Stars and Stripes reporter Tim Wightman familiarizes himself with the control panel inside his sleeping quarters at Capsule Land Shibuya. ()
Those of us who constantly yearn for good joke material can thank the Japanese for giving us the capsule hotel.
Is that your bed, or are you making like a muppet getting a locker for the night?
What, can’t wait to die before getting to lie down in a coffin?
Finally got fed up watching actors in James Cameron films have all the fun waking up in pods?
Or, why don’t you just ask your doctor next time you have an MRI if you can take a nap?
Capsule slights are easy to make if you’re a naive outsider. Well, living within walking distance of the 10-story Capsule Land Shibuya gave me an opportunity to break out of that mold. The initial plan was to spend a few hours there, maybe lie down in the capsule for a bit, and come back and pen a tell-all from the gaijin perspective. Staying a full night in one of these things is definitely not what I had in mind.
I showed up in the main lobby of this huge facility that, even in glitzy Shibuya, stands out. The 3,700 yen (about $40) for a night’s stay also stands out. My initial thought: What servicemember looking for a quick place to crash in Tokyo wouldn’t go for a deal like that, especially if New Sanno and Hardy Barracks are booked up? Anyone familiar with Tokyo knows that the average hotel room goes for at least three to four times that much.
Note: most capsule hotels are exclusively male, although you can find some that offer men’s floors and women’s floors. Besides, this isn’t a place where you’d take a date.
After I purchased my night’s stay at a ticket machine, the man at the counter gave me a key for my shoe locker, which was located just off to the side of the lobby. After I put my shoes away — and realizing I wouldn’t see them again until I left — I came back and exchanged my shoe key for my main locker key, which was attached to a wrist band. The clerk, noticing my full backpack, said he wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to squeeze it inside my locker, located on the second floor.
Since my capsule was on the eighth floor, I didn’t quite grasp the idea. Why wouldn’t I just keep my stuff where I was sleeping?
I put that thought on hold and excitedly went up to check out my sleeping quarters, capsule 818. It was on one of two non-smoking floors. There were four other floors for smokers. When the hotel’s lone elevator came down, it felt weird to step inside wearing just socks. But also it kind of gave me a feeling of home.
When I got to my floor, I stepped into a small room with vending machines and a view of the city below. Down a short hallway were bathrooms on either side. To the left, toilets and urinals, with complimentary slippers set out. To the right, a room with sink stations. I opened the glass door separating the bathrooms from the capsules.
The capsules were stacked two high, a total of 28 on each floor. I climbed over 817 using the built-in steps and surveyed my temporary home. I thought to myself that anyone who had something
negative to say about capsules probably never spent time in the military. And they certainly never slept in ship berthing, which has a stench all its own that combines sweaty sailors, socks and other items of questionable sanitation. But the hotel was clean and there was no lingering smell.
The capsule itself was about 6 ½ feet long, 3 feet wide and almost 5 feet high. Only very large people would find the sleeping arrangements difficult.
Near the capsule’s opening were a pillow and blanket. Inside on the capsule wall near where a person’s head rests was a pretty dated control panel that included a speaker, clock display with alarm settings, light controls, and radio and TV controls. A small TV was attached to the control panel and extended out into the middle of the capsule, in effect splitting it in half. I turned on one channel, saw it was Japanese TV and planned on watching some videos on my iPod touch later. There was no wireless Internet at the hotel.
After checking everything out, I decided to spend the night to give readers the full scoop. Not because it was an opportunity to avoid getting awakened by my infant daughter and toddler son.
As I got situated in 818, it dawned on me why the clerk told me to keep everything in my locker. There were no storage compartments in the capsule. Too tired to climb out, I ended up sleeping with my backpack and winter coat at my feet. There was enough space, though, that it didn’t stop me from having a good night’s sleep. Even noise wasn’t an issue, which it can be in ship’s berthing. Despite seeing many of my neighboring capsules with curtains down, I only heard a few coughs all night. No sound of TVs or radios. Headphones may have come into play where those were concerned.
The next morning, I decided to try out the public bathroom on the third floor. I went down to my locker on the second floor and inside I found a robe-like top and matching shorts, along with a towel and washcloth. Also in the locker room were coin laundry and pants-pressing machines. This place definitely had a touch of country club to it.
The bathroom on the second floor included roughly 10 sit-down showers, two public baths and a sauna. I didn’t use the sauna but felt very refreshed after taking part in the other two options. The majority of the other capsulites were, I gathered, businessmen based on their manner and dress. Possibly a few of them had missed trains the night before. Many took advantage of the pants-pressers and free hair products.
After finishing in the shower area, I went back up to the eighth floor to see what kinds of hygienic products could be found near the sinks, since, having originally ruled out an overnight stay, I hadn’t brought anything. In abundant supply were Q-tips, razors, fluoride-enriched toothbrushes, hairbrushes, and hair tonic and liquid. All that was missing to complete the full metrosexual effect was skin lotion, which I may have simply overlooked.
When I got down to the main lobby, men were feasting away on complimentary breakfast rolls and coffee. I turned in my wrist key in exchange for my shoe locker key, got my shoes out, handed in my shoe key, and stepped outside into the brisk Tokyo morning air, grateful for my new perspective and anxious to clean up my old, capsule-bashing ways.