PART SIXTEEN:
Just as I had imagined, the Wilderness Lodge rises up over the lake in majestic splendor as we approach. Our boat churns through the water, bearing directly for the dock where people have gathered to wait for their ride to the Magic Kingdom. For Lowell and I, this is our Magic Kingdom. A white sandy beach stretches invitingly along the shore. Beyond, Silver Springs Creek splashes through the rocks and flows into the Lodge’s swimming pool. The captain cuts the motor and pulls up to the dock with practiced ease, then gets out to remove the barrier rope on the dock. We are here.
We walk the length of the dock in silence, then cut up alongside the pool, enjoying the woodsy ambience of the landscaping. Pines, flowers and plants native to the Pacific Northwest have taken root and found a new home in Central Florida.
We’ve been here enough times to know our way up the inside ramp alongside Artist’s Point restaurant, which leads us into the main area of the lodge. We step inside the lobby and pause, as always, to absorb the view. On the far side of the lobby, towering plank doors, like the doors of some impenetrable fort, open to admit guests arriving by car or bus. On our right, a fireplace of colorful rock strata imitating the Grand Canyon rises to meet the ceiling high above. Rows of log railings ring the lobby on each of the floor levels overhead. Guests on their way to and from their rooms pause and overlook the lobby’s artistically designed hardwood floors, massive leather furniture, and gigantic teepee-shaped chandeliers.
Rousing ourselves from the awestruck stupor that always comes over us when we first step inside the lodge, we head toward the reception desk.
Which is surprisingly deserted.
This observation makes me almost as awestruck as the lobby itself.
I glance at my watch. Quarter to three. We aren’t early. Where is everyone? I smile slyly to myself, ah ha, apparently there really IS a Carousel of Process. The other guests have already been rotated into the next rooms where other cast members are helping them.
I step up to the desk and say, “Good afternoon. We’re the Lucky Fourteens, checking in.”
The Cast Member, a mature woman, perhaps in her late fifties, smiles and welcomes us, then begins the well-known DIS drama of tapping away at her keyboard.
I suppose that by now our room has already been assigned, and since I made no specific requests on my reservation, I feel obligated to accept without protest whatever room she gives us. But I figure it can’t hurt to gush about how excited we are to be here, and how we have always wanted to stay at the Lodge, so that she realizes that we are enthusiastic Lodge Lovers, worthy of an upgrade, worthy of a great view, worthy of whatever unimagined splendors might be secreted behind her computer screen.
“We planned this trip, just to stay at the Lodge,” I say in my brightest, most exuberant tone. “We have always loved it here, but it’s so expensive. We’re happy we can stay for a couple nights.” (So please make our brief stay as memorable as possible.)
The woman looks up and says, “You’re right. It’s very expensive here. The Value resorts are a real bargain, and they’re fun and affordable. You can stay so much longer for the same price. And if you spend most of your time at the parks, it makes sense not to spend a lot of money on a room. I sometimes wonder how families can spend a week here.”
By the end of her speech, insects are buzzing in and out of my open mouth.
“Where else have you stayed?” she asks, ignoring my stupefied expression.
I find my tongue and manage to reply, “Years ago, when it first opened, I stayed at Dixie Landings, now Port Orleans Riverside. We both stayed at Old Key West, and we were at the All Star Music last night.” I pause, trying to figure out how to get this conversation back on track, back on our unmistakable worthiness for a great room at the lodge. While I ponder this, the woman takes off on an altogether new tangent.
“You know where I’d like to stay, if I had the money? I’d love to stay at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. When you first drive up and see that thatched roof, why, it’s the most wonderful feeling, like arriving at an exotic resort in Africa. I just love to go there and walk around. They have so many interesting exhibits. And I love the restaurants.”
I am speechless. This conversation has gone hopelessly astray, with no hope of redemption. It will be impossible to impress upon this woman how much a good room at the Lodge, THIS lodge, means to us. How enthused we are to be HERE, rather than at a Value Resort or even the Animal Kingdom Lodge. She is not a Wilderness Lodge fan. This is just another Disney resort to her. It’s Pop Century with logs and a geyser. Only more expensive. The woman goes back to typing. Then the typing stops and she hands us our key cards and a pile of Wilderness Lodge and theme park information.
“I see you have a reservation tonight for the Hoop-de-do-Revue. You can pick up your tickets at the concierge desk.”
