SHOP TILL YOU DROP

Ah, the delight of retail therapy, enjoyed by many the world over! So, let’s explore the contrasting shopping aisles of Japan and Switzerland, shall we?

I have always found the shopping experience in Japan a very special one, and very different from what you get in Switzerland, where it tends to be a no-frills experience, whereas in Japan it’s taken to an entirely different level.

One reason is the incredible attention to detail here. The Japanese take precision to a level that would leave a Swiss watchmaker in awe. Whether you’re in a bustling Tokyo department store or a serene Kyoto boutique, every detail matters.

Packaging? It’s not just wrapping; it’s a carefully folded masterpiece.

Presentation? It’s not just displaying a product; it’s presenting it to you as you would offer a crown to a king.

Service? It’s not a receipt; it’s a haiku of numbers carefully handed to you for your inspection.

And if you ask a shop assistant to have your purchase gift-wrapped, you will enter a whole new dimension you didn’t even know existed!

They’ll fold, tuck, and tie with the grace of a sculpture artist. Alan Rickman’s character in “Love Actually” would have been flabbergasted. “Almost finished?” he’d say. “What else can there be? Are you gonna dip it in yogurt? Cover it with chocolate buttons?”

I’m sure that if you asked in a Japanese department store, they would comply without batting an eyelid.

But let’s start with some basics.

SHOPPING HOURS

One key point that sets the two countries apart is the shopping hours.

On Sundays, Swiss folks typically go for a walk. Not necessarily because they love it so much (well, perhaps that, too), but because the shops are locked up tighter than a Swiss bank vault. Sunday is a day of rest, sacred like a secret fondue recipe.

Swiss labour unions wag their fingers at the mere thought of extended shopping hours. The only concession they’re willing to make is for airport and station shops, and for petrol stations.

Whenever the topic is put to a referendum, Swiss voters repeatedly and resolutely reject it. “Sunday shopping? Nein, danke!” they declare.

It’s only on the last couple of Sundays before Christmas that even Swiss people realise that it's time to adjust the rules a little bit, else they cannot get all their festive shopping done in time. So in recent years, Sunday shopping in December has become quite a thing, with the undesirable effect that the shops are absolutely packed and both the shoppers and staff equally stressed (which probably puts them off the very thought of Sunday shopping for the next 12 months).

In contrast to that, in Japan, Sunday shopping is business as usual all year round. There used to be only one exception: New Year’s Day - the only day of the year when most shops were closed. Ironically, now it’s arguably the busiest day of the year. In a country of shopping enthusiasts, I guess it was an opportunity too good to pass up by the retail industry.

And then, of course, there is 24-hour shopping: Not only are there roughly 55,000 convenience stores dotted around the Japanese landscape, but there are also many supermarkets that are open 24 hours a day.

Have a craving for sushi at 3am? Boom, there it is. Want flowers to brighten your home during a midnight existential crisis? Konichiwa, floral aisle.

Truth be told, in my 28 years in this country, I’ve never woken up in the wee hours, realising that I needed a new pair of socks or a tie (both of which you can get just around the corner at your nearest convenience store). But the option is always there if I need it!

But beware, even in Japan convenience has its limits!

In Switzerland, bakers are up with the birds. Some bakeries open as early as 6 a.m., when the scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the streets like a delicious alarm clock.

Meanwhile, as a bread enthusiast in Japan, your morning options are quite scarce: Option A: Wait until 10 a.m. for the bakeries to rise (pun intended) from their slumber. Option B: Channel your inner Paul Hollywood and bake your own loaf.

One reason for the limited options may be that a typical Japanese breakfast doesn’t feature bread. Instead, it entails culinary delights such as grilled fish, veggies, miso soup and steamed rice. Certainly healthy, but while you can serve me these things at any other time of the day, I draw the line at breakfast. For the first meal of the day, I need my bread and coffee.

This is not just a cultural divide, it’s also a generational thing. Younger people in Japan have swapped the traditional breakfast of their parents and grandparents for a more Western choice, not least because hardly anyone these days is willing (or has the time) to spend so much time in the kitchen just to prepare breakfast - no matter how healthy it may be.

My wife and I consider ourselves extremely lucky, because only a couple of years ago, a tiny bakery opened within walking distance from our house, and - fanfare, please! - it opens at 8 a.m.. Despite changing breakfast habits in the Land of the Rising Sun, this is still a rarity.

