I'm back in Korea. It feels good to be home. Travelling has emphasized my familiarity with this place; Korea is less alien to me than Japan was. Are there degrees of "home"?

Three days earlier -- I'm on a shinkansen to Fukuoka. At night, Himeji, Kobe, Hiroshima and the rest all look the same as they speed past. On arrival, I take a quick walk to the hostel and read the letter taped up to the front door for me. Another letter containing the room key is taped to the front desk. It is as cordial as the first. Entering the dorm I find a third letter on my pillow, taped to the alarm clock I had requested. I couldn't have felt more welcome.

Three days earlier -- I'm dangling from a ski-lift at Mt.Yeti at the foot of Mt.Fuji. To the South the land zigzags in and out of the Pacific. To the North rests Mt.Fuji. To the East a Ferris wheel stands like a mirage in a plain edged by mountains. Ferris wheels seem to be everywhere in Japan. Big circular anachronisms radiating grandeur, quaintness, whimsy and romance all at once. I am snowboarding. The sun is warm. The snow is grainy and icy. The resort's sound system rotates through acoustic guitar ballads, Japanese reggae, and modern R&B.

Lunch is "fujiyama" rice. It is shaped to resemble Mt.Fuji with curry dripped down the side giving it the appearance of having a white snowcap. I am Godzilla and this mountain is delicious.

Riding home I try to capture a Japanese sunset. But it eludes me, sidestepping my aim like a boxer beyond the windows and ducking behind trees as the bus winds down the mountain.

Earlier still -- Sake. Onsen. Yuzu. The small town of Shizenju. Talk of Super Mario's tanooki suit. MOS Burger. Someone playing a shamisen in the distance.