A King Kong–size duck waddled over to the park and, fluffing its feathers, settled into the meadow, throwing an immense shadow over the surrounding grove of trees. There were no screaming waves of city folk running for their lives, however. Only three bemused visitors to Legoland California — my husband, Eric, my 12-year-old daughter, Kirsten, and I — laughing over the incongruous nature of the avian interloper nesting in the Lilliputian Jackson Square of New Orleans.
“I spent much of my youth hanging out in Jackson Square,” said Eric, my husband, a New Orleans native. “And it looked exactly like that,” he said, gesturing to the tiny tree-studded model.
“Really?” I quipped. “Exactly?” How many trees did you crush when you sat down?”
Eric made a sour face. Yet he couldn’t hold back a smile.
We were on a whirlwind southern California theme park trip, visiting the 128-acre (0.5 km²)Legoland, in Carlsbad, and Disneyland and Disney’s California Adventure, in Anaheim.
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