” I said. I took his hand and we walked into line. Everything about him was reluctant, his feet were trying to moonwalk towards the exit, his shoulders were hunched. “Is this going backwards?” he asked. “No, he is not going backwards,” I said. “And upside down?” he asked. Even our usual rollercoaster language, with loops and cobra rolls, had momentarily disappeared among the caverns of its unfathomable shudder.

I looked at his white cheeks, his dark eyes. He chewed his lip. “And how fast does he go?” “Somewhat hard, but not extremely hard,” I said lyingly, remembering in a flash the unbearable lightness in my braincase at the sharpest bends. Shouldn’t I just tell him what was going to happen to him? That he would probably find it really scary? Wasn’t I damaging his trust with my perspective? And why did he have to dare to ride roller coasters in the first place?

I was so busy that I forgot about my own nerves. Sometimes your own child is the child within you. I helped Ezra and little Sarah onto the roller coaster.

We were at the front. Then the train rolled in. We sat in the cart and closed the bar. An Efteling employee saw Ezra’s pale face. “You’ll be through it in no time,” he said reassuringly, as if we were going to get an injection. Ezra looked at me resignedly. Then we disappeared into the dark.

“Mama mia,” he sighed as we entered the platform again. We got out, both a bit shaky. “I did it,” he said to the Efteling employee. He gave him a high five. Only a strand of his hair was visible in the action photo.

“You lied,” he said indignantly as we walked outside. And a moment later, when it sunk in, he beamed: “You lied.”

Sarah Sluimer writes a column every week. She is the author of books, essays and plays.

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2024-03-29 15:13:38
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