Want to buy a cheap house in rural Japan? This millennial farmer offers his advice

When Lee Xian Jie first stepped foot in the traditional farmhouse located in Ryujin-mura, a village in Japan’s Wakayama prefecture, it was “quite rundown” — with floors so rickety they shook beneath him with every step he took. 

After all, the main structure of the abandoned home was 300 years old, Lee said. But when he took a closer look around the home, he could tell it was “properly built.” 

“The pillars are all Sakura wood, which is an extremely dense and hard wood,” he told CNBC Make It. “It’s also a thatch building, which is very rare in Japan now … So it’s a building with great historical value.” 

“My interest has always been in history. I wanted to see … How did people build homes with just wood and joinery?” said Lee Xian Jie, who restored three buildings in Ryujin-mura, a village in Japan’s Wakayama prefecture.

Lee Xian Jie

The property, which previously housed four generations, is one of Japan’s millions of vacant houses known as akiya, Japanese for “empty house.” 

But unlike many akiya that are for sale, this was for rent because it’s on “good land,” and there are two family graves in the area, Lee explained. He was, however, given permission by its landlord to restore the premises. 

“My interest has always been in history. I wanted to see what it was like for people back then to live without chemical fertilizers that we use right now. How did people build homes with just wood and joinery?” 

Things to consider 

Covid-19 fast-tracked Lee’s dreams of living in rural Japan. He started his own tour company in Kyoto six years ago, but moved to the village during the pandemic when there was no work. 

He quickly fell in love with Ryujin-mura and decided to rent the farmhouse, along with another akiya, which is now a co-working space for digital nomads. 

The 33-year-old runs a farm-to-table cafe at the farmhouse three days a week, using ingredients he harvests from the farm, which he also uses for free.   

But that’s not all. He also bought another 100-year-old building next door, which he is converting into a guesthouse.

The farmers are the busiest people here —  the only difference is that you don’t have to sit in front of a desk.

While akiya often have cheap price tags, there are a few things to consider before moving to Japan to purchase one, said Lee. 

“This is specifically for Japan: If you can’t speak the language, you can’t get along with your neighbors … communication is very difficult,” he added. 

“People forget that time invested in the language is a lot of time they can use elsewhere. It takes anyone at least a bare minimum of four years to be fluent in Japanese, seven to eight years to be really fluent.” 

Farm life is often romanticized as quiet or peaceful compared to the city, but Lee says “no farmer here has a slow life.”

“The farmers are the busiest people here —  the only difference is that you don’t have to sit in front of a desk,” added Lee, who has almost 16-hour long days at the farm. 

There are also “social expectations” such as maintaining the grass around your land, which requires more time and energy than one would imagine. 

“I can’t stress how much grass cutting goes on because Japan has a lot of rain and plants grow very well. If you don’t maintain it, it’ll look very messy and your weeds will affect the neighbors’ crops.”  

“Life is slow if you pay to stay on the farm as a guest. For my guests, it’ll be a slow life because they’d have to do none of the chores,” he added with a laugh. 

While it’s a lot of hard work, it’s all worth it for Lee — who finds the most fulfillment from knowing what goes into the food he serves at his cafe. 

“The most fulfilling part of the experience is that when I serve tea now, it’s my own tea that I made. When I serve rice in this cafe, I know that I have used no pesticides,” he said. 

“I’ve made many local friends here … it’s the human connections I have here that are truly priceless.” 

Cost of renovations

Living in rural Japan is no doubt cheaper compared to the city. Lee said that he pays “well under” $750 for the main farmhouse and co-working space, which sit on a property measuring a total of about 100,000 sq. ft.

“I did my math and realized that if I renovated a place nicely, I will be paying the same amount I would have if I lived in Kyoto for five years,” said Lee. 

However, he warned that renovation costs might be hefty, depending on the condition of the akiya. The floors of the main farmhouse for example, were weakened by the humidity and termites. 

“I thought I could replace the floor [through] DIY but then I fell through the floor,” Lee recalled. “Then I just hired the carpenter who lives about 10 minutes away.” 

For the guesthouse, which sits on a separate parcel of land measuring 190,000 sq. ft., he spent about $97,000 with two friends to purchase and renovate, with the bulk of that going toward renovations.

On the same property is a 100-year-old building, which Lee Xian Jie converted into a guesthouse. This is how it looked like before renovations.

Lee Xian Jie

Another $37,000 was spent to turn the main house into a living space for himself and a functional cafe. 

Lee had to involve himself in the demolishing work — partly because of a shortage of manpower in the village. 

