Searls of Wisdom for May 2025

Some number of nights spent in a hotel is the ideal number to ensure the perfect vacation. It is probably more than three nights. It is definitely less than 42. I didn't set out to uncover this fact, but I figured I might as well share this discovery with you: do not stay in hotels for 42 consecutive nights. At least not if you consider it a vacation.

So, why have I spent the last 42 nights in hotels?

Because I wanted to buy a condo as a second home, of course. And the condo was in Japan. And the… you know what, I'm going to stop myself. I've told portions of this story in a narrative form three times already, and I'm not convinced it provides a very compelling arc. "Affluent man of leisure overcomes problem after problem of his own creation in order to acquire a second home on another continent," is not exactly an epic retelling of The Hero's Journey. It's an interesting sentence, maybe, but I'm not sure it makes for a good story.

All I'll say is that this endeavor has been as weird as anything else I've set out to do. And despite being uniquely exhausting, it's already proven to be one of my life's most rewarding side quests. In addition to creating countless memories, this experience has also stress-tested my resolve, my intellect, and my waistline (since 42 nights has also meant 42 restaurants).

To illustrate just how long it's been, dinosaurs still roamed the earth when I got here:

So, without repeating the whole story for a fourth time and without anything else of interest to talk about, I will instead offer you a humble crash course in all of the Japanese vocabulary I have had to learn since I got this bright idea in April and Becky gave me the green light to pursue it.

If you've ever studied a foreign language, you might be familiar with the power of mnemonics in memorization. In short, when you connect a concept you want to remember to a memory you can't forget, that concept will effectively stick to the memory. Silly mnemonics are how my first Japanese professor, Larry Herzberg, taught Japanese in college (e.g. the word for homework, "shukudai," was always paired with, "are you 'sure you could die?'"). Mnemonics are also how I later learned the 2000 basic kanji characters and 8000 additional vocabulary in just over two years, thanks to Tofugu's wonderful WaniKani web app. Pairing concepts with memory is why I so easily remember the phrases people teach me when I'm visiting bars and izakaya (though these phrases are usually food-related—like that "kara wo muku" means "to peel off the shell" of a nut).

Since mnemonics are a proven memorization strategy, for today's vocabulary lesson I'll sprinkle a little embellishment on top of each of the words I introduce below. If something resembling a cohesive story emerges as you read through the full vocab list, that's on you. I'm just rattling off the words I learned last month.

Japanese Real Estate Vocabulary

• 不動産／ふどうさん／fu-dou-san – This is one of my favorite words, because 不動 means "not moving", and 産 often means "industry." That's right: Japan's word for real estate literally translates to "the immovable industry", which is an apt (if unglamorous) way to describe the buying and selling of the only thing in life whose value depends on its not going anywhere. Buying a home? You're gonna be saying 不動産 a lot, along with several variations like 不動産屋／不動業者 ("real estate agent"), 不動産登記 ("real estate registration"), 不動産取得税 ("real estate acquisition tax"), and so on

• 物件／ぶっけん／buk-ken – This word can literally mean "thing", but in a real estate context, it refers to a property listing. So when you search a website like Suumo, the results are a list of 物件. In order to find the listing we'd ultimately buy, I vibe-coded an app to sift through property listings for me. Miraculously, the very first time I ran the program, it found the condo we'd ultimately end up buying (so I immediately halted work on the project)

• マンション／まんしょん/man-shon – In my case, the listings I was looking for were specifically condos, which Japan refers to as "mansion" units. Why are they called mansions? Because in the 1960s, developers of concrete-reinforced high-rise apartments hoped it would convey a sense of luxury. Any association with the English concept of a "mansion" as a palatial free-standing house was quickly discarded. Now, マンション are distinguished from アパート ("apartment") buildings by being over 3 stories and made of sturdier materials like steel as opposed to wood

• 価格／かかく／ka-ka-ku – Japanese has a few different words for "price", but most learners are first taught to ask いくら ("i-ku-ra", "how much") or the more conversational 値段 ("ne-dan"), but for larger purchases, 価格 is more commonly used. The first step to finding the right condo was to compare price across geographies. Shizuoka City was immediately appealing—highly walkable, only an hour from Tokyo by Shinkansen bullet train, and new construction available at a fraction of Tokyo's neighboring prefectures. Why the discrepancy? Two reasons, it turns out: (1) everyone in Japan is convinced Shizuoka is due for a "megaquake" which has dramatically suppressed home values, and (2) a one-way Shinkansen ticket is about fifteen times more expensive than Tokyo's local train fare—even if both take a similar amount of time—disqualifying Shizuoka for anyone who commutes into Tokyo. Earthquakes are scary, but this is a second home and that's what insurance is for. And the fact it's more expensive to get to Tokyo is actually a benefit from our perspective, as Shizuoka can thrive as a full-fledged city in its own right, without risk of becoming yet another sleepy Tokyo exurb

