Let's Hokkaido! Right now, having just stepped in my door, thinking about this place of mountains and space and sky I can only say: wonderful, wonderful, wonderful and then still again: wonderful. And I want to yell it. "!" There.

If I was placed to Hokkaido I would have not a second thought about renewing. I have not felt so at home in my six months here. And the funny thing is that each of my fellow travelers visiting this fine island all said the same, came they from Kentucky or England.

Beautiful open fields held tight by tall mountains, and these lush with pine and covered in that most magic of water-states; snow. The air was cold enough to freeze the snot in your nose (home!) but it felt right. Dry and crisp. Each sip of air made itself known the way down and reminded us that our bodies were breathing; engaged in the magical labors of homeostasis that we take so for granted.

And to such purposes did these labors move us! SKIING! Call me shallow, but I presently feel that if enabled to pursue no greater course in my life that the filling of it with day after day of sun-drenched, angel-white bowls dotted with moguls like the breasts of nineteen year old virgins and punctuated by heart pounding chutes I would still be able to number myself among the happiest of men. Mountains, Gandalf! I want to see mountains again!

And to top it all off, the Hokkaidans I met were of the finest sort. Especially Misha who drove two hours to pick us up at the airport, gave us shelter and guided us to skiing all with a smile. Super-genki, she is currently organizing an indoor quiddich match and costume party for her school. The snitch will be operated by JETs using fishing gear and dangling from the rafters of the school gym. (Snitches and quiddich being terms of Harry Potter origin, duh!) She's from Milpitas near SF (home!) and was on the freestyle ski team at Squaw (home!). So there was a lot of energetic debate on the subject of Shirley Lake bowl vs. Headwall (these are runs at Squaw Valley, a resort in Tahoe, near my home). And mom, she had Brianhead ski tags still on her pants. (!) Small world.

So here's the play by play: Friday. Off school, to the airport and thence to Hokkaido. Arrival at 7pm. Buy beer. Get to Misha's. Drink beer until 2 or so.

Saturday. Up at seven! Drive to Tomamu (get there at 10 or so) and hit the shit. Tomamu is a great medium sized hill with a good variety of terrain. I did a run (+ ski instruction) with the first timers and then set off with the Hokkaidans to the steep and deep. I'm not the kind to kiss and tell so I'll keep the glorious details of those runs to myself, but they were nice to say the least. Nothing too hairy and not enough snow for off piste, but plenty for my plate. After runs, let's onsen! A nearby town had a great one, actually attached to it's ski-jo (resort). Now, hot tubbing for apres ski is a long held and excellent tradition where I'm from, but this experience pales when reflected by the luxurient waters of the Japanese onsen. Sorry to put on the shit-over-here-is-so-much-better face, but... dang.

Saturday night: Yakki-niku, nama-biru (Big plates of meat you grill at your table and draught beer)! Followed by Michelle's birthday party and drinking until 3 or 4. Whew. Not there yet...

Sunday: Up at 9! Drive to Hobetsu, a tiny ski-jo an hour away from Misha's, where you can buy ski lift passes in two hour increments. Attempted to wring every drop of ski from the small hill in this amount of time. Nice runs in a tiny resort sometimes can't be beat. Small places have a charm and warmth that Mammoth-sized places can't compete with. From here a drive to the airport and then the train and a bus and a short walk up the block and over my steps and finally there it is the finish line threshold of my home. Finish! Time!: 41 hrs, 13 min, 10 sec. Showered. Bathed. Now I'm going to bed. Should've earlier, but I'm still so excited from my trip and I wanted to share this... oyasumi!