“But it also means you can cut your costs a little, if you’re willing to get your hands dirty,” he shared. “A lot of work went to the electrical work, pipes … Getting a proper flushing toilet, before that it was a hole in the ground.”

Having spent five figures on all the work on the property, whether he can recoup those costs is a concern because “there’s a lot less work” to be found in rural Japan. 

“If you want to do agriculture, you have to be an expert in agriculture, otherwise you will fail. There are fewer jobs here also of any sort,” he explained. 

“Living costs are lower in rural Japan, but so is the income.” 

The guesthouse after renovations. While it will only open in June, Lee Xian Jie said he’s already been getting some bookings.

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PlayStation, treasure hunts and natural wonders: What life is like onboard a giant oil tanker

An oil tanker being serviced by a bunkering vessel.

Courtesy: Hafnia

If you think that life at sea is like the movie franchise “Pirates of the Caribbean,” think again.

The movies, which feature ambushes, looting and a drunken captain, are far from real life, according to shipping veteran Ralph Juhl.

“That is, of course, a lot of bollocks,” Juhl told CNBC by phone.

For starters, the consumption of alcohol is banned on many ships.

But there is one similarity with the movie, Juhl said: the code of conduct between seafarers. In the franchise, the Pirate’s Code was chronicled in a book kept by character Captain Teague, and loosely followed by some.

For those who sail for a living, there is a similar type of agreement, Juhl said.

The crew on board an oil tanker operated by Hafnia.

Courtesy: Hafnia

“Seafarers, no matter where they come from — India, Ukraine, Denmark, the Philippines — there is this conduct of how you behave on a ship … You can actually endanger both yourself and all of your colleagues if you are not playing that social game, being on board the ship. So, you take responsibility, you follow authority,” Juhl said.

Juhl, an executive vice-president at oil tanker firm Hafnia, has worked in the industry for several decades, starting as an ordinary seaman — the lowest rank of sailor — in 1983.

“When you as a seafarer [go] on board … you are a contribution to the society and you have to fit in … there is this code of the high seas,” he added.

A captain’s life

“Pirates of the Caribbean” is a seafaring stereotype familiar to Hafnia’s DSA Dixon, who has been a captain for five years. Dixon — who sails vessels known as product tankers, which transport both refined and unrefined petroleum products around the world — had to convince his parents-in-law that his role was nothing like the movie, he told CNBC by phone.

“A lot of people have a very different representation of a seafarer, looking at Pirates of the Caribbean,” he said.

Captain DSA Dixon (in black) says he invents games to keep his crew’s morale up during months at sea.

DSA Dixon | Hafnia

Dixon might be captaining a ship such as the huge Hafnia Rhine, which is about 230 meters long by 33 meters wide, with a capacity of more than 76,000 deadweight tons — a measure that includes the oil cargo, plus fuel, food, water and crew members, but not the weight of the ship itself.

Where the ship goes depends on where the demand for oil is and Dixon has sailed to every continent bar Antarctica, he said.

Dixon aims to keep to a schedule of three months at sea followed by three months at home in Mumbai, India, he said, and he started his most recent voyage on the Mississippi River in the U.S., sailing to Brazil and going on to Saudi Arabia via Gibraltar and the Suez Canal, before returning to Brazil.

The greatest part of my job is I’ve seen things that an average human being might not.

Compared to someone working an office job, Dixon said he spends more time with his wife and six-year-old son, as when he is at home he’s “completely” there. “I love this part of my life, because when I go back home, I’m Santa Claus,” he said. “It doesn’t get stagnated at any point – when it’s about to get stagnated, I’m back at sea.”

High days and holidays

Aside from navigation, Dixon said the most important part of his job is to keep the crew in good spirits, as they spend months at sea together.

“We have at times, 20, 25 people on board, they’re all different nationalities, different cultures, different languages … our ship is as good as the people on it,” Dixon said.

There’s no fixed daily routine, Dixon added. “There’s no one way to describe life on board. It’s challenging of course, but the challenge keeps you motivated all the time,” he said.

Along with navigation and managing the crew, Dixon might be talking to officials who come aboard when the ship is docked or coming up with ways to celebrate religious festivals.

The engine control room of an oil tanker. Hafnia Chief Engineer Dmytro Lifarenko spent around six months on board during the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020.

Courtesy: Hafnia

“Irrespective of nationality, or religion, people celebrate each other’s events or festivals,” Dixon said. “I even invent something like a treasure hunt on board. The ship is massive, I divide [crew] into teams … and let them find their own way,” Dixon added.

