Haikyo

When it comes to hunting down haikyo/abandoned buildings, books and the web offer a wealth of information and photos, but the trouble is, the latter means that the surprise isn’t quite the same, as you’ve already seen at least some of the structure before even setting foot inside it. So, with this in mind, coming across a place that hasn’t been pictured before is a real treat, and definitely a real rush, as what lies behind every door is a new discovery.

A situation that fortunately arose recently when a friend and I were in search of a no longer in use love hotel, and instead stumbled upon an abandoned and luckily unlocked ‘Scandinavian’ lodge. A relatively small place that didn’t contain a great deal content wise, but it did boast that firm favourite of all haikyo, a phone.

Along with statues of what are presumably Scandinavian beauties.

With silent stares that were really quite unsettling.

Especially so when coupled with a less fetching figure.

A photo of which turned out to be my final one, as, totally unannounced, and utterly unheard, an irate local came barging through the doors behind me, and in no uncertain terms said I should leave — a man who sadly couldn’t be appeased no matter how much I apologised.

Meaning no more time to take pictures, and definitely no time for a cheeky cup of tea and a couple of buns.

Considering the state of the first floor, and the random bits and bobs pictured in part 1, it wasn’t at all surprising to find that the hotel had its last guests and then locked up for good in the early 1990s.

Plus, when one heads to the higher floors, it’s similarly unsurprising to discover that it started doing business in the summer of 1973, as the decor is still undoubtedly of that decade.

And seeing that it obviously wasn’t changed once in the twenty years or so it was operational, it’s no surprise either that the hotel eventually surrendered to insolvency. As walks down the numerous corridors.

Along with a rummage around in the large number of rooms.

Resulted in nothing but the same colour schemes.

And wallpaper that wouldn’t be exactly what most people would want to wake up to.

In fact the only real difference was the state of disrepair.

Which no amount of dandyism can now hope to disguise.

And yet for those people who did stay here, the hotel at least offered some really quite lovely views.

Which could well have been nice to have a coffee by.

But now, after nearly twenty years of being left abandoned to nothing but birds, everything sits silent and soiled.

Meaning no room service.

No room calls.

And definitely no sitting in one’s room and relaxing in front of The Rockford Files.

For more haikyo, the whole archive can be seen here. Or, for more selective viewing, my particular favourites are, Nichitsu mining town, Japan Snake Center, Kawatana Special Attack Unit Training Centre, the Higashi Izu-cho Isolation Ward and Mount Asama Volcano Museum.

Situated in the popular tourist area of Izu, and surrounded by expensive holiday homes, this bleak and now abandoned building is an eyesore that must regularly irritate those on a rest break, let alone local residents.

A hotel that must once have hummed with the sound of holidaymakers on short trips away from Tokyo, but now it’s pretty much silent apart from the steady drips from damaged drain pipes and the wind from broken windows.

Meaning that there’s definitely no point in calling reception.

Regardless of whether it be for a kiddie chair.

Some condiments.

A cartridge for a bit of karaoke.

Or even a complaint about the cleanliness.

Although in the office, where the staff experienced both the highs of the hotel’s opening day, and the lows of its last one, there are still plenty of signs of past activity — some of which, despite the hotel closing in the early 1990s, still feels as though it was fairly recent.

Such as still full filing cabinets.

Unused business cards.

And bills to prove that, back in the day at least, they did manage to do some business.

But that was then and this is now, and regardless of whether it was hurt by changing times, or hampered by bad management, the enterprise was a gamble that well and truly didn’t pay off.

In part 2, which can be seen here, I’ll take a look at the distinctly 70s style rooms, and their decidedly dismal deterioration.

When entering any school it’s only natural to expect a noisy greeting from the sounds of the students within, but not in Nichitsu mining town, as an ever-dwindling number of children due to the gradual decline of the area’s mining activities meant the community’s school was eventually forced to close its doors in the early 1970s — a decision that now makes the institution a very different place indeed, even before one actually enters, with no need anymore to change from outdoor shoes, to indoor ones.

And where kids once careered down the corridors.

Or clattered in and out of classrooms, regardless of the rules.

There is now only silence.

A silence that’s all the more noticeable due to the signs of so many sounds — especially those made by the students who once studied here.

Like drums left discarded.

Or pianos that are now unplayable, let alone unplayed.

Plus a varied selection of recorded music. In this case a nostalgic piece of vinyl that for some reason T.M. didn’t take home.

Instead choosing to leave it behind in a room that’ll never again have any festive cheer funnelled through its speakers.

And in Japan, where all manner of rules are continually, almost religiously, repeated, this discarded and slightly damaged megaphone seems especially subdued.

Silently suggestive of the sounds that were once an integral, and no doubt sometimes irritating, part of the school.

For those interested, there are my original posts on Nichitsu, covering the doctor’s office, dwellings and day to day life of those who once lived there, as well as a more recent visit to the now further decayed doctor’s place.

Despite exploring and photographing more than a few abandoned buildings, the majority of which have been thoroughly fascinating, making a return trip to any of them has never really seemed worthwhile — except that is for Nichitsu mining town. Not though to simply tread over previously trod ground, but rather to fully explore its old school building as, on our first visit, the light was almost non-existent by the time we got there, and then what little time we did have was cut short by an unexpected encounter with security.

A nagging regret that meant another journey out there was always on the cards, but finally deciding to do so inevitably led to one more look at the the almost legendary doctor’s office. So, the next instalment will be the school, but first it’s a final tour around the mining town’s now really quite horrific medical facilities.

A scene that was surprisingly serene at first, as the (relatively) reassuring recuperation room was just how I remembered it.

The rest of the place though was arguably even more grim than it was a year and a half or so ago, with time having taken a further toll on the facility. And, whilst more than a few things had been moved around, it didn’t detract too much from the sights that still do more than just hint at the dangers the miners one faced.

All the way from minor injuries,

to those that were much more severe.

Along with a variety of equipment,

to help correct any complaints.

Plus one or two other curiosities. A few of which were, and indeed still are, far harder to fathom.

Although the infamous brain in a jar that once accompanied this collection has now, totally inexplicably, been taken.

Part 2, the school, can be seen here, but for anybody interested, arguably even more sickening things in jars can be seen here. Or alternatively, here are pictures of an old medical facility that, in my mind at least, is even more melancholy.