HP: Because Alison demands it. (And because she deserves it.)

"Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry,  

but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

I know Harry Potter is not real.  But I know Harry Potter World is real.

And when you're walking up to the park through the gate, and steam is coming out of the Hogwarts Express, and you hear the train conductor ring his bell and call, "All aboard!  Last train to Hogwarts!"...that's when you start believing that anything could be real.

It wasn't until my sister, Maria, went to HPW that I actually wanted to go.  She took pictures of all the cool details they had there and not just of the roofs.  Everyone I had ever known that went to HPW would just come back with pictures of rooftops.  It didn't make sense, is that all they had there?

Then I saw the rooftops, and I understood.

They were...magical.

But then again, so was everything there.

The butterbeer...mm.mm.mm.mmmagical.

Just as good as the stuff we make at home (cream soda with butterscotch ice cream syrup).  In order to figure out what the stuff on top was made of, we drank two each (purely for scientific purposes, of course).

The details in this park are...magical.  Hermione's dress sits in the shop window...the sorting hat entertains you while you wait in line for the castle ride...all safety signs are from different departments in the Ministry...all pictures move...all bludgers and quaffles actually bludger and quaffle.

I wore a Gryffindor scarf all day and got quite the attention for it.

Train conductor:  "I see we have a Gryffindor with us today...an old school one judging by the look of that scarf."

Every other park worker: "Thank you for supporting Gryffindor today!"

Castle ride worker: "Hufflepuff is better."

Ironically, Kelly and I decided while we were there that I would be sorted into Hufflepuff if ever given the chance.  

I felt like a traitor all day.

I know I'm showing you a lot of roof pictures, but look at what happens when you try to take a picture of something other than a roof.

So you might as well just turn around and take a picture of the actual roof.

Here are some pictures we took of Kelly, making fun/trying to copy the coolness of other tourists that we saw doing the same things. (We had a lot of time on our hands at the end of the day, it was a small park.)

The performances were...magical.

And yes, we did stand in line to take a picture with them.  And yes, Kelly was embarrassed.

And yes, it was magical.

Kelly, however, gave the most magical performance of the day.

One of my favorite things was the wand demonstration at Ollivander's.  I can't really describe it, you just have to go see it in person, it was...magical.

They also sold wands in a cart on the street.

The wand master filled us in on the wand scoop.  The Harry Potter wand is the biggest seller.  Followed by Dumbledore's Elder Wand.  And coming up third...Voldemort.  What kind of person buys Voldemort's wand?

Personally, I'd get Hermione's, purely based on looks - it's so pretty.

Interesting fact (also told to us by the wand master): In the first two movies, everyones' wands look the like the wand that is now known as Draco Malfoy's wand.  It wasn't until the third movie that everyone got a wand that looked unique and are now the exact replicas sold at the park.

I wanted to get the Triwizard Tournament Cup so that I could use it while watching Harry Potter, sipping butterbeer out of one hand while having my wand at the ready in the other hand.

Kelly convinced me not to get it because it wouldn't hold liquid since it was, afterall, a toy that was battery-powered with blue light and not the actuall Triwizard Tournament Cup.

But just imagine how awesome that would have been.

We ate at the Three Broomsticks...got treats at Honeydukes...and everything tasted magical.

And when I say magical in this particular instance, I mean to say authentic somewhat weird British food.  

Guess what?  In the castle, Hermione says a spell to make it snow...and it really snows!  It's magical.

Even though the details were amazing, they weren't always accurate.  For example, this little guy was shrieking nonstop in a shop window, but anyone who hears his cry with their natural ears either feints or dies.  Everybody knows that, so this baby mandrake is obviously fake.

Around every corner there was one more magical thing that made me never want to leave.

Overall, it was a beautiful day spent in a magical place with beautiful rooftops.

All was well.

A Magnificent Intoxication

I have known today a magnificent intoxication. I have learnt how it feels to be a bird. I have flown. 

Yes I have flown. I am still astonished at it, still deeply moved.

— Le Figaro, Balloon Aviation 1908

Saturday, my friend, Kelli, and I flew like a bird and took a ride in a hot air balloon.

It was, indeed, a magnificent intoxication.

It began in a quiet park in the little town of Woodstock, Virginia.

They pulled out the basket, unrolled the balloon, and used giant fans to fill it with air.

And then, they tried to pull it up.

The first attempt looked like it was going to work, until it started falling back towards us...that wind is a fickle mistress.

Btw, it was cha-cha-cha-chilly.

It wasn't long at all before we were snug in our basket and the wind gently pulled us into the sky.  Or was it the earth that was pulling away from us?  Honestly, it was hard to tell.  I've never experienced a more peaceful form of movement.  I believe it was at that moment that I became intoxicated, magnificently.

Suddenly the wind ceased. The air seemed motionless around us. We were off, going at the speed of the air-current in which we now lived and moved. Indeed, for us there was no more wind; and this is the first great fact of spherical ballooning. Infinitely gentle is this unfelt motion forward and upward. The illusion is complete: it seems not to be the balloon that moves, but the earth that sinks down and away...

Villages and woods, meadows and chateaux, pass across the moving scene, out of which the whistling of locomotives throws sharp notes. These faint, piercing sounds, together with the yelping and barking of dogs, are the only noises that reach one through the depths of the upper air. The human voice cannot mount up into these boundless solitudes.

-Alberto Santos-Dumont, My Air-Ships, 1904

I think we were moving at the speed of the sun and following the same rolling path of the morning mists.

There was one moment, five minutes into the flight, when I looked down and heard Kelli's words from the previous night.  I asked her if she was going to be okay despite her slight fear of heights and she said, "It's okay because I was thinking about it and we're going to be in a basket.  It's not like we're going to be strapped to a parachute or anything."

Yah...basket vs. parachute...that does sound comforting?

I mean, we might be held up by fraying ropes and a balloon with holes in it, but at least we're in a parachute-less basket, so we're okay.

My queasy stomach started to tell me that maybe there was something to consider about being afraid of heights after all.

But then I got distracted by the way the sunshine highlighted the ropes...

...and the way the shadows deepened the hills...

...and the way the fire puffed so concisely...

and how the day sky slowly seemed to push out the night sky.

There was a lot to ponder up there.

For example, there was a point I began to ponder why I enjoy taking so many pictures, even when they are of the same thing.  And yet I can't seem to delete any of them.  To me, they all seem to have a unique beauty.

We saw herds and herds of deer running from one patch of forest to the next.  We apparently also saw a lot of cows.  So much in fact that when I got home, Kelly (my sister) asked me why all my pictures were of cows.

I don't know why.  

Maybe I was intoxicated (magnificently) at the time and thought they were awesome.

Eventually, we started to descend.

The landing was like a gentle hug from earth welcoming us back.  

We all spontaneously cheered.  I'm not sure why.

Oh, and don't worry, we just landed in a stranger's yard.  We couldn't get out until our driver asked permission from the stranger to unload and wrap up.

At first the wrap up process appeared to me like a David and Goliath situation.

But in less than ten minutes, the big balloon was packed in its little pouch and we were on our way home...thoroughly and magnificently intoxicated.

I think I have now joined the ranks of Mr. Pene du Bois and am convinced that the best and happiest way to travel is by balloon. 

"I am still astonished at it, still deeply moved."

The best way of travel, however, if you aren't in any hurry at all, if you don't care where you are going, if you don't like to use your legs, if you don't want to be annoyed at all by any choice of directions, is in a balloon. In a balloon, you can decide only when to start, and usually when to stop. The rest is left entirely to nature.

— William Pene du Bois, The Twenty-one Balloons