“No, that’s tomorrow night,” I correct her, hoping that the error is on her part, and that our reservation has not been mistakenly confirmed for tonight.
“Oh yes,” she says. “You’re right. Sunday night. It will be easy to get there from here. There’s a boat that goes from the Lodge directly to Fort Wilderness.”
“Yes, so we’ve heard.”
She gestures, pointing across the lobby over our heads, and says, “Your room is up there, on the fourth floor, all the way down the hall in the front corner.”
Lowell and I turn to follow the sweep of her hand. She is not pointing at a courtyard room. In fact, it couldn’t be farther away from the courtyard and still be within the building. On the bright side, our room is off the lobby, so we will have a lobby view which is pretty cool. But the room is nearly over the top of Whispering Canyon Café which, as most of us know, was named by a deaf man with a warped sense of humor.
With mixed emotions about our room assignment, Lowell and I walk down to the concierge desk where a woman, hopefully without a preference for the Value Resorts or Animal Kingdom Lodge, will wait on us. The people in front of us finish their business and we step forward to claim our tickets, which are imprinted with the correct date and time, for tomorrow evening. The woman sees that we are only staying two and a half days, and realizes that tomorrow she will need to confirm our Magical Express transportation back to the Chasm of Fire, errr um, the Orlando Airport. She not only offers to take care of that for us, but volunteers to call Air Tran and complete our online check-in, which cannot be done sooner than 24 hours in advance. She will complete the process, obtain our seat assignments, and have the paperwork ready to be picked up tomorrow afternoon. I am more grateful and relieved than I can say. I hadn’t expected to have access to a computer to take care of the online check-in, and was prepared to get seat assignments once we arrived at the airport.
We thank the woman profusely, then head toward the alcove housing the elevators. Lowell and I both press the elevator button, since we secretly believe that doing so makes it come faster. In a moment the elevator on the right opens and we all but knock down an exiting family in our haste to get inside and be off to our room. Mumbling apologies even after the doors close behind us, we press number four. Our floor. Leading to our room. At the Wilderness Lodge. Where we never expected to stay in our lifetimes. No matter what the room is like, we will be happy. I hope.
The elevator doors open and we manage enough self-restraint to look first before charging out. The coast is clear. We hurry off down the first hallway, but pause midway despite our eagerness, to look down into the lobby. Wow. A different but equally impressive view presents itself from four floors up. We look down at people milling through on their way to reception, the Mercantile, and the pool. I take in the teepee chandeliers, totem poles, and the animal carvings on the log support beams, and am amazed at the details and the time that went into creating this amazing resort.
Then like a slap our purpose returns to me and I start off toward our room again, making a left near the rock strata chimney. We’re on the home stretch. I am nearly running now. Lowell can barely keep up. Sparks fly from the carpet under my feet. I smell fibers burning but keep going anyway. Almost there, almost there. I pull up short in front of our door. 4090. My hands are sweating with anticipation. Feeling suddenly magnanimous, I say to Lowell, “You may do the honors,” and I step back from the door.
He pulls out his keycard and inserts it into the lock. The door swings open and at last the moment we have long awaited is here. We step into OUR room.
Everything appears clean and new, thanks to the recent refurbishment. We have a plasma TV, small table with chairs, sliding doors to a balcony, and two double beds.
Lo and behold there is something on one bed! Before Lowell has a chance to go near it I warn, “Don’t touch that!” He jumps in surprise and gives me a confused look.
“It’s a towel Mickey,” I say softly in reverent tones. I approach slowly, as if discovering some nearly extinct species of wild animal nesting in the middle of our bed. “I must take a picture, so don’t touch it. It’s not exactly a real towel animal, only sort of a Mickey head. Even so, people on the DIS would rip your still-beating heart from your chest to get one of these.
“Ugh,” Lowell says. “Nice bunch you hang out with.”
He examines the granite lavatory area, then opens the bathroom door to check it out. I head for the sliding doors and wrestle them open. The balcony is narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate the width of a chair, and maybe, if we are very lucky, our knees. There are two chairs but I have a feeling they won’t see much use. If the balconies are all this narrow, I fail to see their appeal. I cast a brief, appraising glance over the surrounding landscape, then go back inside.
Lowell has returned from his examination of our bathroom and sees me standing with my back to the sliding doors, my hands positioned vertically on either side of my face. Like blinders.
He raises a brow. “How is our view?”
“Well that all depends,” I answer cryptically.
“On what?”
