Luna Puke

Tonight we are going to Sydney's Luna Park for my going away party.




Why?

Because I am tall enough.

Finally.




Luna Park is an old amusement park in downtown Sydney that sits just under the Harbour Bridge opposite the Sydney Opera House, which makes for a beautiful backdrop from the ferris wheel at night.



They offer a special deal on Fridays at Luna Park: all the rides you can ride and a free beverage (alcohol, if you're over 18) for only $20.

Rides? Alcohol? What sort of sense of twisted humour is that?

This is why Crash & I call it "Luna Puke."

It's raining right now, though (after a whole week of sun!), so I'm not sure if we'll still go. It's one thing to be cold — but cold, wet, and spinning like a pile of socks in a dryer?

Maybe it's not such a good idea.

So, just in case it doesn't happen, just in case we end up in a pub instead, here are some photos from when Crash and I went to Luna Park back in April. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

. . . . .

The Marvelous Entrance:






Oooooh... I think I'm going to HURLLLLLL

There is such a thing as TOO much centrifugal force. Luna Park LOVES centrifugal force — and lots of it. Even the rollercoaster, small and quick, makes me scream as it hurtles towards corners, turning at the last minute, my body crushed against one side of the car and the safety bar janning into my gut as the car tips ever so slightly, just enough for me to think, "My god, this ride is NOT safe. What happened to safety checks?" We ride it 3 times before Crash lets me in on the secret: the car is supposed to tip. His engineer eye figured out the system the 2nd time we were in line. I scowl in mock hurt.




More spinny-spin-spin rides. We rode ALL of them.













In this "simple" ride, the cylinder spins: the first half in one direction, the second in the opposite. Your assignment? Walk through it without falling down.

It helps to be tall. Well, taller than a 10-year old, that is.



The Innocent Ferris Wheel. Centrifugal force at its most gentlest.





Fun in the Funhouse:




















The Giant Slide in the funhouse is soooo simple. A staff worker gives you a potato sack, and you climb the stairs. There's a friendly sign telling us how to ride the potato sack.



It's all simple enough — until you get to the top of the stairs and look down.




Bumper cars: they've got nothing to do with centrifugal force. But they are all about sparks. And Crash and I like things that just might catch on fire. It was, surprisingly enough, the ride with the longest line in the park. But we have to do it, just like every other kid.

I suppose it's the feeling of control; there wasn't one single kid that wasn't in the driver's seat, and not one single parent riding next to them that didn't have one hand on the wheel in a futile effort to gain control of the uncontrollable. It was payback time for each and every one of us, guilty or not.




On the House

At sometime that night — after Crash stopped feeling ill but before I started — we took a break and went to the mini-disco lounge bar in the middle of the park.



Our tickets that night included one free drink. Crash wisely chose the tummy-calming Sprite. I could not resist temptation and went for the glass of wine. We sat calmy in the bar, psyching ourselves up for the next batch of rides. It was a weird juxtaposition. Where was the cotton candy?




Grand Finale

This was the ride that as a kid, I loved: the Rotor. You get into a cylinder, your back flat against the wall and feet firmly planted on the floor. The room starts to spin, faster and faster, until the floor drops out. You are stuck to the wall. Brave people turn sideways, defying gravity. It is the ultimate centrifugal force ride, and I'd ride it again and again and again at Hershey Park when I was a kid.

I get in, excited. But all of 10 seconds into the spinning, I want out. Now. "Make it stop...make it STO-O-O-O-O-O-P!" I scream to Crash. He laughs. I can't seem to move my head; my neck is stuck sideways. The person beside me is upside down and in my peripheral vision I can see the dirty amusement park soles of sneakers. I close my eyes.

Bad idea.

I open them, stare at the center pole. It's the only thing NOT moving. I focus on it. It will be over soon. Very soon. Hang on, hang on.

It's the last ride I ride that night. I have to sit down afterwards. It's late, almost closing time, so we head back to the train station and make our way home. I close my eyes the entire way back, certain that if I open them, the floor of the train will drop out and I'll go hurtling off into a spinning abyss.