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B-I-N-G-O! I was running barefoot and winedrunk when I pitched suddenly off the side and fell twenty feet down, landing on my backside. My dear friend Olivea, still on the aqueduct, peered over the edge, sure I was broken or dead.
"Don't come down that way!" I shouted, and ran into the sea.
Nikko is close enough. It's at a Wild West theme park called "Western Village" (uesutaan-mura) in Kanagawa Prefecture, which sports a one-eighth scale replica of Mount Rushmore, a Japanese cowboy shooutout pageant, and bow-and-arrow shooting, as well as the replica train in the picture. When I was there, people asked me if America was like this, and I told them, "No, but there are places like this in America. My parents took me to one when I was a kid, a theme park called Frontier Town, where my pa bought my my first coonskin cap."
The answer to this one should be the name of the town:
It's in the USA, in Maryland. If you know your bridges, you'll get it. Particularly if you know your prefabricated iron truss railroad bridges. Plus, the town has a wild name.
One of my favorite places. I spent the night atop Mount Sinai, huddled under a camel blanket with a few Australians. Just before dawn, a busload of Korean tourists arrived clean and showered to take in the sunrise over the extraterrestrial landscape of the biblical wilderness. A couple of old ladies saw us huddled, bearded and hungry under our blanket, poked at us, and then brought round their husbands to take pictures of us. I bared my teeth and snarled just as the sun came up and the ten commandments came crashing down.
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
