Posted on Monday, 7 November 2022

There was no reason to leave Barcelona. None that I could identify, anyway.

Wide, sunny boulevards, exceptional architecture, great galleries and restaurants.

Barcelona even has a beach.

But to PortAventura we had to go...

It was written in the stars. Or at least on the entry tickets for PortAventura that I printed out before leaving the UK.

My arguments against visiting Spain's biggest theme park were numerous: it was costly, tacky and probably very busy. But I'm not sure if my wife and two young children believed such criticisms were really behind my recalcitrance.

The truth is, I don't like heights. And I don't like going extremely fast unless the thing I'm in has a five-star NCAP safety rating.

Do rollercoasters have NCAP safety ratings? If not, they should.

Somehow the holiday to exquisite Barcelona was only permitted if we visited PortAventura.

I thought: Who's in charge here? Well, my wife and two kids, obviously.

A tip for visiting PortAventua

A colleague had been to PortAventura two years running and had warned me: buy your tickets in advance and go in the evening, when it's cooler – and more importantly, quieter.

I took his advice.

PortAventura, Salou, Tarragona, Spain (Brian K./Bigstock.com)

PortAventura queue times: The queue to enter

Gaining entry took about half an hour. Easy enough.

Easy – and yet, my adrenaline glands were pumping out their fight-or-flight signals even as we stood queuing.

I couldn't quite see them, but I knew that beyond the stylised Spanish buildings there were miles and miles of snaking metal roller coaster tracks, with tiny cars filled with screaming kids, rising up and dropping down, rising up and dropping down…

“Are you OK, daddy?” Asked my daughter. “Yes of course, poppet, can't wait to get in those Tea Cups.”

 

The PortAventura Tea Cups

A collective moan rose up at my umpteenth mention of the Tea Cups; the most sedate ride I could find on the PortAventura park map, which I had scrutinised the night before in the hotel.

And so I got my wish.

All four of us ventured into a zone called Imperial China. “A long way to go for a cup of tea,” I joked. But nobody saw through my disingenuous quip.

To the sound of Chinese music, we located the Tea Cups, found one and clamoured in.

It began to rotate gently. “Ah, this is nice, isn't it kids?”

But then it picked up speed, spinning and spinning, for a good deal longer than I thought necessary.

When it finally stopped spinning, my brain seemed to continue on its own wobbly axis for about ten minutes. I had to sit down.

PortAventura, Salou, Tarragona, Spain (Brian K./Bigstock.com)

A break for food

To delay the next ride, I suggested we eat some of the Spanish omelette I had sneaked in.

The kids were very excited about something dreadful called Furious Baco but agreed to the early bite.

“Aren't you going to eat then, daddy?” asked my son as he unwrapped the food. “Not at the minute,” I said, wondering why Baco was so ticked off.

Soon we would find out.

 

Furious Baco

Furious Baco PortAventura queue time

The queue for Baco took about half an hour, which was a long time according to my excited progeny.

For me, however, it wasn't long enough.

Furious Baco height restriction

Then I spotted the 140cm height restriction sign.

Knowing my daughter was 139cm (the last time I checked), I hoped the man at the entry gate would stop us, compelling me to look after her on the ground while my wife and son went on Baco.

Unfortunately, he didn't notice; although I was tempted to tell him.

Our turn

We were up next.

My legs felt like concrete as I climbed into the car and pulled the safety bar down. I checked it had clicked into place several times.

I looked around at my family: they were all smiling for some reason.

In the dark engine house menacing cogs span around us. We watched a big video screen above: a lunatic with a big spanner.

Was that Baco?

And then the car began to move out of the dark building and into the light. It was sort of funereal…

Then we were launched out into the Spanish evening sunlight, a flash of sky, a glimpse of Catalonian hills in the distance.

Twisting and turning, violently fast. Upside down, very fast.

All very fast.

Screams… there were screams.

We swept out over a shimmering lake, very fast…

…and then we were suddenly back in the engine house.

"Daddy, daddy, did you like it?"

A pause as I tried to focus my eyes.

"It was alright I suppose."

Baco needs to get some perspective, I reflected, as I sat down on a bench outside.

 

PortAventura shows

En-route to the truly awful sounding Shambhala, I insisted we stop to watch a Sesame Street-themed show: lots of people in costumes, dancing about, singing about something or other.

Dancers at PortAventura, Salou, Tarragona, Spain(StockPhotoAstur/Bigstock.com)

“This is great,” I said, “I love Spanish dancing.”

“I think they're Mexicans,” said my wife. “Come on, it's the big one next.”

I thought: The big one? I thought Baco was the big one?

Shambhala

Someone was smoking in the queue; not very healthy. But my wife didn't seem to think this merited us abandoning the line for Shambhala.

Shambhala PortAventura queue times

Then I hoped the long queuing time (over an hour) would persuade everyone to stop this nonsense.

No such luck.

Shambhala height restriction?

Finally, I hoped the height restriction thing might have saved me. But no, the girl on the gate didn't seem to care that my daughter was probably 1cm shorter than she should have been.

Then we were in. Locked in the Shambhala.

Couldn't they have called it something less scary?

The tension built as the car clunked out into the light and we rose steeply. My heart was pumping in my ears.

Shambhala PortAventura height

At 76 metres high, the Shambhala was the tallest rollercoaster in Europe until 2017; no wonder I was scared!

We kept on rising, on and on, into the evening sky, until we reached the apex.

The drop down

The nose dropped forwards and it felt like we were going to tip over. The Earth pulled us down at G-force 1.

Spine-tingling adrenaline flushed through me as we swooped down into a dark hole, then out and up on to another high peak which I thought was going to catapult us into the sky!

But it didn't and we plummeted earthwards again, dipping violently, and then up again, this time on our sides, snaking through the arcs of metal...much longer than Baco...it was like being able to fly…and then it occurred to me:

I could do this all day!

End of the ride

And then it was over...we were suddenly on the level again.

The pneumatic brakes hissed as we inched towards the start position. Airport lounge music warbled gently in the background – adrenaline insanity followed by an odd and slightly disappointing calmness.

I just want to get back on again!

Braving the Shambhala was certainly a good way to learn how not to be scared of rollercoasters!

I looked at my son, beaming: “Enjoy that, son?”

"Dad,” he said, “I feel sick."

Get a Quote