THE JAPANESE ART OF NAPPING

The other day, on the train home from a weekend outing – fortified by a lunchtime beer – we managed to secure seats.

It took me approximately three minutes to nod off.

Fortunately, my wife was sitting next to me to inform me – at the appropriate moment – that our stop had arrived and it was time to get off.

The incident reminded me of one of Japan’s most refined life skills. A skill that does not appear to exist anywhere in the Swiss genetic code: Inemuri.

It roughly translates as 'being present while asleep.'

Which is genius, really. You are unconscious – but socially accounted for.

In practice, it looks like a salaryman in a dark suit, upright on a train, eyes fully closed, head gently bobbing like a decorative dashboard ornament. Or a student folded over a desk. Or someone in a meeting, perfectly still, radiating deep strategic thought – except they are probably dreaming about ramen.

The key point: they are still there. Physically. Spiritually, we cannot be sure.

In Switzerland, this would trigger concern.

If a Swiss employee fell asleep in a meeting, colleagues would first check whether he was unwell. Then whether he had suffered a burnout. Then whether HR should be notified. There might be forms. Possibly a discreet intervention involving mineral water.

In Japan, inemuri can signal commitment. You are so dedicated, so hardworking, so admirably exhausted, that your body briefly shuts down – but politely, and without leaving the room.

It's napping with honour.

On Japanese trains, inemuri is practically infrastructure. People sleep standing up. Sitting up. Occasionally at angles that would require medical diagrams to explain. And yet – miraculously – they wake up exactly at their stop. It’s less sleep and more a highly disciplined power-saving mode.

Occasionally, you witness the rare glitch. A passenger wakes just as the doors are closing, realises he has missed his stop, experiences one nanosecond of existential panic – and then calmly accepts that he will simply do another lap. His inner clock, he decides, requires minor recalibration.

Now imagine this in Switzerland.

Picture a commuter on a train from Zurich to Bern, gently dozing, head on the shoulder of a stranger. Within seconds, apologies would be exchanged in three national languages. There might be paperwork.

In Japan, the shoulder becomes a temporary public utility. No forms required.

The cultural difference runs deeper. Switzerland values alertness. Precision. Being visibly in control of one’s faculties at all times. Even our cows look attentive.

Japan, meanwhile, has found a way to integrate human limitation into the social fabric. You may be exhausted – but as long as you are technically present, society continues smoothly.

I once saw someone asleep in a café, upright, hands folded, phone balanced perfectly in his lap. He looked like he was meditating on quarterly earnings. Nobody bothered him. In Switzerland, someone would have checked his pulse.

Of course, there are rules. Inemuri works because it is subtle. You cannot snore like a malfunctioning tractor. You cannot lie flat across three seats. It is a contained, elegant surrender to gravity.

In that sense, it’s very Japanese.

And very un-Swiss.

The Swiss version of inemuri would require a booking system, a clearly marked 'Approved Micro-Sleep Zone,' and probably a small explanatory brochure.

Yet I have to admit: there is something admirable about a culture that allows tiny moments of collapse without drama. A collective understanding that humans get tired.

Switzerland may be famous for efficiency. Japan may be famous for endurance.

But when it comes to sleeping in public with dignity, Japan clearly wins.