As I'm writing this, it's 3 degrees Celsius outside in the middle of the day, and the mercury is not expected to rise much further than that today...
Hard to believe that barely 3 days ago I was having lunch on the terrace of a pizzeria in the centre of Tokyo, with a balmy 23 degrees, and with one specific type of cherry tree ('Kawazu Sakura' ) already in bloom nearby!
This being February, I knew, of course, that the lovely pre-spring weather was not going to last, though the drastic shift back to deep winter still came as a surprise - and a bit of a shock to the system.
On occasion I get asked whether Switzerland has four seasons, and when I say yes, people seem genuinely surprised. Probably for two reasons: One being that a lot of people in Japan seem to think that Switzerland is a predominantly cold country (after all, the Alps occupy the majority of the territory...). So while it may seem perceivable that there might also be a spring and an autumn season, it appears to be less likely in people's minds that summer could also be a thing in Switzerland...
The other reason is probably that there seems to be a common understanding here that four distinct seasons are quite unique to Japan. Which of course they aren't.
But maybe it has to do with the fact that the seasons here seem to be somewhat more reliable (and identifiable) than elsewhere.
Take the Japanese summer, for instance (with notable exceptions, like the northerly Hokkaido, of course): It's hot, it's humid, it's brutal. You will always know when it's summer here, as it couldn't possibly be mistaken for another season. In contrast, Swiss summers are all a bit hit and miss: You may get heatwave after heatwave, or a total wash-out with cool temperatures. That is why people commonly flock to Italy or Spain for some guaranteed sunshine.
Sometimes, of course, that strategy can backfire: I once spent a week in Malaga at the beginning of summer, in persistent pouring rain - only to learn upon my return to the UK (where I was living at the time) that they had been having a heatwave with blistering sunshine day after day during the entire period I had been away. Needless to say, the moment I was back, the heatwave had come to an end and I was welcomed by rainy weather, while down in Spain it was the other way round...
Also, over the years of living in Japan I have come to realise that the shift from winter to spring always happens on schedule - just like the punctual trains: While the first half of March still tends to be quite chilly (perhaps with some warmer days in-between), come the middle of March, there is a distinct shift, with the warmer days gradually winning over.
In Switzerland, spring generally comes later than in the Tokyo area. But even then its arrival often seems quite unreliable - and it especially doesn't seem to care about public holidays like Easter (which typically falls into the month of April), when people would appreciate nice spring weather on their time off. It's not uncommon for the kids to have to search for the Easter eggs in the snow. Especially so, if March has been a mild month with above-average temperatures. It's almost as if the weather gods thought 'Well, you've had your fun now, so let's spoil the party'!
What also makes spring in Japan very special is that it comes with big fanfare: Cherry blossoms!
Cherry blossom season is a big thing here, and there is a whole science behind predicting when the famously white cherry blossoms start to emerge, and when the trees are in full bloom, per each region in the country. Seismologists may still not be able to accurately forecast earthquakes (which, one could argue, might be a bit more useful...), but meteorologists are absolute wizards when it comes to predicting the dates for cherry blossoms and publishing detailed maps of where you can catch the first glimpse. Which is, of course, vital for all the masses planning so-called cherry blossom viewing parties ('hanami' ). After all, nobody would want to sit under bare cherry trees...
For this year, the all-important dates have just been announced, whereby Tokyo's cherry blossoms are predicted to start flowering on March 23, reaching full bloom by March 30. I have little doubt that the predictions will turn out to be accurate. Let's just hope that the weather will play ball during the brief period the spectacle can be enjoyed, before it's over for another year.
The funny thing about 'distinct four seasons' in Japan is that in reality, Japan has more than just the standard four.
Because between spring and summer, they have managed to squeeze in a fifth one: The rainy season (called 'tsuyu' ). It's probably the least liked season, simply because there is very little about it to like!
Several weeks (usually spanning from the beginning of June to mid July) of rain and overcast skies, with high humidity and relatively high temperatures, which can sometimes make you feel like you're inside a giant washing machine.
Only Hokkaido is exempt from the annual ordeal (the trade-off obviously being that it's bitterly cold up there in winter).
That said, with climate change, also in Japan things are becoming less reliable or predictable, making the job of meteorologists somewhat more challenging, because apart from forecasting cherry blossoms (and the daily weather, obviously), their job also involves predicting the beginning and (especially) the end of the rainy season, which has been displaying increasingly erratic behaviour in recent year.
In 2023, the rainy season was cut drastically short, and 'summer proper' was upon us already at the end of June, much to the delight of many, or at least those who prefer intense heat and sunshine to weeks-long dreary and wet weather. And probably not pleasing the farmers very much, as the rainy season usually delivers the majority of the annual rainfall vital for vegetables and fruit to grow properly.
In my opinion, there is also a sixth season, similarly disliked as the rainy season. Not for the depressing mood it brings, but for the potential for widespread destruction: The typhoon season, which lasts mainly from July to September and provides another opportunity for meteorologists to show off their talent, by way of predicting the storms' path and intensity. Unfortunately, the typhoons don't make it very easy for them, as they have a habit of meandering or sometimes even performing complete U-turns, making it difficult to know where and when they will make landfall.
Fortunately, we were mostly spared the wrath of typhoons in this area last year. Let's hope for the same in 2024.
But for now, let's wait for milder days, for spring to spring and blossoms to bloom - and for the forecasters to get it right!
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