Where not to travel
Why spend all my time telling you about nice places? How about some scathing reviews instead? Isn’t making fun of things infinitely more fun than admiring them? I think the scathiest I ever got was at Lost World Castle in Sleman, Indonesia. Seriously one of the strangest children’s theme parks every conceived by non-aliens.
Read my trip advisor review here. Or here:
When you decide to build your unintentionally surrealist children’s theme park in the lava flow zone of an active volcano, safety is not your main concern. The creators of Lost World were perhaps more carried away by the survivalist sentiment of Lord of the Flies or sparking that magical childhood place that lies between fear and creativity, much like Alice in Wonderland or Peter Pan. Nonetheless, if you want to find out if your Paw-Patrol addicted 4 year-old will survive the apocalypse, this is probably the best, and most fun testing ground you can have. If, by the end of the experience your child is still intact, both physically and emotionally, they will likely be life-worn veterans, capable of writing their first novel. At least they will have had the chance to pet a bunny, cowering under a paper-maché triceratops carcass, or ridden a pony for 10 metres from one culturally inappropriate teepee to another. They could have gotten a taste of what it’s like to be typically British and role-played having themselves a wee barbecue at the pine lodge under the snow-covered apple blossom trees. Worst case scenario, your child can simply crank their Instagram game to level 10. Force your child to pose with angel wings or on a rainbow swing, precariously perched motorcycle, tetanus-sprinkled crashjeep and more. The motorcycle, for instance, is accessed by a rickety wooden ladder about 6 feet in the air. The lady holding it nods her head vigorously, repeating, “safety, safety.” If your child should happen to slip and fall off on the castle wall-side however, they unlock the bonus obstacle course of what appears to be a defunct roller-coaster, or perhaps just the rusty ghost of the most awesome slide never to exist. For a dollar, you can pay a resigned barn owl on a leash to perch on your child’s arm. He’s entirely lost his instinct to peck your child’s eyes out by this point and is even starting to wonder how many people are following him on Instagram. He considers smiling for the next one.
And then there’s the pirate ship, the beating heart of the whole operation. The emblem of the multiple ways your child could be maimed or killed by any one feature of the park. It may be under construction, but don’t let the cast-aside water pumps, discarded pirate skeleton rib cages, cigarette packages, or electrical wiring strewn across the deck dissuade you from exploring its magnificence. Be prepared for the bemused glances of the construction workers shaded under their rice paddy hats and wearing flip flops in the equatorial heat of the bone-dry death pool surrounding said ship. Only they know why they are digging an infinite hole deeper and deeper in the middle of the pool pit. Yar, climb aboard the ship if ye dare, and wonder if your child will be tempted to shimmy up a skimpy rope ladder to the mast, or will they simply fall through one of the generous gaps in the side of the ship? Don’t forget to cast a knowing look up at the paper-maché white horse observing it all from above, leaning over the Lost World walls like a drunk at a bar, wishing the waitress would come so he could order a mojito already. The faster he gets his mojito, the faster he can forget that he lost his sad rope tail, leaving only a generous metallic anal stump in its place.
Hey, do you ever get hungry at theme parks? Perhaps you want to sit and chow down on some fries and chicken wings at a depressing cafeteria with office chairs after your bathroom break? No worries, you can just use the high-pressure rectal hose from the bathroom stall to rinse your E.coli fingers prior to your dining experience, since there is no sink to be found on the park grounds. Or soap for that matter. But why soap if you have no sink, silly? Even in this detail, the lurking reminder of your child’s morbidity and mortality is ever present. If your child survives the physical challenges of the park, they will still have to survive the hygienic curve ball that is thrown to them and somehow manage to avoid the classic scourge of diarrheal illness.
Does this not seem like enough to you, you animal? If so, why don’t you try it dressed like a 100 year-old Korean? Doesn’t make sense to you? Shut up already and stop thinking because the costume can be rented for a dollar or something from a cardboard box behind the depressing cafeteria and beside the Iron Throne.
In summary, this is possibly the weirdest place I have ever had the pleasure of avoiding my children die in. I wouldn’t go back but I have no regrets, except that I didn’t rent a Korean costume and take a selfie on the Iron Throne.
