croasan

  • RainChat

    For the past few weeks I’ve been building a small web experiment called RainChat.

    The idea came from those brief encounters we sometimes have in life. You meet someone while waiting for a train, sitting in a bar, travelling, or just killing time somewhere. Maybe the conversation is completely ordinary. Maybe it’s the most interesting one you’ve had in months. Either way, it exists inside a very small window.

    You don’t exchange profiles. You don’t become part of each other’s lives. You just share a moment, and then it’s gone. The anonymity makes it lighter somehow, but also more honest. Or maybe it only feels that way because you know there won’t be a second chapter.

    That’s why a bus stop under the rain felt like the right place for RainChat. A bus stop is a temporary place by definition, you’re there because you’re about to leave.

    So RainChat is an anonymous chat set at a rainy bus stop. Two strangers arrive, exchange a few messages, and eventually the bus comes. The conversation ends, the screen fades to black, and both people disappear from each other’s lives.

    That’s pretty much it.

    It’s also the first programming project I’ve made since finishing Computer Science at university, which was… too long ago. This time I wanted to actually build something myself again.

    Part of the excuse was curiosity. I wanted to try the current wave of AI coding tools, vibe coding, and all the strange new ways of making software that seem to be appearing every five minutes. But I didn’t want to make a to-do app or something purely practical. I wanted to make a small thing with a mood.

    RainChat doesn’t behave like a normal chat. Messages move through the screen, and if you don’t read them in time, they keep going. Sometimes they overlap a little, like real conversations do. I liked the idea that the interface wouldn’t preserve everything perfectly for you. It should feel slightly out of your control.

    There’s also a language layer between what you type and what the other person sees.

    Every message passes through an LLM before being shown. The original text disappears. What comes back is shorter, stranger, more poetic.

    I’ve been calling it “haiku noir” in my head.

    It adds a bit of distance and mystery to the conversation. It also makes the whole thing slightly less useful, which I think is part of the point.

    It ended up touching more pieces than I expected. A simple frontend gradually grew into canvas effects for the rain, a small Python backend, LLM-powered messages, procedural music, and enough infrastructure to let strangers actually meet online. Somewhere along the way I also added Spanish and English support, because I liked the idea of softening the language barrier without turning it into a translation app.

    I don’t want to make RainChat sound bigger than it is. It’s just a small experiment.

    But I enjoyed making it. It reminded me that programming can still feel playful when the goal isn’t to build something useful, but to create a tiny place with a specific mood.

    —

    by

    croa_san
    in

  • Watch Box #1: Seiko 62MAS

    Every collection has a starting point, and mine begins here. Watches have been on my mind for years, but it wasn’t until a few trips ago that I realized I wanted to make them a more tangible part of my life.

    From day one, I knew I didn’t want to chase after the most obvious or “internet-famous” models. I wanted something more personal, pieces that would remind me of places, moments, and choices I made along the way.

    Like many people, I wanted my first piece to be a Seiko. Picking one up in Japan felt like the perfect way to mark my first trip there with a memory I could wear every day. At first, I had my eye on the “Captain Willard” (SPB237J1). I loved the case design, but when I tried it on in Tokyo, I realized my wrist just wasn’t big enough to pull off that kind of watch.

    That’s how I ended up with this one: the Seiko 62MAS reissue, reference SPB239J1. It’s an automatic (caliber 6R35 with a 70-hour power reserve) and carries clear vintage cues. What really won me over were the details: the creamy patina on the markers and the dial, which is surprisingly complex. At first glance it can look black, but under different lighting it shifts into this moody grey-brown with a textured surface that feels alive.

    For a bit of context, the original 62MAS, released in 1965, was Seiko’s very first professional dive watch. It marked the beginning of a lineage that would eventually lead to icons like the SKX, the Turtle, and even today’s Prospex line.

    Owning a modern reinterpretation of such a milestone feels like having a small piece of that history on the wrist… and I can enjoy it safely on dry land, because let’s be honest, I’ve never gone diving—and I never will. I’m a city creature.

    The watch comes with two NATO straps using a traditional Japanese braiding technique called Seichu. The quality is fantastic, but the thickness makes them a bit too bulky for my taste. I’ve always had a soft spot for jubilee-style bracelets anyway—they’re so comfortable—so I picked up an aftermarket one that pairs beautifully with the case.

    Image from Time and Time

    Many people compare this Seiko to the Tudor Black Bay 58, and the resemblance in vintage styling is hard to ignore. Of course, the Tudor is several times more expensive. But—and maybe this sounds like self-justification—I honestly think I prefer the Seiko aesthetically. The fact that such a comparison can even be made says a lot about the value Seiko is offering here.

