Ignorance Springs Eternal (Sarah)

Of the many new things I've tried in Japan, none of them made me feel quite as alien as my trip to an onsen (Japanese for “hot springs”).  As Japan is a volcanically active country, there are onsen basically everywhere.  Onsen are an important part of the traditional culture, and served as public baths for centuries. Today they continue to be a popular form of relaxation for many modern Japanese. Nonetheless, many of the old customs remain in place at onsens. I wish I could recount the proper way to uphold these traditions while visiting an onsen. Instead, here is a tale mostly of what not to do:

Daniel and I had just spent more than four hours hiking Roko-san (“-san” always follows the name of a mountain as a sign of reverence in Japan). We set out on our hike a bit later than we should have and so we had to really hustle to get off the mountain before sunset. On the opposite side of Roko-san is a little onsen town, Arima. Our muscles aching, we decided to try an onsen for the first time.

We entered through the front doors and I made my way to the front desk...or at least I tried to. Very quickly I was stopped by no less than 4 people waving their arms at me and calling out "ie!" ("no"). I hadn't realized that the flooring had changed and that I was walking in the "no shoes section" of the building ( mistake #1). The Japanese believe that shoes bring in the dirt and the impurity of the outside, so you’re not supposed to wear shoes in many places, including, as I had just learned, the lobby of an onsen. I gave what I imagine is a sufficient number of “sumimasens” (“I'm sorrys”). I took off my shoes, not sure that I was truly bringing in any less dirt given that the rest of me was also covered in sweat and dust, and placed the evidence of my crime in a nearby locker.

Daniel and I bought two tickets from an automated machine, walked ten feet to the front desk, and exchanged our tickets for a key. We were ready to head up the stairs. Though I didn’t know it yet, this was my second mistake.

 At the top of the stairs I said goodbye to Daniel as he departed for the men’s side and I braced myself for whatever was behind the curtain on the women's side. It turned out just to be a locker room with only one other woman in it. Unfortunately, her locker was directly above mine. I sat and waited for her to finish. Of course, I also not-so-subtly watched what she did for cues as to what I should do next. She quickly shed all her clothes and walked through a nearby door. From this I gathered that the towels were in the next room. So I followed suit and made my way through the door. 

Fifteen women whipped their heads around to stare bullets into my pasty white skin. There I was, stark naked and clutching a water bottle as if it would hide my nakedness. Most women were just as exposed as I was, although many were submerged in the rich, red mineral water. Others, upon seeing me clutched at their towels in an attempt to cover up. These standard Japanese towels are not much larger than a piece of printer paper and did little to conceal their bodies. Even though they all sat there staring at me in silence, I swear I could hear their thoughts: "so Westerner's nipples ARE pink..."- "What lovely pale skin!"- "Do all white women have a butt THAT large?" 

After this long moment of awkward staring, everyone must have decided they had seen everything they wanted to see because they barely paid me any attention for the rest of my visit.

Thankfully I kind of knew the procedure from here. I remembered Lonely Planet saying I had to clean myself before entering the pools. I headed over to where I saw other women sitting on stools in front of facets. I sat down, trying not to think about how many diseases could be on the stool. I quickly realized I had nothing to scrub with. Not only that, but there were metal bowls at each facet and I had no idea what they were for... I'm still not really sure.

So once again, I not-so-subtly watched to see what everyone else was doing. The other women had small towels that they were scrubbing with. So I looked around to find one for myself.  But I found no small towels...or large ones for that matter. And then mistake #2 dawned upon me: we were supposed to rent towels downstairs.

At this point I was rather embarrassed already and didn't need any other shame to be heaped on. I decided I wasn't going to retreat to the locker room, get dressed, get my towel, return to the locker room, get undressed, and head back into the springs. No, I'd tough it out. I took the provided body wash and shampoo and cleaned myself, then cleaned the stool, and then placed the bowl upside down on the stool. 

Now it was time for why I was willing to put up with all the awkwardness...actually going into the onsen. I approached the pools. There were three. One of the pools was absolutely packed with at least ten women crammed in. Another had an older lady who did not seem to take kindly to my presence; she gave me a mad stink eye. So, I chose the third. This turned out to be mistake #3.

Thankfully, I had brought a water bottle into the onsen with me (mistake #4 to my looker-ons, but I consider it one of my most brilliant ideas) because within minutes I was light headed and sweating buckets. Any energy I had left after our long hike all went into making sure I didn't pass out and look like a stupid gaijin (“foreigner”) in front of everyone there. I was only able to put up with the heat for about fifteen minutes.

When I finished, I showered and started to make my way towards the locker room when I noticed that the pool I had been in was a good 3-5 degrees Centigrade higher than the other pools. This explained why no one besides me stayed in there for any length of time. 

I entered the locker room and once again cursed myself for not realizing I was supposed to rent a towel. Thankfully I had my hankachi- a little Japanese hand towel, maybe 5 inches x 5 inches, designed to dry the hands and nothing more.  By now, a large mass of people were in the locker rooms. Imagine the spectacle of the girl drying her body with a washcloth in front of a gaggle of Japanese onlookers. So much for not looking like a stupid gaijin.