'Can you guess?'

Apparently, a major problem for Japanese overseas tourists is something called 'Paris Syndrome'. Many people here have a highly idealised vision of the French capital as a romantic, vibrant city filled with urbane sophisticates who sit around in salons discussing the Enlightenment and the nature of existence - the Paris of Truffaut, Disney and the 18th century. Some Japanese save up for years, even decades, to go to there; for many it is their first trip abroad. They leave home with a lifetime's worth of positive preconceptions. When they arrive they are elbowed on the Metro, nearly run over by taxicabs and then shouted at by their belligerent drivers, and just generally overwhelmed by the noise and the grime, and they quite literally go into shock. The Japanese embassy in Paris reportedly has to fly hundreds of traumatised nationals home every year.

After spending even a little time in this country, it's not hard to grasp the reasons for this phenomenon; every city we've been to is so clean and efficient that the true nature of Paris, and indeed pretty much any foreign city, must come as something of a surprise, to say the least. It's the little innovations that are so good here - the doors of the train are demarcated on the subway platform so you know where to stand; there are buttons on the tables of restaurants that you press when you're ready to order; there are uniformed officials

on street corners that you can talk to if you're lost.

When we first came here twelve years ago, one of the things we noticed was that all the cars had mirrors on the back so that you can see where you're going when reversing into parking spaces. What a clever invention, we thought. Gradually, these have become the standard on cars at home, though it has taken a while. When we came back here this time, I noticed that nobody seems to have these anymore. Odd, I thought, to abandon something so useful. Turns out, they all have videocameras installed now instead. Genius.

Still, in spite of all these urban delights, it's nice to escape the cities for a bit and see a little of pre-neon Japan, which we've managed to do in the last few days. Nara, which became the country's first permanent capital in the 8th century, is littered with venerable landmarks, including the biggest statue of the Buddha that you're ever likely to see, housed in what is still the largest wooden building in the world. Apparently. You can't fail to be impressed by the scale and majesty of the thing. It really is massive.

We meandered around other shrines and temples, past the multitude of tame deer that hang around in the streets, and saw more sculptures of Buddhist deities, in various collections, than I'd care to mention (want to know the difference between Ashura and Karura? I'm your man).

We've also managed to make a trip to Himeji, a small city to the southwest of Kyoto and Osaka whose skyline is dominated by its stunning castle; a permanent, inescapable link to the past. Inside it was very interesting, the view from the top floor was sensational, the gardens beside the grounds were beautiful, the sun was shining, and, most importantly, we had an excellent lunch, so it made for a top day out all told.

Yesterday we left Kyoto and, via a tremendously scenic train journey, made our way to Matsumoto, a little town nestled in the Japanese Alps, right in the centre of Honshu. We're heading back to Tokyo tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

- Adam