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Many clients have been spurred by the pandemic, which “definitely changed the mind-set of people living in Japan regarding the idea of rural living,” Mr. Allen said. “The fact that property in the Japanese countryside is by and large undervalued and there are viable properties that are almost turnkey has finally dawned on these people.”
One person it did not dawn on recently is Alex Kerr, an author and Japanologist originally from Maryland, who became an akiya owner in 1973 when he acquired an abandoned country house (known as a minka) in the mountains of Shikoku, the smallest of Japan’s four main islands, for $1,800.
Named Chiiori, or House of the Flute, the thatched-roof aerie is about 300 years old. Inside, it’s a shadowy space of polished wood floorboards, a large sunken irori hearth and giant overhead rafters wreathed in smoke. Outside, mist rises from the Kumatani River in the gorge below.
Mr. Kerr, 70, is the first to admit that akiya can be money pits. He has spent decades and roughly $700,000 (“about half” of which came from a government grant, he said) maintaining it, and now rents it out as a guesthouse. It’s one of about 40 derelict Japanese properties he has restored over the years, all the while preaching the importance of conservation and rural revitalization to municipalities, companies and homeowners who may not know what makes their properties special.
“Many cultures have wooden architecture, but when it comes to the techniques of carpentry, Japan overwhelmingly leads the world in joinery and use of materials, as well as use of space and choreography,” said Mr. Kerr, whose books include the memoir “Lost Japan.” “When it comes to old minka houses, you have all that, set in a natural environment, and within the context of being cheap. In the Cotswolds, wooden houses cost a fortune, but in Japan they’re being thrown away.”
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