    Seiko SPB239J1
    ★★★★☆

    Looking back, I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start my collection. It feels meaningful that my first watch wasn’t just something “safe” or trendy, but a piece that reflects both my taste and a personal memory.

    —

    by

    croa_san
    in

  • Asturias

    This year I’ve been lucky enough to travel quite a bit, for both work and personal reasons, and I’ve made the most of it to shoot plenty of film.

    This time I want to share my experience visiting Asturias, in northern Spain. It was a trip I wanted to take at a slower pace for personal reasons—just enjoying the beautiful landscapes of the north without any rush.

    As with my recent trips, I brought my Contax with the 45mm pancake lens. In a place like this, I was especially grateful not to have brought a digital camera. My memories of the trip would have been completely different if I had been constantly checking a screen after every shot, taking 200 photos of the same view. Shooting film forces me to slow down, be more intentional, and simply look around.

    That said, on this trip I did feel some of the 139Q limitations. Even with the pancake lens not being particularly fast, I sometimes wished for more shutter speed so I could shoot wider open and get more separation between layers in certain scenes. And since I already own a couple of Contax lenses, and want to stay in the system (Carl Zeiss, you know…), I’ve been browsing other bodies that could give me a bit more flexibility. But more on that soon.

    Film (Gold 200)
    iPhone

    Of course, it rained on many days (it is the north, after all) but I was lucky to get some stunning weather when I visited places like the Lagos de Covadonga, Senda de los Acantilados de Cabo Vidío or Faro de Cabo Peñas.

    The way I planned my excursions meant I got to see quite a few sunsets, and in a matter of minutes the light would change dramatically. It’s one of those small rewards that makes me glad I took the trip slow.

    —

    by

    croa_san
    in ,

  • Back to Tokyo

    I had the chance to return to Japan for two weeks. It was my fourth time in Tokyo, so I didn’t feel the pressure to check off tourist spots like I did on my first visits. And honestly, that made the trip even more enjoyable.

    Even if I didn’t see that many new places. I spent more time just being with people, wandering without a plan, and letting the city unfold at its own pace. It made me wonder what it might be like to live there for a longer stretch.

    Something that’s quietly become a little personal tradition: on arrival, I grab a melonpan and a coffee, then head straight to explore some neighborhood with an Ichiran Ramen close by, and to end the day, I make my way up to a viewpoint to watch the city glow at night.

    This time I went up to Shibuya Sky. It’s one of those iconic city views—amazing perspective on the Shibuya crossing. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of videos online with people riding the escalators and filming the skyline. It’s very crowded (no surprise given the location), but still worth it. That said, I think I preferred the Mori Tower view—maybe because it holds more personal meaning for me.

    I also visited Harajuku. I’ve been there before, but this time I wanted to lose myself in the side streets. I’d recently been reading about the complex world of Japanese denim, and it turns out there’s a solid cluster of local brands with domestic production just a short walk from Shibuya. I ended up buying a couple of denim jackets—which will have to wait a few more months until Barcelona’s scorching temperatures finally cool down.

    As I’ve mentioned on this blog before, photography is one of my biggest passions. But it’s not the only one outside of animation, I’ve also had a deep interest in watches for many years. So being back in Tokyo, I couldn’t pass up the chance to revisit the legendary second-hand camera shops in Shinjuku, or browse the watch stores tucked inside Nakano Broadway. I’ll write more about watches soon, as I managed to pick up a really interesting piece on this trip.

    I came to Tokyo with my Contax setup, the one I’ve taken on a few trips already and that I’m more than happy with. But as I walked past Katsumido Camera, I couldn’t resist this titanium beauty: the Contax TVS.

    During my previous camera hunts I had considered getting a Contax T2, but its high price and the risk of mechanical failure always held me back. The TVS, on the other hand, is a really compelling point-and-shoot. It has that same “luxury” aura thanks to its materials, build, and lens, but it costs about a quarter of the price—mostly because it (still) hasn’t fallen into the hype bubble.

    This time I was staying at a hotel in Ginza, very close to the Sumida River, so my walk to the studio each morning was quite short. After all, this was a work trip, so I made the most of those morning walks to test out my new camera with a roll of Kodak Gold 200 I had originally brought for the 139Q.

    They’re not great photos—just a first roll to make sure everything was working properly—but the results speak for themselves. The Carl Zeiss zoom (28–56) is super versatile and, to my untrained eyes, doesn’t lack sharpness compared to a big SLR.

    Each time I come back to Tokyo I leave with more reasons to return. There’s always something new to discover, but also a growing sense of comfort in the familiar. This trip reminded me how energizing it can be to slow down, stay curious, and make space for small routines and quiet moments.

    I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I already look forward to the next time I’m wandering through backstreets with a camera in hand and nowhere particular to be.

    —

    by

    croa_san
    in ,