It took me three visits to Japan to fully comprehend the power of Japanese (eating) culture.There is no city for me like Tokyo. It’s one of the greatest monsters of concrete on earth, but with total absence of menace. Between its sci-fy architecture there are armies of cosplayers, Izakayas and hostess bars for overworked men (where nothing will happy), a jungle of manga shops and manga stories dealing with every possible fetish, centuries-old tranquil temples, malls full of new technology still not known beyond Japan, bathers in bubbling onsen and one of the most extraordinary „museums“ where I have ever been: Called „Teamlab“ for whatever reason, visitors can immerse their entire bodies in vast artworks, walk on water and become one with orchids, blurring the perception of boundaries between the self and the works. On a visit in 2022 I felt there like „Lost in Translation“. Nowhere else tradition and modernity coexist as comfortably as in Japan. A Chinese friend told me this is how his country nowadays could be and feel like if it had been spared the Cultural Revolution.

It all started in 1996 when I got up at 4am at my friends‘ tiny apartment close to the Tokyo party place of Roppongi. I took a taxi to the old Tsukiji fish market which was at that time already busy like a beehouse. Forklift trucks with all kinds of fish, sea bass, salmon, boxes of octopus were racing back and forth. The air was scent with the briny aroma of the ocean. With chain-saws fishmongers were cutting giant frozen blue-fin tuna ahead of the tuna auction where daily more than 1000 tuna would eventually sold. On this early November morning it was still cold. In the land of the rising Sun a beautiful sunrise painted the sky pink. It was the right moment, amid the frenzy of the market, to eat one of the freshest fish soups and freshest sushi I ever ate in my life. 

 When my wife and me came back in 2022 to visit friends from NYC in Tokyo, the wholesale part of Tskukiji had been moved to a ultra-modern market on the man-made island of Toyosu in the Bay of Tokyo. In contrast to Tskukuji where I once calmly strolled through endless rows of fish, Toyosu was a more clinical market which probably only Japanese can build. Here we could only watch the action from a first floor viewing gallery behind huge windows: Amidst the glistening silver skins of the still giant tuna, a perfect ballet of logistics was enfolding with dramatic precision before our eyes.

 Back in Tsukiji, I was happy that the market’s sushi chefs were still there and provided again a culinary experience of fresh seafood possible only in Japan. For me there is, on par with China, no better place to eat than Japan. And it’s not just about sushi. Restaurants are virtually everywhere, often stapled in densely-packed streets, often just holes in the wall. In Oaska, there are delicious Takoyaki, kind of grilled octopus balls eaten with a blend of mayonnasie and bbq sauce, and Okomonyaki, savory pancakes made out of wheat, meat, seafood and cabbage. There are restaurants just specialised for Tempura, and there are Tongkatsu restaurants, which just serve Japanese schnitzel tasting almost better than their European counterparts. On Ise Shima peninsula we ate at a seaside hut of three Ama divers. The ladies went diving just for us, to collect oysters and other seafood. Just to prepare a mouthwatering lunch on the grill afterwards. James Bond fell in love with a female Ama diver, I fell in love with their food. I live only once.

Taking a bullet train in Japan is another one-of-a-kind experience. Every time I enter a Japanese train station I feel like entering another world. The pleasure already starts at the station kiosk where I buy delicious provisions for my journey, in bento boxes so immaculately styled and packed with beautifully arranged sushi that I (almost) do not want to open them. Gift boxes for my stomach and my eyes alike. I twice went with the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyoto. It’s a journey of almost 500km, but it never felt like an effort. Seeing the trains softly gliding into the stations, experiencing the timeliness, cleanliness and quietness of the operations, knowing the same procedures are repeating themselves with precision every few minutes anew, was a cultural experience in itself. It was like receiving solace against all evil in the world. 

The first impression of Kyoto disappoints and deceives at the same time. Like Tokyo it first appears as a mere jungle of concrete, hiding perfectly its more than 1000 temples. But there is probably no other metropolis on earth where I found tranquility and contemplation so seamlessly: I walked the enchanted Philosopher’s Walk from the serene Ginkakuji temple, along a canal lined by cherry trees, to arrive at the more massive Nanzenji temple. At sunset I started my uphill walk through endless arcades of orange auspicious Torii gates to the top of  a hill on Kyoto’s beautiful forested outskirts.I was rewarded by a beautiful sea of lights below. Later, in the district of secret bars hidden in beautiful wooden houses, a rare geisha was slipping by, offering a glimpse and a theatre in her face I will never forget. The next morning I walked from my hotel to the golden pavillon of Kinkakuji which seemed, despite its hordes of tourists, to effortlessly float atop everything else. Nothing corresponds better with Kyoto than Kaiseki, the finest art dining, a culinary drama. Japanese are masters in food and masters in detail, and Kaiser is the perfect marriage between both skills. We treated us to a Kaiseki dinner at our Kyoto retreat. Surrounded by lush forest, we sat in a mostly black painted dining space where all light was focused on the culinary acts to unfold: The first act commenced with a seasonal welcome, then a tableau of appetizers called „sakizuke“, the „o-wan“, a clear soup arrived, to warm both our palates and our soul. Then came one of my favorites,“mukozuke“, the sashimi course. Procured that morning from the local fish market by Chef.Takagi, we were shown the art of grilling,as the “yakimono” or grilled course followed. The culinary drama continued with taki-awase, vegetables simmered with meat, before it concluded with something substantial, gohan, the rice dish. Finally, as a harmonious resolution to the culinary drama, we were treated with “mizumono,“ dessert, lychee sorbet, that left a lingering, memorable taste.

From Kyoto the magic carpet of a Shinkansen immersed us into high-octane Osaka. On our way home from dinner along Dotomburi canal, we detected two cosplayers dressed in frivolous girlie costumes, playing their silent game in the middle of the night, offering a bizarre theatre only Japan can offer. Further inland in the heart of the Kii Peninsula we followed the Kumano Kodo, an ancient network of pilgrimage trails made by ascetics, to the mountainous temple town of Koyasan. For a thousand years Koyasan was a spiritual haven for Buddhists’ retreats, Koyasan Syukubo Ekoin temple became our retreat for two precious days. Prayer times needed to be strictly observed, as was dinner time. Fusuma sliding doors set the stage for a dramatic entry like into a sacred space, our tatami-matted room, Beautiful sliding doors also offered a smooth transition into the small Japanese garden beyond where a little waterfall trickled soothingly over rocks. I never stayed at a place which exuded such simplicity and harmony. Dinner was  served by a monk, in crafted boxes like sublime art. 

From our temple we went to circle the holy town, past ancient tori gates, and ended at the dramatic cemetery of Okunoin where thousands of moss-covered gravestones invited us to contemplate.Japanese work and drink after work harder than probably anybody else. Japanese language has even created a word für death by overworkng – karoshi. Only Japanese can be so inventive to open cafés where stressed people can pay for caressing micro pigs to find inner peace. Japanese gardens are another, more traditional spiritual refuge, albeit without pigs, but as a representation of the universe and its elements: fire, water, earth and air. These essential elements are represented by the design of the rock garden, water, plants and ornaments, based on asymmetry, simplicity, austerity, absence of false, symbolism, subtlety and transcendence. An island in the middle of a pond would represent “the island of eternal life,” or Nirvana – full peace.

Much better than Karoshi indeed.