A Day observing the famous “snow monkeys” at Jigokudani Monkey Park (地獄谷野猿公苑, Jigokudani Yaen Kōen) in Nagano, Japan.

After taking a bus to the park, you hike in about 2 kilometers until you get to the main gathering point of the snow monkeys. In the valley, the monkeys roam free, mixing right in with the visitors. As you approach, you find them walking along the path with you, jumping down from the nearby trees and generally moving all around the vast space. When it gets cold enough, the monkeys gather in the natural hot spring (onsen). The day we visited it was fairly warm, so no monkeys were in the onsen. But there were still hundreds of them running, playing and eating all over the place.

Without places to go and people to see—time has a way of flattening out. It’s important to create little spikes of nowness in your day. Little moments just because. To have some control over something. To fight a vague sense of dread with a specific burst of passion. Even if it’s just for five minutes. It’s important that we reclaim what we can. Reclaim what is ours. To be present and take back now.  

Me, I reclaim my creativity with short writing and drawing breaks. I enter these with no goals in mind—no pressure. I just come to a blank page with a desire and willingness to create. That’s what gets me going. I lay down some brushstrokes or colored pencil or start flowing sentences from my pen. Sometimes it leads somewhere else. Sometimes it completes itself. The victory lies in actually carving out the time. Reconnecting with your intentions. Taking back what matters to you. The things that make you breathe.

  

What are you doing to take back your now?

The biggest typhoon of the past several decades hit Tokyo last weekend. Living near the center of the city, we were curious what things would be like at ground zero, before the peak of the typhoon arrived.

Before we set out, we looked at a couple of live cams of Shibuya. There were only a handful of people out, toting umbrellas and braving the elements. But the winds didn’t seem that intense at the moment, so we looked at each other and decided to go check it out first hand.

We rolled over to the bus stop a couple of minutes from our house. Luckily a bus was just pulling up when we arrived so we hopped on. There were only two other riders on the bus. So we could already feel the effects of the evacuation mentality. We rode all the way to Dogenzaka, making no stops on the way as no one was at any of the bus stops.

When we left the bus, it was only raining lightly. It was still safe to use your umbrella and not have it blown apart by high winds. We walked the deserted alleys and streets around Shibuya station. Many of the shops and cafes had fully boarded up windows, giving the whole environment the look of an apocalyptic movie set. We continued on, walking the empty streets and snapping the occasional rare photo of a barren Shibuya.

We were on a scouting mission to see if anything was open. Being around noon, we had lunch on our minds. With the boarded up windows, it didn’t look promising. However as we walked Basketball Street in central Shibuya, we saw a light burning brightly in the distance. As we approached the window, we discovered it was a ramen shop—working at full capacity. Just looking in the window, you wouldn’t guess the circumstances odd at all. Chefs moved in tight choreography. Spinning, draining scoops of noodles, stirring vats of steaming broth. All as happy customers slurped away as on any other day.

And who were all these fools inhaling ramen under these locked down circumstances? Were they all reflections of us? Disaster tourists? Or rugby fans eating off the pain of cancelled games. Or bitcoin miners waiting for the conference to resume.

After a leisurely and dry lunch, we headed back into the streets in search of more nothingness. The rain now more persistent. The drops bigger. But still no wind. We ducked into Don Quixote. The meme-like Japanese super everything store. Whose multi-jingles and enthusiastic staff were on full blast. Ramen and Don Quixote, the two pillars of Tokyo remained unfettered by the weather event outside.

We picked up some batteries and spare lightbulbs because they were on our shopping list. Then we walked on. The rain amping up even more.

At the crossing, cameras and reporters stood in the elements talking to the random handful of folks passing through. We were stopped. They were doing something for British TV, around rugby. But with the games called off, they turned into typhoon chasers. They asked if we were here for the rugby or the bitcoin. Sadly no. They asked if we thought the typhoon was going to be bad. I said something about reports usually being overblown. At which point a gust of wind blew back my umbrella, shattering the skeletal core beyond repair. With any luck, I’m some sort of meme to American ignorance in the UK thanks to the comic timing of a gust from the god of wind.

