Jun 3

Jun 3 How does one onsen?

Learning the ways of the onsen with an amateur in Kyoto, Japan.

Erin Niimi Longhurst’s “A Little Book of Japanese Contentment” has become a coffee table keepsake from my trip to Japan. Though I didn’t buy it there. In a section dedicated to her time spent with family in the hot springs north of Tokyo, Erin revisits summers at her aunt’s home with a warm fondness. And I wish I could say the same. But, my introduction to Japan’s hot springs seemed far from business as usual.

Japan’s volcanic landscape is what gives rise to the many indoor and outdoor onsens, or bathhouses heated by natural springs, dotting the country. Onsening – no, it’s not a real verb – is a communal activity usually enjoyed with family or close friends and coworkers. Much like karaoke! But, naked.

Stripping down past your draws is a very common bonding activity amongst what, from the outside looking in, appears to be a fairly private and incredibly modest group of people. My friends and I booked a night’s stay at one of the local onsens while passing through Kyoto. Our shuttle service dropped us off in front of a sprawling wooden bathhouse seated at the foot of the mountains. We were each provided a yukata, or traditional kimono-like garment, to be worn during our stay. During the warmer summer months, guests walk around onsen towns in their breezy yukatas and a pair of getas, or clunky wooden platform sandals. At the latter end of March, it was neither warm nor summer, so stay inside we did.

Ike, our accommodating host, showed us the way to the public baths after what felt like a twelve course dinner.

Great, I thought. Going to a public bath looking 16 and pregnant.

I decided to quell my nerves at the thought of sharing a bath with my friends (some very new) and complete strangers ranging from ages 9 to 90 with a glass of red wine before heading downstairs. Traditionally, men and women bathed in the same areas, but it’s quite unusual nowadays to find an onsen with non-segregated baths (thanks to the #metoo movement…kidding). I pulled back the curtain and entered the women’s locker room with the kind of cool content one only exudes with warm alcohol in the pit of their stomach. All of the women were either in the process of putting their clothes on or taking them off. As I was expected to.

But, there were two pairs of eyes I didn’t anticipate meeting as I approached my locker: two little boys no more than nine or ten years old. Both naked.

It was only a glass, right? Or did my state of food coma deceive me.

I didn’t know if this was normal or not. Was there no age maximum for kids allowed to accompany their parents to baths of the opposite sex? Did it really matter or did it only matter to me? They fidgeted uncontrollably as they impatiently waited for their mother to get dressed. From the corner of my eye, I could tell she was taking her sweet time. I was getting colder by the second and probably standing out like a sore thumb not only being the only non-Asian in the locker room, but the only one not in the process of dressing or undressing.

Crap, I thought as I became increasingly self-conscious. Just stop overthinking it and drop your draws!

But, there it was. The instant regret that picked me up in a big, bear hug as I unwrapped my yukata. Like a bloodhound locking on to its target, one of the little boys instantly switched from Fidget to Stare mode.

Man, came the passing thought. Hormones are one hell of a drug.

I was mortified. But, tried to keep my cool as I quickly finished undressing (still staring), shoved my things in the locker in one, big messy bundle (STILL staring), forgot to lock it in my state of panic (STILL STARING. CHRIST. DOESN’T HE HAVE TO BLINK?!), and hightailed it to the sliding glass door towards the baths. As soon as I shut the door behind me, the panic subsided. And the rest of my experience in the public bath was actually quite pleasant and incredibly relaxing. But, you don’t want to hear about that.

About me slowly submerging myself in a stone tub surrounded by women I’d never met. Both young and old. Wrinkles and no wrinkles. Hairy and hairless. All at great ease and smiling congenially. Welcoming me to share in the bodily sensation of soaking in a hot spring on a cold night. The steam rose off little exposed bits and pieces of us.

And as I bathed in the light of a full moon rising high over the valley, I closed my eyes. Consciously embracing the old adage of a Japanese proverb: let the past drift away with the [bath]water. Which, eventually, it did. But, not before I made fun of myself for it.