A Tokyo home for techpats

The Roppongi T-Cube sounded like everything Japan-as-metaphor represented in favorite technopunk fictions from Blade Runner to Neuromancer – distressingly futurlogical and compellingly smart, yet retaining an inherent geometric Zen-ness that is confounded by splashes of Hello Kitty whimsy and Orientalia fetish. In the ’80s, Japan was the city of the future. Though this propulsion may have slowed down post-Bubble, it still coasts along the highways of street savvy far ahead of everyone else. Change is hardwired into the Japanese just as the aversion to change seems to be hardwired into ours. And it is set on fast.

Tokyo in December – perhaps a bit too cold to expect the Harajukuites to prance around in their latest weird-wear. Style was a sea of black, huddled coats and the occasional umbrella with pointy ears. I stayed in an Oakwood serviced apartment in Azabujyuban, a quiet little district where the frigid air outside my door always smelled like teppanyaki in the evenings. The timbered floors were heated and the bathroom was entirely controlled by this electronic console that didn’t look like it should be anywhere near running water. The place was immediately cozy, a quaint mix of bachelor pad-Ikea type furniture and shiny appliances that thankfully didn’t require a dozen remote controls to command.

Oakwood Azabujyuban is Oakwood Japan’s most recent property, opened only in 2002 and now running at almost full capacity. A year and a half later, they are looking forward to their fifth and most flashy residence, the Oakwood Roppongi T-Cube in the historical, newly fashionable area of Roppongi, an uphill stone’s throw from the charming old-fashioned low-rises, traditional noodle houses and French bakeries of where I was staying.

Filipinos are more than familiar with the Oakwood concept. Manila boasts one of only two Premier residences worldwide; we also have dibs on having the only serviced apartment that was taken over by disgruntled mutineers, inadvertently turning it into a temporal landmark of sorts. This may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that only Philippine journalists were invited to inspect the soon-to-be opened T-Cube residences. Hype is a currency that circulates hard and furiously here.

Nevertheless, Tokyo, having long been the city of neon dreams and electromagnetic impulses, would take more than an economic recession to pull it out of imminence. And so I eagerly anticipated seeing how they envisioned a futuristic living environment to be, this so-called "new concept in urban space." I was half-expecting something terrifyingly beautiful, intimidating, and coldly carnivorous, something like HAL.

Thankfully, I was disappointed, but not to my surprise. I think we have long passed the point where we are so enamored with technology that we actually want our homes to look and feel like a refrigerator or pachinko machine. The Japanese in particular have mastered, indeed have invented, the art of harmonious simplicity or wabi sabi, a dichotomy of the Japanese/ Zen Buddhist aesthetic ideal, a system difficult to envision in Western terms. The T-Cube apartment units are alternatingly done in dark and light mahogany wood, accented by sliding doors, angular shapes, and space-maximizing, natural light-filling techniques. It is sumptuous, comfortable and luxurious at the same time. It is unobtrusively stunning and minimally modern. Each unit features the latest 40-inch flat-screen TV from Samsung along with all other Samsung home amenities (the first 21 floors of the T-Cube building are actually Samsung’s, hence the friendly product placement). I definitely could get used to this. The only scary thing was the microwave, which looked like a washing machine culled from the nightmares of a demented technofreak. Yes, the fridge was programmable, but no, the toilet did not, this time, have a robotic arm. I think there are limits to what we will accept, and the old throne is sacred, a porcelain god not to be trifled with by superfluous attachments.

The serviced apartment has become quite popular in the recent decade, a response to the specific needs of the global traveler, particularly businessmen. While hotels provide the usual, anonymous in-and-out service, Oakwood residences, which come fully furnished in one to three bedrooms with a complete kitchen, cater to the longer-staying business traveler and expats and their families, offering more personalized, intimate service for much cheaper in the long run. With less bustle and longer turnovers, the apartments allow people to feel more of themselves. In the milieu of third-culture kids, globalopolises, and the offshore outsource, places like these serve as a temporary home – a perfect "more home than home" for the permanently uprooted.

Robert Philips, Oakwood director of International Communications, coined the term "techpat" – the technological expatriate, people in high-tech industries who expect high-tech amenities, people who demand broadband-ready bedrooms and intelligent lighting. These are the kind of people ready-made for the T-Cube residences, which perch on the highest point on the headquarters of an electronics firm, overlooking the rushes of downtown Tokyo, a city shifting at the speed of light. Ready to plug in and tune out.

But Oakwood is not just all about the latest. Despite the relative uniformity of space, the inescapable hotel-like nature of its character, the place does find itself, insists on it in fact. The Oakwood apartments in Aoyama, near the trendy Shibuya district, for instance, is all about community. While the T-Cube personifies the upscale traveling techpat, Aoyama is the lily pad to the artist in a floating world. And pets are allowed: the feel of the compound is that of a laid-back resort where celebs can loiter incognito without being harassed. Sofia Coppola resided there for three months during the filming of her movie Lost in Translation.

While having a cup of tea in the cozy library lounge with the general manager, who was trying to explain the unique camaraderie the residents share, I almost felt the crackling of an authentic fireplace in the background (it turned out to be the low, reassuring hum of another flat and wide-screen TV). Then somebody passed by for a chat, softly congratulating the manager for the exceptional quality of stay. He turned out to be Angus Robertson, an Australian artist (not the bookstore).

As a transitory space, a mere shuffle in life’s circuitous journey, the terminal stay in a place that may be completely foreign and scary is made familiar with the trappings and reminders of something universal, like generic elegance, and something inviting, like pampering technology. Tokyo, the perpetually moving city of desire-on-demand, will naturally find an equilibrium, somewhere between the smoky coils serenely winding out of Shinto temples, and the hyperbullet speed of its wacky pop culture reiterating itself on shiny skyscrapers that stand a respectful distance back.

Yes, when you’re in a culture where you can find a giant chocolate statue of David Beckham, you know you’re in a place you can call home.

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For inquiries and reservations, call Oakwood Premier Ayala Center at 729-8888.