That doesn’t mean that you’ll find their entire selection of bread on the shelves, though. For instance, if you want a baguette, you’ll still have to wait until 10 a.m.. So, they may not be Swiss-level early risers, BUT they’ve got croissants! Fresh, flaky, buttery goodness that transcends time zones.

So on weekends, I often embark on a croissant pilgrimage. On my way home, triumphant, clutching my still-warm treasures, nostalgia inevitably hits: Childhood memories of making an early-morning trip to the bakery on school holidays, with the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air.

Having been deprived of something for so many years makes you appreciate it all the more!

DEPARTMENT STORES

As mentioned, shops here generally open at 10 a.m. But if you walk through the doors of a department store (or, in fact, any store) just after opening, it’s like your royalty. The staff line up, bow and shower you with “Good mornings”. You half expect rose petals to rain down or a red carpet to roll out.

Japanese department stores are like mini cities, complete with high-end fashion districts and basement food markets that make your taste buds do a happy dance. Customer service? Impeccable. Smiles, bows, and a commitment to making you feel like the crowned ruler of the shopping realm.

Until a few years ago, there was always a well-staffed information desk, where friendly staff in uniform would point you in the right direction for whatever your heart desired, and lifts were being operated by (exclusively female) lift attendants, who pressed buttons with gloved hands.

Nowadays, in part due to an aging population and a shrinking workforce, and impacted by a pandemic, the staff at the information desk have been replaced by a monitor, and you get to press your own buttons.

But what really sets the Japanese department stores apart are the top floors and the basement.

On the top floors you will find an array of restaurants of all kinds, with the price range rising the higher up you are. By the time you reach the top floor, you might need a second mortgage just to afford dessert.

You can easily find 20 to 30 restaurants up there, making you literally spoilt for choice.

Forget about one single self-service restaurant in a typical Swiss department store!

And then there are the basement food markets called “depachika”, a charming portmanteau of “department store” (depāto) and “basement” (chika), which are like secret food wonderlands.

Imagine stepping down into the depths of a Japanese department store, away from the bright lights and fashion displays, and finding yourself surrounded by an array of culinary delights. You’ll find everything from ready-to-eat meals to gourmet treats, in an enticing mix of Japanese and international foods, all beautifully displayed in dedicated stalls. And if you feel like having a quick meal right there and then, you’ll sure to find that, too, without having to go all the way up to the top floors.

So, after a day of shopping for clothes or cosmetics, you can easily swing by the basement to grab some treats before heading home. Plus, some depachika are connected to train stations via underground passages - perfect for commuters caught in rain or sweltering heat.

They may not come cheap, but that's the price you pay for quality and convenience.

And then, as closing time approaches, a magical moment unfolds. The strains of “Old Lang Syne” fill the air, signalling your exit. Yes, my friend, Japanese department stores roll out the red carpet in the morning and serenade you home at the end of the day. It’s like they’re saying, “Thanks for spending your yen with us. Now go forth, well-fed and slightly bewildered!”

SUPERMARKETS

So, while a Japanese department store provides a superior experience over its Swiss counterpart, surely regular supermarkets are pretty much the same, right? Hmm, not quite.

The first thing you’ll notice when approaching the entrance of a Japanese supermarket is the shopping trolleys. Forget about the super-sized trolleys you find in Europe, chained up and only accessible to shoppers if they have a suitable coin at hand to release it. There is no need for that in Japan, where shoppers dutifully return them to the trolley park after their shop, rather than leave them stranded somewhere in the car park. And the trolleys themselves are of mini-size and not designed for hauling groceries, but baskets instead. Yep, you’ll be wheeling around a mini-basket on wheels. It’s like grocery shopping meets Mario Kart. It’s efficient, compact, and oddly endearing.

The next thing you’ll notice is that Japanese supermarkets are super-clean. You won’t find stray bits of lettuce or rogue shopping lists littering the aisles. In the vegetable and fruit section you will find neat little waste bins for vegetable parts you want to ditch. Wilted leaves? Just pop ‘em in.

Staff are masked and gloved up, as if they were about to enter the operating theatre in order to perform open heart surgery. And no, this isn’t just pandemic protocol; it’s their everyday routine, because sanitation is practically an art form here.