“On whether I do this,” I say, reinforcing my hand positions for emphasis. I move my left hand away and add, “Or, whether I do this.” Then I take my right hand away and say more ominously, “Or, this.”
“Ohhhh,” he says slowly, starting to understand. Then he heads for the balcony himself.
We stand on the narrow ledge, errrr balcony. At least there aren’t any pigeons out here. Probably too narrow for them, too.
Lowell says, “I see what you mean. If you look straight ahead it’s sort of woodsy and nice. If you look to the left you see the main entrance driveway.” He turns his head to the right. “And then there’s that. What is that, anyway?”
“The dreaded service area, aka the “dumpster view.”
“Well, it could be worse. You can only see one truck. Everything else is hidden by building and trees.”
“We’ll just sit out here and do this,” I say, repositioning my “blinders.” I laugh in spite of myself, then drop the blinders.
“Let’s check out the TV.” I glance at my watch. “It’s about 3:15. I’d better call Mousekeeping and request turn down service, then call to see if our luggage has arrived.”
Lowell goes inside and absorbs himself flipping through channels. I call Mousekeeping, then try my luck with Bell Services.
“Welcome to the Lodge, Mrs. Lucky Fourteen. No I don’t believe your luggage has arrived. 3:00 is the earliest possible time for delivery, but most of the time it’s much later than that.”
My heart sinks. I am not so anxious after all to rush back to Epcot. It’s hot out, I’m tired, and a relaxing swim followed by an hour in a lounge chair sounds heavenly right now. My swimsuit is inside our luggage.
The cheerful voice continues, “I only recall one van coming so far with luggage, and it wasn’t from the Value resorts. But I’ll go look again, just in case another delivery has come in. I’ll call you back in a few minutes and let you know either way.”
I hang up and say despondently, “They don’t think our bags are here yet, and I was so looking forward to a swim.”
“Maybe they’ll be here soon. We can lay by the pool and rest for awhile if you like.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the Mickey head. In a moment the phone rings.
“Yes?”
“Mrs.Lucky Fourteen? This is Bell Services. Your luggage is here! We’ll bring it right up.”
I am nearly dancing with delight when I hang up. “It’s here!”
“That’s great. We lucked out.”
“Will you go swimming with me?”
“Sure. For a little while.”
Before long we hear the welcome tap at the door, and our luggage is ushered into the room. The man sets down our tweed carry-on bag, and the small tweed duffle, and accepts his tip with a polite “thank you.”
“I’ll unpack later,” I tell Lowell. Right now, I want to hit the pool.”
I take a small nylon tote out of a drawer and toss in suntan lotion, brush and comb etc. then move back over to our luggage. I have conveniently packed our swimsuits in the small tweed bag, so we don’t have to hunt for them. I rummage inside and pull out our suits, then check to make sure nothing is missing from the bag.
Everything is there.
Yes, everything.
Including,
you know. . . .
We put on our swimsuits and head for the pool.
TigerKat: My thoughts and prayers continue to be with you. If my writing can make you smile and feel a little better, even briefly, I am happy. I wish I could make all your pain and sadness go away. 
Maybe that will be a new threat from every Mother at Disney: Dont you run off and get separated from us, or youll spend the rest of your life as a wooden doll in Its a Small World! 
The next installment will be up this weekend. There will be at least three segments before we head back to Epcot for the evening, so you'll get a heavy dose of Wilderness Lodge along with some photos. I'm really in story mode for this part of the report, so you'll be able to see it, feel it, and experience being there, even if I didn't include a single photo. As for the F&W Festival, I wouldn't want to discourage anyone from trying it. Remember, we're Value Conscious. Borderline Cheap. Judging by the gazillion people that were at the festival, a LOT of people had no problem shelling out some serious cash to eat and drink their way through. Just be aware that it gets expensive in a hurry. You don't have to sample everything, just pick and choose. And plan to spend the better part of an afternoon or evening in and out of lines. As long as you can devote the time to it without running out of time for other things you wanted to do, you'll enjoy yourselves.
because the humor sort of went over Lowell's head, and as he is my only "test market" before posting, I was a bit worried other people wouldn't get it. I was picturing something like the scene from whichever Lord of the Rings movies had Gandolf crossing over a chasm on a rock ledge and the Balrog knocked him off into a seemingly bottomless pit. So, maybe those of you who liked my chasm of fire analogy pictured that scene, or something similar, as I did. 