I tip my hat to Lost World castle for crossing cultural barriers and uniting us all in our purposeful confusion. Pretty much nobody there could properly explain to you what on earth just happened, yet we all inherently understand what it is we need to do there.
Or here:
Safety third
When you decide to build your unintentionally surrealist children’s theme park in the lava flow zone of an active volcano, safety is not your main concern. The creators of Lost World were perhaps more carried away by the survivalist sentiment of Lord of the Flies or sparking that magical childhood place that lies between fear and creativity, much like Alice in Wonderland or Peter Pan. Nonetheless, if you want to find out if your Paw-Patrol addicted 4 year-old will survive the apocalypse, this is probably the best, and most fun testing ground you can have. If, by the end of the experience your child is still intact, both physically and emotionally, they will likely be life-worn veterans, capable of writing their first novel. At least they will have had the chance to pet a bunny, cowering under a paper-maché triceratops carcass, or ridden a pony for 10 metres from one culturally inappropriate teepee to another. They could have gotten a taste of what it’s like to be typically British and role-played having themselves a wee barbecue at the pine lodge under the snow-covered apple blossom trees. Worst case scenario, your child can simply crank their Instagram game to level 10. Force your child to pose with angel wings or on a rainbow swing, precariously perched motorcycle, tetanus-sprinkled crashjeep and more. The motorcycle, for instance, is accessed by a rickety wooden ladder about 6 feet in the air. The lady holding it nods her head vigorously, repeating, “safety, safety.” If your child should happen to slip and fall off on the castle wall-side however, they unlock the bonus obstacle course of what appears to be a defunct roller-coaster, or perhaps just the rusty ghost of the most awesome slide never to exist. For a dollar, you can pay a resigned barn owl on a leash to perch on your child’s arm. He’s entirely lost his instinct to peck your child’s eyes out by this point and is even starting to wonder how many people are following him on Instagram. He considers smiling for the next one.
And then there’s the pirate ship, the beating heart of the whole operation. The emblem of the multiple ways your child could be maimed or killed by any one feature of the park. It may be under construction, but don’t let the cast-aside water pumps, discarded pirate skeleton rib cages, cigarette packages, or electrical wiring strewn across the deck dissuade you from exploring its magnificence. Be prepared for the bemused glances of the construction workers shaded under their rice paddy hats and wearing flip flops in the equatorial heat of the bone-dry death pool surrounding said ship. Only they know why they are digging an infinite hole deeper and deeper in the middle of the pool pit. Yar, climb aboard the ship if ye dare, and wonder if your child will be tempted to shimmy up a skimpy rope ladder to the mast, or will they simply fall through one of the generous gaps in the side of the ship? Don’t forget to cast a knowing look up at the paper-maché white horse observing it all from above, leaning over the Lost World walls like a drunk at a bar, wishing the waitress would come so he could order a mojito already. The faster he gets his mojito, the faster he can forget that he lost his sad rope tail, leaving only a generous metallic anal stump in its place.
Hey, do you ever get hungry at theme parks? Perhaps you want to sit and chow down on some fries and chicken wings at a depressing cafeteria with office chairs after your bathroom break? No worries, you can just use the high-pressure rectal hose from the bathroom stall to rinse your E.coli fingers prior to your dining experience, since there is no sink to be found on the park grounds. Or soap for that matter. But why soap if you have no sink, silly? Even in this detail, the lurking reminder of your child’s morbidity and mortality is ever present. If your child survives the physical challenges of the park, they will still have to survive the hygienic curve ball that is thrown to them and somehow manage to avoid the classic scourge of diarrheal illness.
Does this not seem like enough to you, you animal? If so, why don’t you try it dressed like a 100 year-old Korean? Doesn’t make sense to you? Shut up already and stop thinking because the costume can be rented for a dollar or something from a cardboard box behind the depressing cafeteria and beside the Iron Throne.
In summary, this is possibly the weirdest place I have ever had the pleasure of avoiding my children die in. I wouldn’t go back but I have no regrets, except that I didn’t rent a Korean costume and take a selfie on the Iron Throne.
I tip my hat to Lost World castle for crossing cultural barriers and uniting us all in our purposeful confusion. Pretty much nobody there could properly explain to you what on earth just happened, yet we all inherently understand what it is we need to do there.
