Moving Experiences

  Kawasaki, Japan
Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Moving house in a country where you don't speak the language can be a challenge. Moving house in a country where you don't speak the language and where you don't understand many features of residential culture is a little harder still. Moving house in a country where virtually everyone who owns property must be at least 95 years old and rather suspicious of foreigners might even tip the balance against you. But against all these odds I have managed to, er... move house.

So, six months to the day after I arrived in Japan, I left Yokohama for nearby Kawasaki, a smaller city sandwiched between my former domicile and Tokyo. I now live in a significantly larger building than previously, with the rather grand name of "Kajigaya Sky Mansion".


It appears that something has been inexplicably lost in the translation of the word "mansion" into Japanese, as the picture above bears little resemblance to the images conjured by Jane Austen novels. It turns out that, over here, a mansion is in fact a privately-owned apartment, not a sprawling house set in its own grounds, while "sky" is a loose concept that seems to apply to any building you want to make sound good.

But so far everything has been working out very nicely. Despite surrendering close access to many izakayas and a Japanese curry house (nice, but no Rusholme), I now avoid spending nearly 2 hours a day commuting on six trains. I merely spend 8 minutes each way on the Tokyu Den-en-Toshi Line, arriving refreshed and relaxed at my school.

Well, maybe.

You see, the Den-en-Toshi is "affectionately" known amongst local gaijin as the 'Den-en-Squashi', thanks to its frequent horrendous overcrowding. Rush hour on this line makes the Tube in London look like a claustrophobe's welcome release. The famed 'pushers' are out in force on the platforms in the morning, cramming people in with their white gloves, whilst apologising relentlessly and presumably wondering how they have not yet been lynched by those already suffocating on the train. And when they aren't there, people just do the same thing anyway. Standard practice appears to be to wait on the platform until those who remain physically capable of getting off leave the train, then to turn your back and drive slowly backwards until you can see the inside of the door frame and/or the person behind gives up on life and begins praying. Turning your back in this fashion is undoubtedly an advantage, as you don't have to witness the havoc you wreak behind you. The effect for those of us who can see, however, is akin to a crowd surge at a rock concert, except that it is done in almost complete silence. In light of all of this, it is a wonder to me how Japan can be so crap at rugby. All they need is a few Tokyo commuters in their pack and they would be unstoppable.

Anyway, all-in-all the move has been a very good one. My new apartment does not resemble a poorly-maintained rabbit hutch, but instead feels relatively spacious, at least by Japanese standards. Kitchen and living room are separated, there are two balconies and an air-conditioned lounge. And, a true crowning glory, we have an electronic toilet.



Yes, that's right. You thought you had everything didn't you? But just when you thought you could not technologically enhance any more of life's little routines, another electronic marvel presents a bewildering array of lights and buttons to play with while you relieve yourself. The heated seat may not have demonstrated its true value as yet, given the 35 degree Celcius heat and 5 billion percent humidity [rough scientific estimate] that characterise Japanese summers. Most of the functions, however, appear to centre around differently-directed jets of water which, if carefully managed, are apparently intended to revolutionise the waste disposal and post-disposal cleaning experience. Yet these cleansing jets may also present their own challenges, often sending new users jumping several feet into the air in surprise, before running out of the bathroom with a curious sense of violation and leaving the commode shooting warm water in a graceful arc at the opposite wall. My limited Japanese is not up to the task of translating the sign under the seat cover, but my best guess would be that it cautions: "Do not, under any circumstances, warn gaijin of this product's potent features. They will be completely baffled and unwilling to talk about their experience for some time, allowing us all to treasure this hilarious cultural joke for generations to come."

On a less undignified note, my room is great. I have the traditional Japanese bedroom in the apartment, with a wooden ceiling, a tatami mat floor and even a wood and paper screen door in front of the regular balcony door.



And I am paying considerably less rent for this much nicer situation. You would think that would lead to a fatter wallet in my pocket right now, but such a hope fails to consider those pesky little cultural differences that occasionally decide to trip me up. You see, moving in Japan can be a dreadfully expensive business. Owners and agencies are only too willing to throw up a staggering array of fees for potential new renters: deposits, fire insurance, 'key money', agency fees, rent in advance, even a "successfully-negotiating-with-the-owner-to-reduce-the-'management'-fee" bonus (equivalent to the amount saved by reducing the management fee). Indeed, the only notable absence from the list of charges is one for "de watering" apartments after accidents with electronic toilets. 'Key money' is the real kicker, dating back to the days of feudal landlords and samauri. At that time, property owners owed a significant duty of care should their tenants fall on hard times. In return for a gift of money upon move-in, they would feed and look after their tenants should crops or employment fail. For some unbeknown reason, and to the chagrin of young Japanese, this tradition has continued into the modern period, only without any responsibility being placed on the owners. As such, we simply have to pay a hefty cash gift to the landlord for the privilege of paying them more money, including non-refundable "deposits" (my guess being that deposit was translated by the same great mind that brought "mansion" to Japan). And we were the lucky ones, we didn't need a guarantor...

Thankfully, all these costs are one-offs and, occasional rants aside, the move has been a very good one. And maybe even life in general couldn't be better. You see, for every irritating obstacle such as 'key money', Japan has many more positive surprises. I am off to Okinawa next month for my birthday, on a ticket that was less than half price. And the reason for this bargain? No other reason than that the flights were close to my birthday. Cheap birthday travel, electronic toilets - now that's worth any amount of moving.