Water Parks

A celebrated actress, her blonde locks swept up in a becoming twist, naked but for a string of Bulgari pearls, enjoys a soothing soak in one of Hungary's renowned thermal springs, taking in an unimpeded view of the Danube rushing below. A continent away, a generously freckled boy of six, the glint in his eyes betraying the roguishness his parents had long since given up trying to suppress, without warning drops his red swim trunks, aiming his stream at the back of a pigtailed toddler splashing carefree about the Whitewater Wave Pool.

Sounds like crazy talk, but both are water parks. This is because the concept of recreational "water play" may actually have started with the Hungarian spa. Water parks first started popping up in the 1950s, and these days if you aren't within driving distance of at least one, you're in the minority. The U.S. is host to the largest water park market, the IAAPA (International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions) and the WWA (World Waterpark Association) at the helm.

Like construction paper art projects and the county fair, water parks as they're generally known to Americans (see peeing boy) are probably best suited to the tireless 42-inch person — and by necessity, his parents. Next-best suited may be his big sister, an eighth grader at Rivercrest Junior High with a trendy tankini and a newfound desire to take it public, especially when Johnny Bigshot's slated to be in attendance.

Twenty-eight-year-olds have less to gain. A bold assertion? Recent experience suggests not, but for people who prefer to reach their own conclusions, be my guest. What follows is a rough idea of what you can expect to find.

Theme. Often character-driven, often ambiguous and pluralistic. While park designers may set out with an 18th century Bavarian village in mind, subsequent expansion is likely to yield strange new modifiers — a snack hut with flying buttresses, say, or a changing room in the style of an Egyptian pyramid. Storybook imagery is often summoned, with brightly coloured "cottages" housing souvenir visors, and oversized wooden lollipops inducing full-on meltdowns as five years olds plead for the real thing (which, incidentally, is available at the cottage next door).

When it comes to actual attractions, design is more consistent. New Hampshire's Whale's Tale Waterpark features an 85-foot, whale-shaped pool with underwater seating built into the tail, fins and head; and rides are given names like "Beluga Boggin!", "Harpoon Express!", "Jonah's Escape" and "Whale Harbor." Dollywood's "Splash County" in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee is Smoky Mountain-themed, and encourages visitors to follow the Big Bear Plunge with a deep-friend lunch served up at the Brush Fire Grill. Nestled in the Smokies between native firs and hemlocks, you're sure to confuse the park's man-made tubes for slick, rocky precipices, and the swirling chemicals below for mountain-clean, class II rapids.

Attractions. Water slides, a wave pool, and a "lazy river" are the major components of any decent park. Slides, via straightaways or complicated twists, propel riders downward, generally in a jarring, side-to-side motion, terminating eventually in a turbulent swimming pool. The obligatory wave pool proves an exercise in patience, as splashers young and old await their cue, throwing anxious glances at poolside lifeguards — "Has it been ten minutes?" "Is it time now?" "Now?" At the first indication of a ripple, cheering erupts. "Bring it on!" The softies stay shallow, but diehard wave-riders swim out to the far wall, catching each machine-cranked wave at its fiercest. This particular attraction is all about timing: jump too soon or too late and it's all over. Before you know it, you've completely lost the rhythm, and all around you heads are bobbing, arms are flapping, that screechy preteen whacks you in the eye... Maybe it's time for the lazy river: a shallow, donut-shaped pool with a gentle current along which to "laze" on a slowly moving raft.

Lines. The hotter the longer, especially on weekends. Dare to set foot inside "Splashwater Kingdom" or "Soak City" on an 85-degree Saturday afternoon and you'll mourn more than your $30 admission. Last Sunday at Splish Splash, folks waited 45 minutes to reach the top step — and these were the crappier slides. Be warned: your back will ache, your legs will tire, and the cement will burn the bottoms of your feet. Good company helps; so does visual distraction. Take Mr. Carpet Back for instance, the man I found myself standing behind on several occasions. Eye candy he was not, but the sheer implausibility of that much hair effectively took my mind off my blisters-in-progress, for which I was obliged.

Fashion missteps. Because like anywhere else, people choose wrong.

Skin. Taut, saggy, scarce, abundant. It's everywhere, and it's damn close. Most evident while standing in the aforementioned lines, it dips and sinks, dangles and bows in ways you just don't see coming. And the moles! Incredible diversity in shape and size, color and location. At the water park, it all hangs out — with pride, with shame, or with some combination of the two. And there ain't no hiding behind a baggy t-shirt, either, for park management explicitly states that for safety reasons, all riders must wear bathing suits. So if you're prone to bouts of debilitating self-consciousness, best keep to the backyard. (Do they still make Slip 'n' Slide?)

Type 2 Diabetes and the food that'll get you there. Everything is fried — yes, even the Diet Coke — and by the looks of it, a great many visitors subscribe to this same diet off-park. Now, will it be Fry World, Chicken Coop, or Low Country Snacks?

Game.

— Kristen Elde (kje7@myuw.net)