From the interview on, the weather turned increasingly violent. We turned into the tunnels above and below Shibuya station, and walked their empty halls. Every now and then we’d pass another explorer like us. Earlier we had thought of walking home, but with the winds, we caught a cab. One of a hundred lined up at the station after the buses and trains had stopped. We rode home and looked out the window for the rest of the day as the winds pounded. The trust of the typhoon came at night, after the house was asleep. But our photos and videos of a barren Shibuya made our wet excursion to the city center worth it.

Time was when baseball was the American pastime. It may still be in name, but recently football and basketball have broken away to the top of the American psyche. Baseball is still a major sport, but it no longer holds the urgent, most relevant place in the nation’s heart.

Hop the Pacific Ocean to Japan. Here, baseball has deep roots and a culture unto its own. The major leagues see the fruits of Japan’s baseball culture with the yearly all-world exports that come to America. The culture that is spawning these talented ballplayers runs deep. It’s baseball, but it’s also not an exact copy of the American version. It’s not even called baseball for starters. It’s YAKYU. It has its own rhythm, tradition and strict belief system born out of the Japanese spirit.

Japan has made the game of baseball their own. Transforming it into its national sport on its terms.

Baseball is everywhere. Walk down the streets any day of the week and you’ll notice packs of young ballplayers, in full uniform and helmets traveling around like rabid baseball gangs. With bat bags and gear in tow, they travel in full team packs. They head to and from practice. They stop and take shadow cuts in the alleys. They worship the game. A visual reminder of how pervasive the game is.

On the subways, people of all ages wear the hats of their favorite Japanese league teams. Young school kids hang stuffed team mascots from their backpacks. On game day, people will fully gear up in uniform, hat, holding tenants or plastic team bats. More baseball worship throughout the city.

On Saturdays, working men and women turn out to the local ballparks, in full uniform, to play the game. Here they use a rubber ball and sometimes play double or triple headers. These fully uniformed men and women, looking like pros, glide by on their bikes or scooters, racing to assemble at the fields. Many of them play for corporate, company sponsored teams. They play other companies. Coming together over baseball.

Locals stand and populate the bleachers, watching the hyper local leagues play their games. The talent level is amateur, but it’s full on baseball. Minus the hardball. But they keep at it, weekend after weekend. Holding onto the game in their way. Going through the routines. Swinging bats and limbering up before the game. Watching the previous game finish up. Communing with the gods of baseball. Or Yakyu rather.

In summer, the nation turns its psyche towards Koshien—the all Japan high school baseball tournament that dominates all media. Stars here become legends that endure for decades. Baseball in Japan rewards its followers with immortality.

As I pass by these Saturday games and observe them from the outside of the fence, I tip my cap to their diligent diamond worship. In a country where sport doesn’t hold the same cultural significance as it does in the west, there is something deeply significant with Japan’s connection to baseball. The inspiration and nostalgia moves me. All hail the national pastime. To Yakyu, the vehicle which transports the Japanese spirit. And every weekend, it gains a head of steam, rounds third and heads for home.

With everyone in NBA circles focused on the hype around Zion Williamson, I think people might be sleeping on Rui Hachimura. While he was a very much heralded lottery draft pick (the first player from Japan to ever go that high) he wasn’t necessarily viewed as a slam dunk. He was seen as athletic, unselfish and pretty much viewed as a defensive specialist. However, this is a guy who has shockingly only been playing basketball for about seven years. And given the leaps he took at Gonzaga in his second and third years, it’s not ridiculous to imagine another leap or two from what we’ve already seen. With his play in the recent FIBA world basketball championships, he showed that he could carry the offensive load, and at times even dominate. This was something he didn’t need to show on a more balanced Gonzaga offense. But now that he has shown the ability to dominate on both ends of the court, I expect his stock to rise even more. There will always be an adjustment period for rookies as their bodies get used to going against much larger and more athletic players. But the flashes Rui has shown could turn into something truly special once he hits his NBA stride.