In the remote mountains of Japan, ancient hot spring ryokans still pulsate with miraculous waters but lie shrouded in the silence of degradation. My adventure companion, Xing Yue, and I discovered them by chance while searching for a place to camp in our tent, turning a fleeting glance into an urban exploration.
The Chance Discovery
As we scoured the rough trails in search of the perfect spot for our tent, the structure caught our eye: an abandoned hot spring hotel with opaque windows. The next day, despite our tight schedule, we returned armed with curiosity. A family of spiders guards the main entrance: thick webs and dozens of specimens hanging, ready to defend their kingdom from intruders. On the left, a half-open window gives us access. After placing our backpacks on a dusty bench, we begin our exploration.
Ground Floor: Remnants of Hospitality
The lobby retained traces of everyday life: intact televisions, ceramics, plates, and scattered objects. At the reception desk, shelves held geta—traditional wooden clogs—that tempted me to add to my personal collection. Urbex ethics prevailed: I touched, but did not take.
Not far away, a wooden statue depicted two tigers climbing trees, symbols of strength and protection. The kitchen and restaurant area revealed rusty thermoses, utensils, and curious wooden boats, next to another dusty TV.
The Mezzanine: Bijin-ga and Hidden Treasures
Climbing steep stairs, darkness and humidity enveloped the corridors. A large room occupied half a floor, dominated by four stylised figures in traditional kimonos: bijin-ga, paintings of beautiful women inspired by ukiyo-e. Graceful poses, elaborate obi, and floral kimonos evoked the ephemeral elegance of courtesans.
In the centre of a wrinkled tatami mat, a ningyō doll (probably hina-ningyō for Hinamatsuri) sat enthroned in a protective display case. It depicted a noblewoman in multilayer juunihitoe, a symbol of prosperity for daughters. In the background, videotapes and audiocassettes of hits from the golden years, relics of an analogue era.
Upper Floors: Rooms Trapped in Time
The forgotten water continues to vibrate beneath the ruins, like a memory that refuses to fade away. Steam still rises stubbornly from a heart that no one listens to anymore.
The guest rooms, still perfectly livable, retain a warmth that no longer belongs to anyone, like a breath that has been trapped. From the windows, every drop that falls seems to measure the time of a sleeping body, unable to wake up.
Chairs, televisions, futons, walls, spiders, plants—living and non-living—pulse in silence, faithful to a ritual that the world has stopped observing.
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