He said, "You probably won't be interested."

Finding Frog's Glen

A year ago my partner Toru and I dropped the dog with friends in Tokyo and came out to a remote slice of southern Chiba Prefecture for the day. We had made an appointment with a real estate agent to take a look at land. Neither of us were sure we were even going to buy a patch, let alone commit to the many months it would take to build a home.

As agreed Real Estate boy (the kid had to be 22 tops) met us outside a well-known besso-land, a commercial splotch of lots that most people in Japan choose for building a second home.

“Good morning! I’m Hirabayashi,” he said. “Great day isn’t it?”

It was. I can’t remember the month but the chunk of Chiba peninsula we stood on was surrounded with deep blue sea and clear skies. It was one of those “you should buy this” days.

Hirabayashi showed us several flawed lots in that first Besso Land, and even one he called “Ocean view desu!” because if you built a three-story home and stood on your tip toes on that third floor you might be able to squint the sea about 4 miles south over the tree tops. Ocean view desu was 10x overpriced.

I get the concept of besso worlds. There are paved roads and all the power, sewer, and net connections you might need are waiting. Psychologically and socially for Japanese there is also comfort in placing your newly arrived ass in “designated second-home zone,” rather than parachuting into a century-old village peopled by families that have been there for generations. It’s a very Japanese way of thinking that places ripple reduction well above forging real connections.

Besso Lands also come with neighbors. That’s a sales point in a national culture that takes great comfort in numbers.

But Toru and I quickly learned that pre-installed population can be a double-edged sword. I don’t want to say that Japanese second home owners are weird—that’s too broad of a swipe—but they sure do get their architectural fantasies on when considering home designs.

I’m a terrible person, I know, but I don’t want to live next to him.

Tool around a Besso Land and take in the mini Roman Palaces, Mt Vernon Mansions, Swiss Ski Chalets, Aoyama Glass & Steel Museums, and log cabins. Whatever Mr. and Mrs. Fukuda were dreaming the day they walked into an architect’s office has been built. And do you really see the Fukudas becoming new besties when they have a thing for Dutch windmills and garden gnomes?

Look, we weren’t being precious. One vacant lot we saw was fine. But look right, and the people next door installed a pink and white dollhouse home replete with a pink and tin-foil miniature golf course out back. “That could be our view each morning over coffee,” I said to Toru. “We should put our balcony right here over hole number 9.” He laughed nervously.

Before heading back to Tokyo defeated, I pulled agent boy Hirabayashi aside. “Look we almost need to head back…beating traffic and all that. Do you have anything to show that isn’t in Besso Land,” I asked.

He smiled and said yes we do. “But I think you might not be interested.” I glimpsed from his notebook that he had turned to a large-ish lot that simply looked green in the photo. There might have been some gravel too—and…there were no neighbors. It was 20 minutes away around the other side of the peninsula.