One weekend when we were living in Monroe, Mary and Helen and Tom and I piled into the car and drove to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania.
The drive itself took around 4 hours, at which point we stopped for something to eat. Tom got a donut which was stolen from him by a bumblebee. (The bee landed on the donut; startled, Tom dropped it, and claimed the bee took it from him.)
When we finally reached Hershey Park, we found there wasn’t a whole lot to do. None of us really liked roller coasters, so we ended up taking the riding tour of the History of Chocolate.
I never realized chocolate had a history, beyond: “It’s there, I ate it. It’s gone.”
The tour was kind of interesting, a blend of dioramas and animatronics similar to those Epcot rides at Disney World. The best part, of course, was the pervasive aroma of chocolate that grew in intensity until it overwhelmed your senses.
At the end of the ride, with the air thick with the stench of delicious chocolate, they disgorged us into a maze of gift shops all selling Hershey souvenirs and chocolate in all of Hershey’s glorious forms, including Hershey bars that weighed POUNDS.
We bought a few things (and some chocolate) and called it a day. It was entertaining enough, and the kids seemed to like it.
And some of that chocolate even made it all the way back to Monroe.