THE SOUND OF SPRING

As the days begin to warm, there comes that hopeful moment each year when we realise we can finally turn off the heating and open the windows. Fresh air enters the living room. Spring announces itself. Life feels lighter.

In a densely built neighbourhood, however, fresh air rarely travels alone. It arrives accompanied by sound.

Last year we discovered one particularly dedicated contributor to the urban soundtrack: a neighbour across the street who appeared to have developed a hobby involving sitting in his parked car with the engine running. For extended periods. Not arriving. Not leaving. Just… idling.

This may well have been happening all winter. But with the windows closed, it blended into the background of urban existence. Once the windows opened, however, the steady engine noise emerged like an uninvited podcast.

Now, dealing with a noisy neighbour raises delicate questions. Particularly in Japan, where social harmony is treasured and confrontation ranks somewhere between 'unpleasant' and 'unthinkable'. One does not simply march across the street with an angry face and start yelling at people.

Fortunately, I live with someone far more competent.

My trusted wife calmly researched the legal framework and discovered that Kanagawa Prefecture explicitly prohibits unnecessary engine idling. Exceptions exist for short stops, emergency vehicles, refrigeration units, and – 'unavoidable circumstances', though there is no clear definition provided for this.

But it is fair to assume that scrolling through your phone while listening to music in a parked car with the engine running does not qualify.

So, armed with facts and impeccable politeness, she went downstairs, explained the situation, and the matter resolved itself almost immediately.

Crisis averted.

Air restored.

Engine silenced.

Which inevitably reminded me of Switzerland.

Because if there is one place where unnecessary noise is not merely discouraged but codified into administrative language, it is there.

It is, after all, a country where mowing your lawn on a Sunday is strictly forbidden.

It then hardly comes as a surprise that the Swiss Highway Code is one of the most detailed regulatory ecosystems ever produced outside of spacecraft operation manuals. Updated regularly, it reflects the national love of order, precision, and the comforting belief that good behaviour can – and should – be legislated into existence.

Traffic lights, for example, display orange both before red and before green. Orange does not mean accelerate heroically. It means prepare responsibly. Proceeding through it is permitted only when braking would create danger – which neatly encapsulates the Swiss approach to freedom: permitted, provided it is sensible.

Driving in Switzerland feels 'Swiss': rational, structured, and faintly monitored by invisible committees.

Noise receives special attention. The horn is legally defined as a warning signal, not a social device. It may be used to prevent danger or alert distracted individuals – but never to greet friends, express frustration, or contribute to civic conversation.

Night-time honking is restricted to genuine risk situations only. Switzerland after dark is not a place for spontaneous acoustic expression.

An unlikely exception applies when the Swiss have won the football world cup (not likely). Or when their southerly neighbours have (far more likely). After all, there is a sizeable Italian community in Switzerland. On such occasions, authorities demonstrate admirable flexibility.

Engines may not run unnecessarily. Excessive acceleration is frowned upon. Repeated laps through built-up areas are discouraged. Even slamming car doors or splashing pedestrians can invite sanction. The guiding principle is elegantly simple:

Disturb others as little as possible.

I once entered a multi-storey car park in Basel with unintended enthusiasm, producing a brief but noticeable tyre screech. The caretaker appeared within seconds and delivered a lecture of impressive precision, even threatening me with the chore of cleaning up the tyre marks I had left behind. Only extensive apologising prevented and afternoon of cleaning duty.

Contrast this with the youth biker groups occasionally heard roaring along nearby expressways in Japan – loud, theatrical, and technically illegal yet seemingly unstoppable.

In Switzerland, similar enthusiasm could result in fines large enough to fund municipal infrastructure.

Yet even Switzerland allows for charming contradictions. On Alpine roads, uphill drivers and heavy vehicles hold priority.  If you meet in a narrow passage, it is therefore the one who is descending who has to back up, unless the other is in the vicinity of a lay-by.  If, however, you encounter a post bus (the yellow bus with the three-tone horn), bear in mind that Article 38 of the Ordinance gives the driver of a public transport vehicle the powers of a traffic warden: they can tell us what to do and we must obey.

Complaints are not an option.

The same bus may sound its distinctive horn before blind corners, echoing gloriously across valleys – proof that even Swiss quiet has approved acoustic exceptions.

So perhaps there are lessons here.

Be kind to neighbours, even noisy ones.

Freedom, Swiss edition: you may do as you wish – correctly.

And rules, everywhere, contain carefully curated exceptions.