These games might sound “kiddish,” but they serve an important purpose, Dixon said. “These are grown-up men, some might be 50 years-old, and they’re doing this, but it’s the way to bond … we need to socialize and a happy ship is always an excellent vessel,” Dixon said.

Dixon makes sure the crew take Sundays off, spending it as they choose: perhaps playing PlayStation, chatting or sleeping. “I make sure there’s an excellent lunch,” Dixon added.

Traveling across oceans means getting to experience some of the world’s natural spectacles, with Dixon seeing the light phenomenon aurora borealis — also known as the northern lights — while sailing near Norway.

An aurora borealis light display in the southern part of Norway, one of the natural spectacles seen by oil tanker captain DSA Dixon during his seafaring life.

Heiko Junge | Afp | Getty Images

“The only regret I have is what I see I’m not able to share it, I want my family to see [things] at that very point, at that very moment, a photograph won’t capture it,” Dixon said. How did he feel seeing the lights? “You feel complete, I will say. You feel abundant,” he said.

“The greatest part of my job is I’ve seen things that an average human being might not,” he added.

Rough waters

Alongside enjoying scenes of wonder, life as a seafarer can be tough.

Hafnia Chief Engineer Dmytro Lifarenko is from Ukraine and was at home when Russia invaded the country in February 2022, fleeing with his wife and children across Europe to Valencia in Spain.

“I don’t know how I would handle … knowing that the bombs were there and I’m on board,” he told CNBC by phone, speculating about how he would have felt if he had been at sea when war broke out.

While his most recent voyage was five months long — sailing from Singapore to France and then Australia — he has recently taken extended leave to settle his family in their new home.

Chief Engineer Dmytro Lifarenko is from Ukraine and was at home when Russia invaded the country in February 2022. He has since moved with his family to Spain.

Dmytro Lifarenko | Hafnia

“I miss my family a lot during the voyage,” Lifarenko said — he and his wife have three children: a daughter of six months, six-year-old son and a 12-year-old daughter.

“Being two parents for three kids, this is fine. Being [effectively] a single mom for our kids, that’s very difficult … to be honest, this is the worst part of the job.”

This is something Juhl is sympathetic to: “That’s a big ‘uncomfort’ for many seafarers, that they are now so involved in their family [while at sea], even though they can’t do anything about it,” he said.

The boiler suit dressed man with a big spanner — it’s not the sailor that we’ll need in the future.

Ralph Juhl

Executive vice president, Hafnia

During the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020, Lifarenko spent about six months onboard, which is longer than his usual voyage. He said guided meditations sent to him by Hafnia were useful to deal with an uncertain situation.

“You keep thinking about the things that you actually cannot change, and that’s quite close to depression, but this [was] like a helpful hand,” he said.

But, despite some downsides, Lifarenko said he loves his job because of its variety. “You cannot say what is your routine, because the routine part is quite small. Most of the time, you are solving some situation, which requires you to use your brain, and you’re thinking, how to fix this … or how can we maintain this in a better way,” he said.

He has also enjoyed seeing the natural world while onboard, including spotting whales and sailing close to the volcanic Canary Islands.

Future sailors

Juhl spent more than a decade as a seafarer, starting at age 16 and sailing to places such as Honduras and South Korea, and becoming a navigator on chemical carrier ships before captaining ferries. He came onshore in 1997 and is now responsible for Hafnia’s technical operations. He described those onboard as “working their butts off.”

“They never go ashore anymore, there are terminals far away from cities and so on. So, this romantic life and impression of seafarers, it is pretty much gone. It’s hard work,” he said.

Oil tanker crew prepare mooring ropes to secure a bunker barge to their vessel for refueling.

Courtesy: Hafnia

This means attracting the next generation of crew is potentially tougher. “It’s a lonely life from time to time. And today you cannot offer young people loneliness,” he said.

Juhl wants to encourage more women to become seafarers and Hafnia is working on a pilot program to operate two ships where half the crew are female, to understand how the culture onboard might change, both positively and negatively, and how to solve that.

However, issues remain: Authorities in countries where women are discriminated against might not deal with female captains, for example, so Hafnia has had to temporarily assign a male captain for port stays in such places, Juhl said.

There has been internet access on board tankers for just a couple of years, Juhl added, and he wants to get creative about what might be possible as technology involves. 

He’s especially keen for sailors to be able to communicate with their families at home, he said.

“Hopefully we can soon make holograms where the captain can go to his cabin with his supper, and then he can open his hologram and he can sit and eat with his wife … we have to think that way,” Juhl said. And new technology will mean seafarers need different skills. “The boiler suit dressed man with a big spanner — it’s not the sailor that we’ll need in the future,” he said.

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