The other day at the supermarket, I found myself in a situation that has become increasingly common ever since shops stopped automatically giving you plastic bags and instead ask whether you would like to purchase one. All for the environment, of course. And, conveniently, a little extra income. Shop assistant: ‘Fukuro wa go-riyō ni narimasu ka?’ Would you like a bag? Me: ‘Daijōbu desu.’ I’m OK. Shop assistant: ‘Kashikomarimashita.’ Certainly. The shop assistant takes out a b

The other day, while eating a matcha ice cream, I found myself reflecting on the extraordinary global rise of matcha. It’s everywhere now. Matcha lattes. Matcha KitKats. Matcha cocktails. Matcha facial products. At this rate, someone is probably developing a matcha-flavoured matcha. Japan, meanwhile, can barely keep up with demand. Exports continue to hit record highs as the world collectively decides that bright green powder is the answer to modern existence. Prices, unsurpr

May is my favourite month in Japan. No heating. No air conditioning. The bedroom window stays open all night, and the cool air drifting in before dawn keeps the room at exactly the right temperature. The sun rises before five, the birds begin their morning conference outside the window, and getting out of bed suddenly feels far less offensive than it did in January. By six o’clock, the temperature is already pleasant. Around twenty degrees, with dry air and a light breeze. La

If you’ve ever visited Japan, you’ve probably encountered the country’s legendary high-tech toilets. And if you haven’t, somebody has almost certainly told you about them in the tone normally reserved for spiritual awakenings. 'Heated seats!' 'Automatic lids!' 'It plays waterfall sounds while you do your business!' Western travel articles and blog posts love describing Japanese toilets as 'like operating a Boeing cockpit,' which is unfair. A Boeing cockpit is probably easier.