The flight to Tokyo muddled time. Ten hours in the dark cavern of the plane opened to the cleanest, calmest airport I'd ever seen. Narita was quiet and spacious, surrounded by wide green fields. People looked determined but not crazed. No one was making a mad dash for their flight. It was so quiet. It was kind of surreal. Then again, I hadn't slept since the night before. I can't sleep on planes. Lack of sleep softened the edges of everything. We went to the gift shop. I stared at the excellent variety of Hello Kitty zipper pulls, resisted the urge to touch the jelly candies, drank the first of many bottled teas. We found our gate and sat, too zombie-like to make much use of the three hour layover. We did, however, find the children's area:
We climbed over the birds and blocks for awhile, then took our seats. We still had a couple hours before takeoff and a four hour flight. James fell asleep, woke up, fell asleep again. I read Complex and Cosmopolitan a fifth time and wish I'd brought more books. I buy Cosmopolitan and Vogue every time I'm at an airport. Complex was James'. It had a good article on comic books and was pretty well-written. I'd buy it outside the airport.
People talked quietly. Americans distinguished themselves by being talking less quietly. We left the humid, swaying green fields of suburban Tokyo behind and got on the plane to Taipei.