By the by, you did a wonderful job on your Norwegian-themed cultural adventure flume ride. Just wanted to let you know. I can't imagine that was a particularly easy pitch to top brass, so major kudos, seriously.
To clarify, it's not that I've ever found myself thinking "well huh, I guess, yeah, if an amusement park had a ride wholly devoted to the historical and cultural capacities of a Scandinavian unitary constitutional monarchy, I'd definitely spring for a ticket..." but knowing what I now do, I'll certainly be rethinking a whole slew of my preconceptions. Entirely worth the cost of admission.
Now granted, I did receive a small discount at the door for presenting one of your ticketing agents with six empty cans of a popular diet soda per the well-publicized brand collaboration, but even without that, I'd totally have paid full price. Knowing what I now do, that is.
So pretty quickly after entering your park, I set out to find a bathroom with a fair amount of urgency. I'd recently binge-drunk half a dozen diet sodas in the parking lot and you know how that goes. I wasn't able to track one down, but (silver lining!) that's how I came to wander through the entrance of your ride. To that end, and I'm no expert, but some things your park could really use:
1. Bathrooms. As far as I can tell you have none. There has to be some sort of ordinance...
2. Signs. Seems like a pretty significant oversight.
But the ride itself... wow. First off, what was your budget on this? Between the technological complexities and the length, I can't fathom the cost associated with its construction. At points, super frankly, it seemed gratuitous. For instance, I'm not convinced you ultimately need so many animatronic Norwegians. The obvious example is that one amphichamber depicting the final Viking raid before King Olav Tryggvason adopted Christianity. The sheer numbers became overwhelming. I counted thousands of animatrons. Thousands. What are we supposed to focus on, you know?
Also, I must be totally behind on recent achievements in robotics. Credit where credit is due, those things seemed borderline sentient. At one point, about an hour into the ride, the droid version of King Charles III John, actually climbed into the flume with me and rode for fifteen minutes or so before hopping out somewhere after the Battle of Narvik. I'm certain I saw a spark of life in those crystal blue eyes.
That said, while personally thrilled on a level I never thought possible, I'm sure you realize this ride is not appropriate for children. I didn't see any warnings for parents. Again, you need some signs. When the great wolf Fenrir rips off the arm of Týr, god of law and heroic glory, well, we both know it was graphic. The flume reached a full halt and, for nearly half an hour, I watched in revulsion as Týr writhed in visceral agony, blood spurting from his hand like a geyser.
Again, I've never glimpsed such credible animatronics. The blood, the wolf, the screams. Actually, King Charles III John was still in the flume with me at this point, and I swear he turned to me and smiled at my quiet weeping. Someone deserves an award.
Some might argue that the troll birth segment is over-extended. Others could, I suppose, suggest that the hall of dioramas depicting Norway's chief modern imports is a bit pedantic, and maybe poorly placed at the three-hour mark. Not me. I wouldn't change a thing. Admittedly, I really needed a bathroom after, never having found one. But I came out with a new, broad, and tremendously in-depth knowledge of Norse cultural history. And, again, astonishing robotics. I swear to God, I earnestly forgot at times that I wasn't witnessing actual human death.