Haikyo

When exploring in the far west of Tokyo last week, I was reminded of a bar out there and the absolutely lovely 93-year-old who owned it. A memory that in turn made me think about the area’s long-abandoned ropeway, as it was an attraction the old lady had actually ridden on when she was younger.

Open and ready for passengers at the start of 1962, the 622 metre cable car ride was, in part, built to capitalise on the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. Just like the 2020 Games, however, things didn’t quite work out as planned, and visitor numbers simply weren’t substantial enough. An outcome that perhaps shouldn’t have been all that surprising considering the out of the way location, the short, one-stop hop over a lake, and the meagre 0.6 metre height difference between stations. So a mere 4 years after it opened, operations were halted on December 1st 1966. Ostensibly just for the winter, it was an end of year break that lasted until 1975, when an official suspension was announced. A state the site has stayed in ever since — clearly never opening again, and yet at the same time never actually closing.

Left to slowly decay and staying pretty much untouched for decades, there’s now graffiti on the platform, plus more recently on at least one of the cable cars, so that aspect, and the slightly tenuous Olympic connection, seemed like as good a time as any to re-edit these photos from 8 years ago. A time when everything was almost as it was after that last journey over the lake more than 50 years ago.

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.