Japan wanted to solve one of the most expensive problems in hosting a mega-event: what do you do with an athletes’ village after the athletes leave?
Aichi-Nagoya’s answer was unusual.
Don’t build one.
Instead, athletes and officials were distributed across hotels, a cruise ship and temporary modular accommodation.
The economics were compelling. A proposed athletes’ village near Nagoya Port had initially been estimated at ¥30 billion, before rising construction costs threatened to double that figure.
Then registrations exceeded 17,000, against accommodation capacity for up to 15,000 delegation members.
South Korea complained about cramped rooms and beds. Thailand received fewer cruise-ship beds than it needed. Delegations encountered allocation and boarding problems. Organisers eventually apologised for mistakes.
Japan had avoided the risk of building too much. Had it also removed too much spare capacity?
Highlights
Why Build a Village You Won’t Need?
Skipping the athletes’ village was not originally the plan.
Aichi-Nagoya had proposed a dedicated village near Nagoya Port. Then rising construction costs changed the calculation. Aichi Prefecture said the ¥30 billion initially estimated for temporary village development could potentially have doubled as material and labour costs increased.
By 2023, organisers had abandoned the conventional village and shifted towards existing and temporary accommodation.
On paper, the logic was hard to dismiss.
A mega-event creates an extraordinary spike in demand for a few weeks. Permanent infrastructure can remain for decades.
Aichi-Nagoya applied the same thinking beyond accommodation. The official venue list includes 54 competition venues, many using existing facilities rather than infrastructure built solely for the Games. Organisers also designed temporary accommodation and leased materials with post-Games use in mind.
If the demand is temporary, why should all the infrastructure be permanent?
It was a compelling argument.
Then more than 17,000 registrations tested it.
When the Plan Met Reality
The first warning was in the numbers.
AINAGOC was responsible for accommodation for up to 15,000 delegation members. Registrations eventually exceeded 17,000, including roughly 11,000 athletes and 6,000 officials. AINAGOC acknowledged before the Games that demand would exceed its accommodation capacity, with some team officials expected to arrange accommodation through their own national committees.
Then the pressure showed up in practice.
South Korea’s basketball delegation raised concerns about cramped temporary rooms and beds too short for players over two metres tall. When organisers later opened the accommodation to media, they acknowledged complaints about bed size and room space, while explaining that ottomans could be used to extend the beds.
Thailand encountered a different problem: allocation. At one point, its delegation needed 201 beds aboard the cruise ship but received 170. A Thai Olympic official told CNA that athletes sometimes arrived without their names appearing on accommodation lists, comparing the process to “musical chairs.”
The cruise ship added another layer of complexity. Several delegations faced delays and confusion while boarding. AINAGOC acknowledged the disruption but disputed reports that organisers had failed to submit accommodation information, saying incomplete documentation from some delegations contributed to the delays.
The problems were different: room design, bed allocation, boarding, documentation. But together they exposed the same vulnerability.
A system designed around flexibility had little room for mistakes in allocation, communication and execution.
Not Everyone Thought It Failed
The same system did not produce the same experience for everyone.
Some athletes aboard the Costa Serena reported a very different picture. Singaporean athletes told CNA that rooms were larger than expected and beds were comfortable. Singapore’s chef de mission also described the temporary accommodation as comfortable and well equipped.
That complicates the verdict.
Hotels, the cruise ship and temporary units were not necessarily the problem. The bigger weaknesses emerged around capacity, allocation and execution.
And conditions did not remain static. By September 26, AINAGOC Secretary General Satoshi Murate said accommodation and transport conditions had improved considerably, while apologising for mistakes and accepting responsibility regardless of their cause.
So Aichi-Nagoya proved neither that the alternative model had failed nor that a conventional athletes’ village was unnecessary.
It exposed a harder question: How lean can a system become before efficiency starts removing the margin for error?
When Efficiency Becomes Fragility
This is where Aichi-Nagoya becomes more than a sports story.
Airports, factories, data centres and hotels face versions of the same calculation: building for peak demand is expensive, especially when that peak may be temporary.
Aichi-Nagoya chose flexibility instead. Existing hotels could absorb guests. A cruise ship could add thousands of beds. Temporary units could create capacity without leaving another permanent complex behind.
But flexibility still needs a buffer.
Once accommodation was spread across different formats and locations, the challenge was no longer just finding enough beds. Allocation, transport, documentation and communication became part of the capacity problem too.
That is why the apologies matter. AINAGOC Secretary General Satoshi Murate acknowledged mistakes in accommodation and transport on September 26. Days later, Nagoya Mayor Ichiro Hirosawa apologised for what he described as human errors and insufficient communication with national teams.
The lesson is not that organisations should build for every possible peak.
It is that spare capacity is not always waste. Sometimes, it is insurance against being wrong.
Who Buys a Used Athlete Hut?
There is another test Aichi-Nagoya’s experiment still has to pass: what happens to the temporary infrastructure when the temporary demand disappears?
Organisers have already started looking for the next users. AINAGOC invited companies and organisations to register interest in purchasing or leasing movable accommodation used for the Games. But registering interest does not guarantee that a purchase or lease will happen.
The same approach extends beyond accommodation. Organisers have also sought potential buyers for sporting and office equipment used during the event.
That makes reuse more than a sustainability promise. It makes it something that can eventually be tested.
If the units and equipment find productive second lives, Aichi-Nagoya can make a stronger case that temporary infrastructure avoided creating another expensive legacy asset.
If they do not, some of the supposed efficiency may simply move from construction to disposal.
The reuse mechanism exists. The final reuse outcome does not yet.
With the Asian Para Games still to take place from October 18–24, the broader Aichi-Nagoya infrastructure experiment is not finished yet.
So, Was Japan Right?
Aichi-Nagoya challenged a long-standing assumption: temporary demand does not always require permanent infrastructure.
And the Games did not prove that Japan needed to spend billions of yen on a conventional athletes’ village.
But by the time the Games closed on October 4, accommodation and transport problems had become part of the event’s legacy. The difficulties were not limited to one type of lodging: delegations encountered problems involving room design, bed allocation, boarding, documentation and transport.
That points to a more nuanced verdict.
Japan was right to question whether a permanent athletes’ village was worth building for a temporary peak. But it underestimated how much resilience a distributed alternative would need.
The lesson for future hosts is not simply to build more.
It is to recognise that spare capacity is not always waste. Sometimes, it is insurance against being wrong.
Highlights
Read the Chinese article here.
