AM I REALLY SWISS?

A Japanese colleague introduced me to a rather unexpected piece of Swiss culture.

A recent conversation with one of my Japanese co-workers went something like this:

‘Have you ever played the handpan?’

‘The what?’

‘The handpan.’

‘The hand WHAT?’

She rolled her eyes.

‘The handpan. You know, the Swiss musical instrument.’

‘Huh?’

At this point, I wasn’t sure whether she was winding me up or whether I had a rather serious knowledge gap.

‘I watched a documentary about Switzerland on TV last night,’ she continued. ‘They talked about the handpan. They said it was very famous.’

I began to question my origins.

Was I really Swiss?

‘Let me show you.’

She pulled out her smartphone and showed me a picture of what appeared to be two metal half-shells glued together.

My immediate reaction was:

‘That looks more Caribbean than Swiss.’

She looked at me as if I had just admitted to not knowing what a cow was.

‘You’re Swiss. You should know.’

At that point, we sensibly moved the conversation onto safer ground.

But the handpan had been planted in my mind.

So I did what any Swiss person confronted with an unfamiliar Swiss invention would do.

I Googled it. Or should that be ‘AI’d it’? Hard to keep up with the terminology these days.

And there it was.

According to the internet, the modern handpan was invented in Bern, Switzerland, in 2000.

2000!

Four years after I had emigrated to Japan.

That explains everything.

I am officially excused.

Apparently, the instrument was developed by two Swiss inventors who drew inspiration from the Caribbean steelpan, while incorporating elements of instruments such as the Indian ghatam, Indonesian gamelan and Thai gongs.

None of that sounding very Swiss, I must admit.

The result was a metal instrument played with the hands, producing a rather hypnotic, ethereal sound.

Whether combining elements from several existing instruments qualifies as a completely new invention is probably something best left to music historians.

But apparently, Switzerland decided it needed one.

And then came another surprise.

I discovered a Japanese website dedicated to the instrument: Handpan Studio Tokyo.

It describes the handpan as one of the world’s youngest acoustic instruments and says it has found a natural home in Japan.

Suddenly, the Swiss documentary made more sense.

Japan appears to have embraced something that I, as a Swiss person, had completely failed to notice existed.

And you can buy one here, too.

Prices start at around ¥198,000 (EUR 1,100) for a handpan capable of producing ten notes.

If you want something more ambitious, you can spend around ¥585,000 (EUR 3,200) on one with a 19-note range.

Which is rather a lot of money for something that, to my untrained eye, still looks like two metal bowls stuck together.

It also seems a long way removed from the humble origins of the steelpan, which was developed in Trinidad and Tobago from discarded oil drums in the 1930s.

So there I was, a Swiss man living in Japan, being educated by a Japanese colleague about a Swiss musical instrument I had never heard of.

After 30 years in Japan, I’ve learned that I know considerably less about Japan than I thought.

Apparently, the same now applies to Switzerland.

At least I still know how to play the cowbell.

Or do I?

I also write fiction under the name R.K. Arnold. My debut novel, Love, Secrets, and a Plate of Sushi, is a romantic comedy set across Switzerland, England and Japan.

Read Chapter One free.