Love Hotel Chapman — Abandoned Love Hotel in Japan

To find this abandoned hotel, you really need a sharp eye; without GPS coordinates, I think we would have circled it for hours. Despite being right on the roadside, the place goes completely unnoticed thanks to the dense vegetation. We are in the Chiba Prefecture in Japan to explore a place that is truly extraordinary—at least for us French visitors. We’re heading into what is known in Japan as a “Love Hotel,” a place dedicated to couples, whether in “official” relationships or not, who go there to spend the night or a few hours for an intimate moment.

Culturally, this can be explained by the fact that Japanese people often live with their parents for a long time—not necessarily due to a lack of means, but out of habit. They are even nicknamed “parasite singles,” what we in France call “Tanguys.” Combined with a natural sense of modesty, they prefer to go to these specialized hotels for their sexual encounters. Far from being looked down upon, these establishments are actually quite well-regarded.

What’s striking in Japan is just how many of these hotels exist. During our month-long road trip through the Land of the Rising Sun, we saw hundreds of them. we even stayed in a few ourselves, as they are comfortable and affordable. These are truly “holy” places; they look nothing like tawdry brothels, far from it. In one of the rooms where we slept, the amount of equipment was staggering: in addition to the traditional whirlpool tub, we had a karaoke kit, a slot machine (Pachinko), a video game console, and a giant-screen TV—perfect for staying occupied should things end “shamefully early” and you need to get your money’s worth for the night.

Back to our abandoned site. After spotting it through the bamboo, the hotel looks extremely dilapidated, with parts of it seemingly on the verge of collapse. After a bit of a climb, we reach a bathroom that threatens to cave in on us; one of the walls is literally falling over and is only held up by a miracle. I was actually afraid to set down my tripod, fearing a slight vibration might bring the whole house of cards down.

The interior is very dark and dangerous. Fortunately, we have our flashlights to spot the holes in the floor that drop straight down into the underground parking lot. Walking through the corridors, I feel a real sense of claustrophobia; the place feels stifling and unsettling. Finally, we enter the room we’ve been fantasizing about from photos: the medieval room, with its suit of armor still standing guard. The place has changed significantly since those images were taken; the roof has partially collapsed, as has the floor. Taking photos here is intensely stressful—not exactly ideal for perfecting your compositions.

This turned out to be one of the only workable rooms, along with another featuring a round bed sitting right in the middle under the watchful eye of a white statue. Each room offers access to a small private garden. The hotel feels like an oppressive labyrinth through which we move with ultimate caution. We leave after an hour of exploration, exiting through the underground parking—the common denominator of this type of hospitality, allowing guests to park their cars discreetly and in total peace.