No, seriously, there's something magical about Disneyland.

ANAHEIM, Calif. — When I was ten years old, I discovered that every student in my fourth grade class was going to Disney World for spring break, except for me. Horrified (though in retrospect it probably wasn't even true), I desperately informed my parents of their unforgivable neglect, and soon enough, they (presumably reluctantly) dragged me and my brother onto a flight to Orlando. According to the Disney web site, our trip supposedly took us to "a place where storybook fantasy comes to life" full of "magical memories." I must have forgotten to take the memories home with me, because aside from the fact that my brother and I wore ridiculous Donald Duck caps, and an older kid tried to steal quarters from me at an arcade until my mom intervened (thanks mom!), I barely remember the trip.

Sleeping Beauty Castle

Adventurers sit on a Jungle Cruise boat.

The Sailing Ship Columbia traverses the Rivers of America in front of Big Thunder Mountain.

The entrance to the Blue Bayou restaurant

I don't remember the hotel at which we stayed, the rides we rode, or which Disney characters we met at our Character Breakfast. Yet cementing at a young age my tremendous love for breakfast food, the magical Mickey Mouse-shaped waffles proved to be my most vivid memory of Disney World. I still restlessly wish for their appearance every time I have brunch in my adult life. I am consistently disappointed.

Many years later, a girl I dated during college who had grown up in Southern California desperately wanted to show me why she loved Disneyland. As an adult, I wasn't sure I was excited — in the abstract, Disneyland sounds like the kind of place I would normally hate. At first glance, the park appears to be an overcrowded asphalt jungle filled with screaming children, heart-clogging fast food, and multi-hour lines. Nevertheless, I agreed, and she showed me why Disneyland is so wonderful.

Most amusement parks seem to have one major goal — to use roller coasters to shake and propel guests as violently as possible. Disneyland is different. Instead of all that shaking and propelling, Disneyland focuses on story, mood, and overall experience. The park uses mostly dark rides — indoor rides that use gorgeous art and stunning lighting to replace the thrills of a typical amusement park ride.

"Peter Pan's Flight" doesn't move more than two miles per hour, but the feeling of sailing over moonlit London and flying through the starry night sky has been burned in my mind since I first rode it with my date. The highest flume drop in "Pirates of the Caribbean" isn't more than fifteen feet, but the experience of riding through a Louisiana plantation bayou party with quiet banjo strumming is thrilling enough. I'll never forget the first time my "Indiana Jones Adventure" jungle transport Jeep (incidentally, the best-designed ride vehicles ever!) arrived above the flames in the Cavern of Bubbling Death and escaped the ride's terrifying crushing boulder. Even the line for the "Indiana Jones Adventure" feels like a ride in itself as it snakes through eerie caves with spiky ceilings that fall on unsuspecting guests. (To make this happen, make sure to push on the bamboo pole labeled, "Do not touch this pole," and make sure there are small children around so you can scare the bejesus out of them.)

In addition to the rides, the park's performers provide excellent entertainment throughout. Watching Alice and the Mad Hatter play games of musical chairs with children on Main Street is delightful enough to fill an afternoon. Even walking through the elaborately decorated areas of the park that act as set pieces (Frontierland, Adventureland, Tomorrowland, etc.) is a rich experience. It's the park's exquisite attention to detail that makes it work so well.

Of course, I can't give all of the credit to Disney Imagineers — my then-girlfriend's bubbling enthusiasm made me fall not only in love with her, but with Disneyland as well. She's the one who taught me to push on the bamboo pole in the Indy line, perform ridiculous poses for the "Splash Mountain" camera, and always make "It's a Small World" my last ride before leaving the park. It's important to go to Disneyland with someone who can appreciate the experience — someone who can act like a kid even as an adult.

Years later, I took another girlfriend to Disneyland and had the wonderful experience in reverse. With great fervor, I showed her all the things I loved to do in the park: see magic tricks at the Main Street magic shop, drink mint juleps in New Orleans Square, take photos with Mickey at Mickey Mouse's House in Toontown, play mental word games while waiting in line, and watch people taking photos in front of Sleeping Beauty Castle. I'm sure there were a few moments when she thought me completely ridiculous (I love pushing all those crazy buttons on the buildings in Toontown), but when we finally left the park, exhausted, we were more in love with each other — and Disneyland — than ever.

It's exciting to teach a friend to love something you love, but even more rewarding is imparting an experience that someone else originally showed you. The person who taught you and the person you taught may never know each other, but they still seem cosmically connected, making the convoluted path you took to the present more meaningful.

Last week, I visited Disneyland with an old friend, who brought his girlfriend and her friend along. I worried that I'd be disappointed being at Disneyland without the girl who taught me to push on the bamboo pole or the girl I taught to play word games. I was, a little. After all, there wasn't a Mickey Mouse waffle in sight.

But soon, I taught my date to play word games in line. We pushed on the bamboo pole. All of my Disneyland visits became one, and when we jumped into a two-person seat on the Matterhorn and hugged snugly during the ride, it was clear — there's something magical about Disneyland.

It's clear that Disneyland is magical with the right cohorts. In the second article in this two-part series, find out whether Disneyland is any fun alone.

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