• 委任状／いにんじょう／i-nin-jou – This means "power of attorney", and it became necessary because it's really hard to engage in a real estate transaction while overseas without granting someone the authority to sign for you in person. A good friend of mine agreed to shoulder this burden, so I hastily printed and notarized a document and then overnighted it to him so he could deal with the developer directly

• 本人確認／ほんにんかくにん／hon-nin-ka-ku-nin – That plan immediately ran into problems, which is how I learned the phrase "in-person verification." Although being armed with an executed POA document gave my friend the legal authority to conduct business on my behalf, there is no law compelling a developer to sell to us. Everything comes down to the sellers' internal policy and procedure, and it became clear pretty quickly that I'd need to meet with them in person if I wanted to do the deal

• ビジネスカジュアル／びじねすかじゅある／bi-ji-ne-su-ka-ju-a-ru – This is a loan word for "business casual" and it means exactly the same thing it does in English. As someone who has traveled most of the planet with only one pair of jeans and three t-shirts, the fact I'd need to attend multiple business-adjacent meetings to secure this condo meant buying slacks, a belt, shoes, and three different collared shirts (each of which my torso is too long to fit). This word still counts as vocabulary, mind you, because if you pronounce business as "business", ain't nobody going to understand you. It is "bee-jee-nay-su", you noob. And there's nothing casual about how hard it is to stammer out "kah-jew-ah-ru" when your mouth so badly wants to blurt out "casual." Japanese people are regularly confounded by how much harder it is for me to say words they perceive as being in my own language, but their limited syllabary obscures how badly it mangles English pronunciation

• 印鑑証明書／いんかんしょうめいしょ／in-kan-shou-mei-sho – Japan doesn't do signatures, it does seals—everyone carries a little rubber stamp (their 印鑑, "in-kan") they ink and affix to execute documents. And parties to a contract can attest that someone's seal is whose they say it is because each person's seal is registered with the municipality in which they reside. So if you're making a big purchase like buying property, your seal alone isn't good enough—you also need a 印鑑証明書 certificate from your city hall to prove your seal matches your identification

• 署名証明書／しょめいしょうめいしょ／sho-mei-shou-mei-sho – Just one problem with the above: while foreign non-residents have the legal right to buy property in Japan, there is no way to register a seal when you don't reside anywhere that registers seals. Therefore, even though I still carry a seal from when we lived in Nara, there was no way for me to obtain a 印鑑証明書 to seal the deal. Instead, I would be allowed to execute agreements with my signature, but only if I first provided a (somewhat sing-songily-pronounced) "sho-mei-shou-mei-sho" document. Like an 印鑑証明書, a 署名証明書 establishes a chain of trust from your signature to an issuing authority to your identification (a passport, in my case). In hindsight, I suppose it is a little silly that one can sign nearly any form in America as "Daffy Duck" and buy a car or get married or whatever

• 異体字／いたいじ／i-tai-ji – This means "variant character", usually in the context of mistakenly having typed the wrong kanji. Why did I have to learn this? Because I, a stupid American, granted power of attorney for my friend using the common character 島 ("shi-ma", meaning island) in his surname instead of the fancier 嶋 ("shi-ma", meaning island). What's the difference between these two characters? Well, you see, one depicts a bird on top of a mountain. The other depicts a mountain to the left of a bird. Huge difference. In any case, this effectively invalidated my friend's power of attorney and meant that I'd have to execute and notarize a new one from within Japan (a country in which I still lacked a legal way to sign documents)

• 公証／こうしょう／kou-shou – This means notary. Like most of the US, notaries are almost all privatized in Japan. Unlike the US, notarization is serious fucking business here, and there are only a few hundred in the entire country. In America, all you need is $10 and a UPS Store to have a pimple-faced teenager notarize a document stating you are Daffy Duck, but public notaries in Japan fill a quasi-legal role that serves many functions Americans typically reserve for attorneys (like filing wills and divorce agreements). You can also expect to pay Japanese notaries on the order of hundreds of dollars for what seem like routine documents, which can cause a bit of sticker shock. (Got a bilingual document? Well, whatever the 価格 usually is, double it)

