It is Easter and while bells are merrily pealing through the western world to celebrate Christ’s resurrection, I’m bathing naked in a hot spring at Fukuji, in the Japanese Alps. The singing of birds, the sound of leaves rustling in the spring breeze and the body’s immersion in hot water on a bed of rocks feel no less transcendental than listening to the voice of angels at Notre-Dame cathedral. In fact, I find everything about Japan magical. To the point that it could qualify as an addiction, a pathology in search of a name. It is the Paris syndrome in reverse.
Have you heard of Paris syndrome? Japanese tourists suffer from it most. In a nutshell, those visitors’ view of Paris is so idealised that when they finally get to visit the French capital, some of them experience such acute disappointment that they end up at psychiatric hospitals’ emergency rooms suffering from hallucinations, tachycardia, fainting spells and feelings of persecution. Every year, a few of them need repatriation. I suffer from a diametrically opposed syndrome. This week, on my fourth trip to the Land of the Rising Sun, I am experiencing it again, as potent as ever.
The symptoms are a state of permanent wonder, a feeling of intense satisfaction and deep marvel at the perfection of the Japanese lifestyle and mentality. Being French, and therefore sceptical, I do my best to try to find fault lines that may crack this idyllic image. However, to this day, I haven’t identified a single failing. I know what you are going to say: we gaijins tend to see Japan through rose-tinted glasses. Reality is darker and Japanese society can feel claustrophobic, rigid and sexist for its own citizens. All the same, Japan’s perfection moves me to tears.
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A few years ago, I found myself silently crying in my miso soup in a family restaurant in Nara. The place was made of wood, hay, sand and stone, there were no contemporary devices, no plastic. We could have been living in the 17th century, the place would have looked the same.
The lady serving us was in simple traditional clothes and the utensils used were made of ceramics and wood. Needless to say, the food was heavenly. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, rose the music of Debussy, followed by Bach and Ravel. The emotion was too intense. I had not been prepared for this temporal collision, this explosion of beauty in a marriage of true minds as East met West.
Lure of the lab
I can never completely switch off, even in Japan. World affairs are my other fix in life. I was amused to hear that the socialist MP and former French president François Hollande suggested creating a new status in France for “scientific refugees”. On his radar are American and US-based scientists either deprived of funding by the Trump administration or simply in need of a more welcoming and less illiberal environment. Britain and Germany are obviously well placed to lure those bright minds to their shores. However, France, with this potential special status (easing all the red tape for “scientific refugees”) alongside its top-notch and affordable health system and free education for children could prove particularly tempting.
Trumped by Macron
A few weeks ago, we learnt that Volodymyr Zelensky spoke every day to Emmanuel Macron. This week, I heard that King Charles spoke “very often” to the French president. I was therefore not surprised to discover that Macron would beat Trump to Windsor. He, it seems, will enjoy all the tra-la-la of an official state visit in Britain at the end of May while Donald Trump will have to wait until the autumn.
In truth, Britain and France have far more in common these days, and important matters to discuss and agree on, than most countries. Being the two main military powers in Europe, their recent show of unity and determination on Ukraine has been both inspiring and heart-warming. Long may it last!
Giles Coren is away
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