I feel very fortunate to regularly deliver cross-cultural training for DMG MORI in Pfronten, a beautiful town in the heart of the German Alps, about a two-hour drive from Munich. The fresh mountain air, green meadows with grazing cows, and breathtaking Alpine scenery create an inspiring setting. From the training room, we can enjoy panoramic views of the mountains through large windows—it’s truly a wonderful place to work, especially on a gorgeous summer day.

Inspired by the beauty of the region, I brought my family along for a weekend hike in nearby Füssen, home to the famous Neuschwanstein Castle, which inspired Disney’s Cinderella Castle. It’s a wonderful example of how business travel and family time can complement each other.

The greatest reward, however, is receiving such encouraging feedback from participants:

“The mindset and culture, along with their background, were explained in a very interesting and well-structured way. The seminar was very helpful and greatly improved my understanding of the Japanese way of working.”

“The trainer was very well prepared and authentic. The training was diverse in content, well organized, and excellent overall.”

A heartfelt thank you to all the participants for their active engagement and thoughtful discussions. My sincere appreciation also goes to my HR colleague at DMG MORI for the excellent organization and our enjoyable collaboration.

How we define art varies across cultures. At a temple in Kyoto, Japan, I encountered bonseki (盆石), a thousand-year-old form of tray landscape art. Using sand and carefully placed stones, the artist creates a fleeting scene—one that is typically shown to invited guests. After the event, it is gently wiped away, and the tray is ready for the next creation.

At Tokujō-myōin Temple, the abbess Yamada Jōkō explained that bonseki was once practiced by the aristocracy as a way of welcoming guests. These scenes were often accompanied by a poem composed specifically for the occasion. Guests were not merely observers; they were participants, invited to interpret the subtle meanings woven into both the landscape and the words.

In much of modern Western culture, impermanence is rarely associated with art. Art is often seen as the expression of individual creativity—something fixed, preserved, and displayed for a broad audience. It is expected to endure.

Bonseki, by contrast, exists only for a moment. Each piece is a one-time creation, its meaning unfolding within the shared space between host and guest. Once erased, it survives only in memory.

In today’s fast-paced world, we rarely allow ourselves the time to truly experience something so transient. Yet bonseki reflects a kind of richness—one rooted not in permanence or possession, but in attention, presence, and human connection. It reminds us that, in another time, people valued these quiet, intentional moments enough to make them central to their lives.

Today, bonseki is practiced by only a small number of people in Japan. The specialized tools are increasingly difficult to obtain, as the artisans who craft them grow fewer and often lack successors. Like the art itself, the tradition feels fragile—at risk of fading away.

And perhaps that is what makes bonseki so powerful.

Its beauty lies not in preserving it, but in experiencing it with others. It matters to us because it is shared – because it exists for someone else. In the end, bonseki leaves behind no object – only a memory. And perhaps that, in itself, is a kind of treasure.

Last year, I experienced culture shock in Brazil—and honestly, I wasn’t expecting it.

It was my third visit to the country. I had traveled there extensively before, backpacking in different regions. I speak Portuguese well enough for daily life, and through the Brazilian martial art capoeira—which I have practiced for years—I have built many personal connections. I was convinced I already knew Brazilian culture. On top of that, as an intercultural consultant, I thought I would be well prepared for anything.

I went to Rio de Janeiro for a capoeira event and decided to stay in the Centro district for over a week. Although my Brazilian friends advised against it, I wanted to explore a different part of this vast city. Very close to Centro begins a favela, a slum district. Many homeless people lived on the streets, the atmosphere felt tense, and I had to be constantly alert about where I was walking. One block in the wrong direction and you could end up in a neighborhood where you might get into trouble. At night, loud music from bars filled my hotel room and disturbed my sleep.

After only a few days, I became sick. Even after returning home to Germany, I felt exhausted, depressed, and strangely unmotivated for weeks. I couldn’t understand what was happening—until I took the Deep Culture Masterclass.

This course, led by Joseph Shaules from Keio University in Japan, introduced the Deep Culture Approach, which looks at culture through the lens of how the mind works. I learned that our brain usually runs on “autopilot,” guided by unconscious processes that make everyday life easy. In a foreign environment, this autopilot is constantly interrupted. Our cognitive mind has to work overtime to interpret unfamiliar signals, behaviors, and risks.

In Centro, my familiar mental patterns were confronted with a very different cultural reality. This constant mismatch overwhelmed my system and showed up as tiredness, illness, and low mood.

Foreign experiences are powerful, and culture shock is not a sign of weakness but a normal human reaction. Understanding this turned out to be an enormous gift for my future work in helping others navigate cultural challenges. After all, my culture shock became a gem.

And the biggest takeaway for me is simple: I now know that I don’t know—and that realization has fueled my curiosity to keep exploring culture and mind in depth.

Joseph Schaules is director of Japan Intercultural Institute (JII), a non-profit organzation supporting education, research and career development for intercultural professionals. Their Deep Culture Masterclass, which normally takes place virtually, is highly recommended. JII also produces an excellent podcast on Deep Culture.

Pilsen stands for a global standard in Pilsner-style beer. While in the city, I joined an award-winning 100-minute brewery tour at Pilsner Urquell, where this world-famous beer is produced. “Urquell,” meaning original source, refers to the brewery’s origins in 1842 — thanks to a beer expert from the southern German state of Bavaria — and the tour highlights how the beer is still brewed here in exactly the same way today.

Employing around 1,000 people, the largest brewery in the Czech Republic belongs to the Japanese Asahi Group since 2017. The tour ended with a tasting of unfiltered, unpasteurised draft beer in the cellar — probably the best beer I’ve ever had. The brewery has a building, where experimental microbreweries are housed, with one of them producing a beer with Yuzu-flavor- truly a Czech-Japanese cultural fusion!

 After the tour, I headed to a tea house in the old city. Yes — a tea house! Being a big tea lover, I had heard that the Czech Republic has a unique tea culture. In larger cities, you can find so-called tea houses serving many varieties of tea, including Japanese, Chinese, Tibetan, South American, and European. Much like a coffee shop, you sit down and enjoy a tea of your choice, alone or with friends — but Czech tea houses are often far more relaxing, sometimes even offering water pipes.　

The tea house I visited had a large seating area where you take off your shoes and sit on cushions on the floor. It was a cultural blend of Asian, Oriental, and Bohemian influences. The room was dimly lit, and the atmosphere was extremely calming — indeed bohemian in the artistic and unconventional sense. There was no pressure whatsoever to order more or to leave after a certain time.

In another corner of the room, a couple was kissing, giggling, and flirting the whole time. Nibbling on Middle Eastern sweets, halva, I sank into the round, fluffy cushions, turning the pages of the book in my hands. My kukicha from Japan was excellent. It was a moment of pure bliss.

What an enriching experience it was to immerse myself in cultures surrounding two beverages that could hardly be further apart. These are only my first fragments of Czech culture — and I’d love to explore many more.

Travel moments like this continue to inspire my intercultural curiosity.