Milo, Randy Johnson, and a GoPro by Grant

This stop in Nagano was one of the first Airbnbs we booked while planning. We’d reserved all our stays ahead of time, but this one stood out—it offered a stay with a local family instead of being on our own, and they had a friendly dog. We were sold. On the map, it looked like we’d be close to town, with plenty of roads near the pin. Spoiler: we were not.

Nagano came right after Sapporo in our itinerary. We woke up at 6 a.m. and caught the first shuttle to the airport. Security was smooth—Japan’s airports are way faster than the U.S. From there, we flew to Tokyo, made our way to Tokyo Station, and hopped on the bullet train to Nagano.

Once we arrived, our host messaged us with directions to a specific bus that would take us up the mountain. “The mountain?!” Somehow we’d missed that part. With help from station staff, we found the bus and climbed aboard—unaware we were practically the last stop. Forty-five minutes later, we arrived. Waiting for us was our host, Hanako (whom I’d assumed—based on our texts—was a man), her tiny car, and her dog, Milo. She joked about our huge bags but said winter guests often bring the same.

Milo the Dog!

We got to their place, tucked deep in a rural village, around 4 p.m.—completely spent from a full day of travel. Planes, trains, buses—we were running on fumes. We headed upstairs to decompress. One thing that had sold us on this place was dinner made by the host for just 1,000 yen (about $7)! A hot meal sounded perfect.

That evening, we joined Hanako, her husband Sujith, and a friend visiting from even further up the mountain. Hanako brought us tea and casually mentioned she was vegan 💀 “Yeah, I’m done for,” I thought to myself. But then she added that Sujith wasn’t vegan, and most of their guests weren’t either—so she’d made chicken just for us. I rejoiced internally.

Over dinner, we learned Hanako and Sujith had moved to Japan from India two years ago. Sujith didn’t speak much Japanese, but his English was strong. Hanako had picked up English from Sujith and from hosting, so conversation flowed easily. She helped us practice our Japanese without pressure—it was the first time we could slow down and try.

We shared how confusing it had been to ask convenience store staff to heat up food. We’d been asking if it was “hot,” which doesn’t make any sense. She taught us the right phrase for asking something to be microwaved politely, and that one tip stuck with us the rest of the trip.

Her friend didn’t speak English, so we kept things simple. We asked if she’d ever seen snow monkeys. She didn’t catch most of it, but her eyes lit up as she repeated one word: “Monkeh!” We cracked up.

After such a warm and unexpected evening, we were sad when it came time to leave. It felt like we’d just started to hit a stride—connecting with locals and getting chances to use the language.

The next morning, Sujith drove us down the mountain to the bus stop. On the way to Nagano Station, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Where are you from?” asked a bald Japanese man named Rick.

Rick on the Bus

“America,” I said. “Arizona.”

His face lit up. “Ooooh, like the Arizona Diamondbacks!”

I was stunned—not just that he knew the team, but that he liked them.

“Yeah, that’s us.”

“Randy Johnson!” he shouted.

He was even naming players! I told him about our trip, listing smaller towns on our list like Takachiho and Tsuruoka. He turned the man next to him and repeated it all with wide eyes.

I pulled out a baseball themed postcard of Chase Field from my bag—one of many we’d brought from home with our names written on the back in Japanese—and handed it to him.

He studied it, smiled, and said, “Samsung!”

It took us a second, then we laughed—he was connecting Sam’s name to his phone. He tried to give the postcard back, but I said it was a gift. He seemed touched. Then he pulled a charm from his bag—something he’d picked up at a temple—and gave it to me for good luck.

I was surprised by the gesture. A simple postcard in exchange for something so special. We said goodbye at our stop, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Little did I know, I’d need that good luck.

On the bus, my camera bag with my GoPro tucked in a side pocket had tipped over. At the time, I didn’t think much of it—until we reached the rental car pickup and I went to grab the GoPro. It was gone.

Panic.

I messaged Hanako, and she called me almost immediately. She said she’d contact the bus company, but we had to keep moving.

Later that day, Hanako messaged again: the driver checked the seats and didn’t see anything. I was confused—there was nowhere else it could’ve gone. But this was Japan. I still had hope.

Sure enough, that night Hanako called: the GoPro had been found under a seat at the end of the shift. They’d hold it for me at the bus station—right next to where we’d be dropping off our rental car.

The charm worked. Thanks, Rick.

Thanks For Reading! -S & G