JAPANESE HOLIDAY MIRACLE

Every December, my inner Swiss wakes up and begins reminiscing about a very specific childhood ritual: the annual hunt for the perfect Christmas tree.

We would head to the supermarket or the village square, where hundreds of trees were lined up like contestants in a beauty pageant. Tall, short, skinny, round, slightly wonky – all waiting to be chosen as someone's living-room centrepiece.

And if you were feeling extra rustic, you would venture out to a proper Christmas tree farm in the forest. Picture families trudging through the snow (remember that was before climate change...), crunching through the cold, pointing at trees that were still rooted in the earth A quick nod to thefarmer, one decisive swipe of the saw, and boom – instant Christmas spirit.

The expedition usually happened just a few days before the Big Day. December 22? Perfect. December 18? A bit early, but acceptable. Early December? Highly suspicious. November? Absolutely not. A Christmas tree before Advent was basically a crime against the Confederation.

Besides, real trees had the lifespan of a banana in summer. Between central heating and Swiss efficiency, they started shedding needles as soon as you crossed the threshold. By early January, the floor was covered in needles the way a cat covers your sofa in fur – relentlessly, enthusiastically, and without the slightest remorse.

Still, we kept it until after New Year’s, because tradition is tradition. But by January 2 or 3, the magic had evaporated. We’d strip the poor thing of ornaments, drag it outside, and abandon it on the balcony like a festive refugee, where it would remain for weeks until we finally conceded defeat and disposed of it.

Ah, nostalgia… and the smell of Christmas biscuits still lingering in the air.

Fast-forward to Japan. As many will know, Japan has everything: trains that run on time, vending machines that dispense hot soup or underwear (depending on your needs) sakura-flavoured... well, anything you can think of.

But Christmas tree farms? Yeah, no.

Real Christmas trees are about as common as Alpine marmots in Shibuya.

Japan does Christmas decorations brilliantly, though. Walk around any shopping district in December (or November... or late October), and you’ll see enough LED lights to illuminate a small Swiss canton. Artificial Christmas trees? Everywhere. Often tall, beautifully decorated, and suspiciously symmetrical – usually proof they can’t be real.

Many shops now sell artificial trees with lights, baubles and ornaments all bundled into the same box. The word "convenience" must have been invented in Japan.

But real trees? The kind that smell like home and shed needles like it’s their life mission?

Not in Japan. Or so I thought.

So picture this: My wife and I are taking a stroll through the local shopping district. It’s a nice day, much too warm for the season, the kind that makes you think that spring – not Christmas – is just around the corner.

And suddenly… BAM! A cluster of Christmas trees for sale.

Real ones. With real needles. Standing there like they’d just escaped from the Swiss Alps and taken a wrong flight at Zurich Airport.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My brain could not compute. Was this heatstroke? A hallucination? Had the universe glitched?

I reached out and touched one. It was real. I touched another. Also real. I probably touched a third, because after 29 years in Japan, stumbling upon actual Christmas trees feels like… a Christmas miracle.

I half expected a Swiss forest ranger to emerge from behind the crates and say, "Grüezi! Lost your way, have you?"

And then I looked at the price tag.

Let’s just say these trees were not priced for mere mortals. They were priced for people who casually buy fresh truffles, imported caviar, and perhaps a small yacht on weekends. JPY 44,000 (EUR 250) for a tree that might not even make it to Christmas?

If my childhood Christmas trees had cost this much, my parents would have decorated a broomstick and told us to use our imagination.

A quick mental calculation indicated that – per needle – this tree was possibly more expensive than diamonds. Or at least more expensive than a round-trip to Zurich to pick up my own tree, lovingly strapped into the seat next to me.

But to be fair: those trees were gorgeous. Perfectly shaped, deep green, not a bald patch in sight. The kind of trees that would get you fully approved by the Swiss Christmas Tree Association.

So, did we buy one?

Let’s just say I stood there, admiring them with the longing of a man staring through the window of a cheese shop after closing time.

My wife gave me The Look – the one that says: "Don’t even think about it."

So no, we didn’t. Besides, I had already bought an artificial tree a few weeks earlier – a perfectly respectable 90-centimetre model with built-in decorations, costing a mere 10% of the price of this alpine beauty.

But I walked away with warm holiday joy in my heart.

Because after 29 years, I finally discovered that Japan does have real Christmas trees – rare, expensive, and exotic, but gloriously authentic.

And that, my friends, is the true Christmas miracle.