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.“Is he always this mean to you?” she asks.“What can I say?” We look at each other for a long moment, and I try to send out rays of kindness, of apology.“You can’t argue with science.”In the Tokyo airport, just like in every airport we’ve been in, the teams scatter, and it’s a hurried dash through the terminal toward baggage claim, then a rush to figure out the best route to get where we’re going.I was worried about the fact that we don’t even know the alphabet here, but there are a surprising number of signs in English.As soon as we get off the plane, we’re confronted with the word Starbucks written in giant letters, which prompts Jeff to start humming “The Star-Spangled Banner” under his breath until I hit him in the arm.We stop at an information kiosk, where a very nice woman, who speaks better English than half the Americans I know, advises us to take the train to Kinugawa, just outside Nikko; from there, we can get buses to the theme parks.The trains are modern and spacious, and very organized.I read in the guidebook that during rush hour, they hire these guys with white gloves to push people into the crowded cars.(Jeff, of course, finds this hilarious: “Do you think these people were always interested in the field of butt-pushing? Did their guidance counselors recommend butt-pushing as a promising career path?”) But now it’s early afternoon, and we don’t have any trouble getting on, lugging all our junk.We don’t get that many strange looks, even with Jeff wearing the aviator helmet; either everyone’s too polite, or they’re used to odd fashion trends.I’m leaning toward the latter; among the other passengers on the train, I see a couple of grown women in schoolgirl dresses, a group of teenagers dressed like surfer chicks with bleached blond hair, and a guy wearing a T-shirt that says “Let me be your sugar dentist.”The camera draws some attention, though, and a few of the other passengers come over to try out their English skills on us.Jeff spends a while chatting up a young woman with platform boots and hair dyed reddish-brown, but she doesn’t seem to get any of his jokes.I just sit back and relax.There’s nice scenery out the windows, and I’m eating a box lunch we got on the train platform.There are all these little compartments with different tidbits in them: a single dumpling, a few pieces of sushi, a carrot cut into the shape of a flower.It’s almost too pretty to eat.At one point, someone comes through the train car with a little cart, selling sake, and I practically have to hold Jeff down to keep him from buying one.I mean, come on, we’re playing a game here.We need our wits about us.In Kinugawa, Jeff gets on a bus to go to Western Village, and I head off to Tobu World Square.Our camera guy goes with Jeff; I’ll meet up with another cameraman at the park.As I sit on the bus, I realize this is the first time I’ve been completely alone in almost three weeks.No cameras, no other teams, no Jeff.It’s exhilarating to realize—how pathetic is this?—that if I wanted to, I could scratch my butt without worrying about all of America seeing me do it.(I probably won’t give it a try, though, given the disgusted looks I get from the other passengers after I blow my nose.Do they not get colds in this country?) I’m enjoying the freedom, but when we pull up to the park and I see Barbara getting into her little booth at the entrance—she’s dressed in “TV Hostess Casual” today, wearing tight jeans and what appears to be a leather halter top—I wish Jeff were here to make one of his smart-ass comments.I can’t believe it, but I miss the jerk already.ELEVENAbbyStanding in front of a miniature model of the Taj Mahal, I feel a little balloon of lightness rise in my chest, and I have to admit that I’m happy to have a break from Justin.He’s an intense man, to say the least, and if I don’t get some time on my own now and then, I start to feel like my edges are blurring, like I’m made of a much softer substance than he is, and his very presence leaves an impression.Not to mention that he was starting to get on my nerves, the way he spends every flight memorizing foreign phrases from our guidebook, the way he puts his arm around me whenever he remembers the cameras are there.Really, no married couple should be together twenty-four hours a day.This is why people fight when they’re on vacation.I’ve been wandering around Tobu World Square for about a half hour now, backpack on my back, parrot cage in hand, trailed by a cameraman named Stu and a local sound technician named Hiro—Ken and Stefan went to Western Village with Justin—looking for American icons.I love it here.I’ve got the whole world spread out before me in 1/25 scale.Here I am in New York, standing almost as tall as the Flatiron Building; I take a short walk, and here are the pyramids, here’s Versailles, here’s the Great Wall of China.It’s like being in a trompe l’oeil painting; the perspective is all wrong.I walk past the Eiffel Tower, turn a corner, and I’m face-to-face with the Temple of Abu Simbel, for the second time in three days.But this time I tower over all four Ramses.The park was designed by the same company who did the sets for the original Godzilla movies, and they’ve taken great care with each scene, adding bonsai trees and crowds of tiny people.They’ve got hot dog vendors in Central Park and tourists eating ice cream on the steps of the Parthenon.There are miniature bank robbers and miniature traffic accidents.I don’t know what Justin has been seeing at the cowboy park, but I’m willing to bet I got the better end of the deal.My cell phone rings, and I give myself a minute before I answer it.“It’s me,” Justin says [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]