When you venture into the frozen foods section, don't expect a frosty wonderland that spans half the store. Unlike European supermarkets, where icy aisles seem to stretch forever, you'll discover a different scene. Fresh produce takes centre stage, and - unsurprisingly - there is a lot more fish than you would find in a typical Swiss supermarket. You'll still find a variety of frozen goodies for those moments when the microwave becomes your culinary confidante. Just know that frozen food doesn't wield the same supermarket supremacy as it does in Switzerland or the UK.

Similar applies to tinned food. Fancy a tin of Ravioli (often an easy Sunday dinner option in my family when I was growing up)? Forget it, my friend.

While tinned food is available, the selection is much smaller than what I'm used to from Swiss supermarkets.

It goes without saying that fresh produce is much healthier than conserved or processed food. Ever wondered about the high life expectancy in Japan? The offerings in a typical Japanese supermarket may give you a clue...

Japanese supermarkets are not without pitfalls, though.

Picture this: You, a brave non-Japanese adventurer, standing in the fluorescent-lit labyrinth of a Japanese supermarket. The aisles stretch out like a maze designed by a mischievous origami master. Your mission? To find that elusive item - let’s say, washing-up liquid. You have narrowed it down to what appears to be the right aisle, despite the signs only being in Japanese. Now you’re squinting at the packaging, trying to decipher the product descriptions, which might as well be encoded messages from an alien civilization. The risk of picking up a bottle of bleach instead of dish soap is real. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your dirty dishes: “Will it clean or disintegrate?”

Technology, and with it translation software, has come to the rescue, but also has its limits, as trying to read translated product descriptions on your small smartphone screen can be a tiring and time-consuming affair.

So I use one of two strategies: The first is to leave purchases of trickier items to my trusty wife, to avoid the embarrassment of bringing home what I thought was vanilla pudding for dessert, but which turned out to be tofu (which looks remarkably similar!).

Online shopping and home delivery are certainly helping. But there are still those moments when she sends me to the shop to get an ingredient she needs urgently for dinner, and which she forgot to buy online. Then I rely on the “recognition factor” of known products.

But that’s where the next challenge comes in: Japanese consumers just LOVE new things, so manufacturers and their marketing divisions respond to that by constantly coming up with brand-new products or new variations of existing ones. So even a photographic memory (not that I can boast one!) doesn’t help if our standard washing-up liquid suddenly sports a completely different look, or has been replaced by something else altogether.

And once the novelty has worn off, it’s sayonara, old friend! Things happen so fast, it’s hard for me to keep up.

One summer several years ago, a TV commercial sporting Pierce Brosnan made big waves, introducing Schweppes Bitter Lemon to the Japanese public. The actor suddenly seemed to be everywhere, smiling at you in TV ads, on posters and in supermarkets.

“Finally!” I thought. Bitter Lemon had always been one of my favourite non-alcoholic drinks, a refreshing alternative to other fizzy concoctions. But while you can order it pretty much in every restaurant across the European continent and find it easily on supermarket shelves over there, I had never been able to locate it in Japan. Which always puzzled me, because its “sibling”, Schweppes Tonic Water, is widely available here.

The Japanese public seemed to embrace the zesty summer revolution, guzzling it down like it held the secrets of the universe, and I was happy to finally get my hands on my favourite drink anytime I fancied it.

But then autumn arrived, and suddenly, Bitter Lemon was yesterday’s news. It vanished from the shelves faster than a ninja in a foggy forest. Amazon Japan ghosted it too. And I was left reminiscing about that short citrusy summer fling, wondering if it had all been a dream.

But I digress.

Finally, you’ve conquered the aisles. Your basket is a mini Mount Fuji of (hopefully all the right) groceries, and it's time to proceed to the check-out counter. But wait, where’s the conveyor belt? Ha! Silly mortal. In Japan, we don’t do conveyor belts. This is where the shopping basket comes into play. You simply present your basket to the cashier. They then, with nimble fingers, lift the items out of the basket, scan them, and arrange them in a second basket. Heavy stuff at the base, fragile items on top - because they’re basically Tetris grandmasters. Meanwhile, you stand there, feeling both grateful and slightly useless.

Once you have paid at a separate terminal (as cashiers no longer handle the payment process), you then pop the basket with your goodies back on your trolley and advance to a separate bagging corner, where you then transfer the goods from the basket into your shopping bag. In some places, the cashier will do that for you, while you have time to admire their skill of fitting much more into a shopping bag than one could ever imagine.

So there you have it: Japan, where you can literally shop till you drop, where you get VIP treatment at department stores, and where supermarkets sparkle and the line-up of merchandise seemingly changes every other week.