The other day, my wife suddenly looked up from her morning coffee and asked a perfectly reasonable question: 'Where have all the crows gone?' This may not sound like a big deal. But if you’ve ever lived in Tokyo, you’ll understand the gravity of the situation. For years, our mornings weren’t greeted by the delicate chirping of sparrows, but by the full-volume cawing of crows that sounded like they were holding an emergency meeting outside our window. Imagine the ravens at the

The other day my wife and I went to see Bryan Adams in concert. This guy really rocks. And I don’t just mean in a 'good for his age'  sense – which is usually polite shorthand for 'still upright and not entirely embarrassing' . No, he genuinely rocks. Especially when you consider that he’s 66. Sixty-six! An age where most people start complaining about their knees, their eyesight, and music all sounds the same these days. Meanwhile, Bryan Adams is on stage, strutting around l

It’s flu season. And Covid is also still doing the rounds. At this point, I’m beginning to suspect we’re not getting rid of it anytime soon. Walking around Japan at this time of year, it can sometimes feel as if the pandemic never really left. Masks everywhere. On trains. In shops. On the street. Sometimes even outdoors – alone, in wide‑open spaces. Or worn by drivers sitting solo in their car, presumably protecting themselves from… themselves. Shop and restaurant staff are m

In 2026, I will have lived in Japan for 30 years. Thirty years. Long enough to forget that Sundays once meant closed shops, but still short enough to be asked, every now and then, when 'I’m going back home.' What I only realised recently is that this urge to leave Switzerland – to look over the mountains and think maybe somewhere else would be nice  – is not a modern phenomenon at all. It’s about 2,000 years old. What I’m referring to is one of the earliest mass emigrations