• 大使館／たいしかん／tai-shi-kan – This means embassy, and boy was I bummed out when I had to learn that. While I could probably have successfully received a notarized 署名証明書 from a Japanese notary public, I asked eight different people about notarizing a new 委任状 (this time with the correct 嶋) and got twelve different answers. In the end, everyone said the same thing: the path of least resistance (and it was still plenty of resistance, since appointments were being scheduled a month out) was to go to the US Embassy in Tokyo and get both documents stamped with a consular seal in one fell swoop. Of course, I was extremely lucky to get in at all—I spent the better part of a day repeatedly logging into the embassy's reservation system and managed to snag a last-minute cancellation, even though it meant having to depart at 5 AM the next morning to make the appointment

• 管理費／かんりひ／kan-ri-hi – Refers to a condo's monthly management and association fees, and it was one of the developer's biggest hang-ups with selling to a non-resident foreigner: how would I pay it? I didn't understand, as I was happy to pay by cash, credit, bank transfer—hell, I'd have paid twenty years up-front if they let me. Well, they wouldn't. For some reason, the nation of Japan has decided the only acceptable way to pay for 管理費 (and seemingly only 管理費) is via auto-draft payments (自動振替) out of a domestic bank account. And guess what non-residents aren't allowed to have? You guessed it: domestic bank accounts. So while I was technically capable of purchasing a condo, I was functionally unable to make mandatory payments on it. (This, I soon learned, has led to a cottage industry of property management firms who cater to foreigners; I went with the fine folks at Wagaya Japan, but Mailmate is another great option)

• 留守中／るすちゅう／ru-su-chuu – Means "while away from home", and it was being thrown around a lot in discussions about who would take care of my condo when I was back in the States. What if there was a water leak? What if my mailbox was stuffed full? Fortunately for me and only me, Japan is currently lousy with abandoned homes (空き家), and so every city has a number of local companies offering services to check on things for you, ventilate the place, tidy up, and so forth. I contacted a few in Shizuoka and engaged one of them to come by each month, grab the mail, open the windows, and e-mail me a selfie

• 申し込む／もうしこむ／mou-shi-ko-mu – The verb "to apply", and it's what we did at the third meeting. The fact I was invited to apply by the developer was an achievement in its own right. Now I just had to show up and correctly write my name and address. I'm happy to report I made only two very minor mistakes, which meant I only had to fill out the application over again in its entirety three times while everyone stared at me. Anyway, it took a couple hours, but we got there and I had formally applied to buy the condo

• 手付金／てつけきん／te-tsu-ke-kin – A deposit or earnest money, most often in real estate transactions. When buying a マンション, it's customary to put 10% down when you sign the contract. (Fun fact I learned reading a book: if the developer fails to deliver, Japanese law stipulates you get double your money back!) Paying 手付金 is a necessary step in moving from the "application" to the "contract" phase of the process, so I just needed to cough up a few million yen somehow. This was significantly harder than I expected. While Forex trading within the bounds of an investment platform is trivially easy these days, actually withdrawing money held in a foreign currency is absurdly difficult in practice, thanks in part to the global tightening of KYC laws

• 振り込み／ふりこみ／fu-ri-ko-mi – This word literally means "bank transfer", and it was the only accepted payment method for the condo's 手付金. Of course, because Japan has its own domestic bank transfer system that the global financial system lacks any awareness of, the network itself (which is actually called Zengin-net) is usually referred to in English by the Japanese word "furikomi". Furikomi is incredibly advanced by America's ACH standards, as pretty much anyone in Japan can—with just their smartphone—instantly transfer any amount to any other bank account, and the recipient can often see the funds land within seconds. Unfortunately, ever since HSBC and Citibank withdrew from the Japanese retail banking market, it has been functionally impossible for non-residents to transfer money to Japanese accounts via Furikomi. SWIFT transfers are possible but they're almost never used, because Furikomi is so convenient and international transactions are so rare. However, I was in luck! It was only last October that Wise became the first non-bank approved to participate in the Zengin network and they only charge users a couple bucks to send up to ¥150 million

• 契約済み／けいやくすみ／kei-ya-ku-su-mi – This means "contract completion," and it's apparently where you wind up after spending 42 nights in business hotels

If you're feeling exhausted after reading all this, imagine how I feel! 😮‍💨