Haikyo

With individual rooms and connected parking spaces, the love hotel below has a fairly common design for small, relatively out of the way places.

Built in the late 60s or early 70s, the rooms were presumably quite modern at the time, but unsurprisingly they now look incredibly dated to say the least. That said, they can’t have looked that much better in the early 90s when the hotel was somehow still operational. Needless to say it’s impossible to know how many customers they actually had back then, but it’s probably safe to assume it wasn’t many — hence the eventual closure of the business in November 1992.

The one slightly odd thing is that lone guests and families were welcome, which is clearly unusual for a love hotel. Not that it makes any difference now of course. Little does after almost 30 years of very visible decay. Dilapidation that admittedly did make reaching the rooms quite difficult, but ultimately it was worth the effort. It always is. The chance to see and quietly take in the slow, unrelenting passage of time never fails to feel special. In fact, so much time has now passed that it’s probably fair to assume that the passion once felt in these rooms has long since fizzled out, and yet love, against all the odds, still lives on.

Finding old and long-forgotten personal possessions in abandoned homes isn’t all that unusual in Japan. The houses in this previously photographed village, for example, can’t have been all that different when people still lived there, and in the same mountainous region as the buildings below was a slowly deteriorating little hamlet — its dwellings filled with the belongings of former inhabitants. And yet that said, the sight of mouldy clothes hanging out as if to dry was a first.

Surrounded by vegetation, the dark interior of the solitary house was in a terrible state, making walking in seem very unwise, but perhaps the best, albeit rather odd explanation for the scene that greeted us is that someone braver once ventured in to retrieve the clothes. And if that wasn’t strange enough, they then went a step further by hanging them all up

The only other possibility that makes any kind of sense is that they’ve been there since the property was abandoned, but that doesn’t really account for why the clothes were left outside. Yet regardless of how they got there, and whoever was responsible, stumbling upon them made for a strangely unsettling experience to say the least.

Similarly, and at the end of the same day, we found one last house on the way home. No longer lived in, it was completely locked up, but clothes were once again significant. This time hanging in the windows — their presence giving the property a strange, very real sense of still being occupied.

Head out of the city and into the Japanese countryside, and apartment buildings become fairly scarce, so to not only find a small complex in the mountains, but one that has been abandoned for decades, was a surprise to say the least. In the past, similar locales have revealed a long lost village, hamlet and former forestry settlement — each full of old houses that didn’t look especially out of place in their surroundings. Yet as incongruous as they were, the apartments below were still comparable in the sense that they were also based around employment, with the mostly self-contained blocks once home to cement company workers relocated to the area.

With nice views and the convenience of shops on the premises, it must have been a relatively nice place to live — at least in the warmer months anyway. Winter, on the other hand, can’t have been much fun at all, as protection from the cold, especially in the more traditional rooms, was minimal at best. That said, any worries about the weather are now utterly irrelevant, as the whole place has been abandoned since the late 1970s. Forty years or so that has seen the elements take an incredible toll on the buildings, and the individual apartments in particular, leaving only stark reminders of what was, and what eventually will always be.

The vast majority of abandoned buildings are interesting in their own unique way, but for me at least, old houses probably offer the most. The remnants of lives lived, and sometimes sadly lost, posses a poignancy and personal element that shuttered up theme parks and resort towns often lack.

In that past I’ve photographed a whole village lost in time due to death and job losses, plus a long-abandoned mountain settlement once home to a small population of forestry workers. And below is a similar set of images from a little hamlet that now sits silently in the mountains.

Nestled amongst the trees, narrow paths wind their way between the houses, and personal items scattered about each home offer hints about the lives of those who once lived there. Their probable age, interests and even how one of them looked. Everything rather unceremoniously left behind to slowly disintegrate and eventually disappear.

The structures themselves are already in a precarious state, denying us access to all second storey rooms, as well as a good few on the ground floor. It was just too risky. Yet considering the last sign of life there was thirty years ago, and some of the buildings have been standing uninhabited for over half a century, such decay is not the least bit surprising. Time alone of course takes its toll, but the storm we had at the end of the day also gave us a glimpse of how tough life can be up there, and that was nothing compared to the likes of typhoons and heavy snow — or indeed an earthquake.

So this is simply a record of how the hamlet is now, which of course is a far cry from how it once was. A past we will never know, but what remains is more than enough for speculation, and indeed the imagination.