It was a cold February day in northern Japan, snow piled high outside the onsen locker room windows as I slipped out of my clothes.
Nervously, I stepped into the plumes of steam wafting from the next room and made my way toward the bathing area. This was no private dip: I was surrounded by other naked people — none of whom seemed to care.
Growing up in the UK, bathing nude with strangers was not something I ever experienced — or even imagined experiencing. But in Japan, it’s a part of everyday life.
I travelled by bullet train from Tokyo to Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island, snowy mountains and small farming towns flashing past outside the window.
A solo traveler on a budget, I booked a room above a café run by a warm woman in her 60s named Michiko. One evening, as we chatted over one of her home-cooked meals, she posed a question: Shall we go to the onsen?
I was struck with a bolt of fear and excitement. I had heard about onsen, seen them in anime, read about them in travel guides — but being faced with my first-ever visit was nerve wracking for one reason: the nudity.
With origins steeped in myth, onsen are baths filled with geothermally heated, mineral-rich water. They’ve long been part of Japanese culture, mentioned as far back as the 8th century in the Kojiki, one of the nation’s oldest texts.
Once sacred places for purification rituals and the upper echelons of society, in the Edo period (1603-1868), onsen transformed from semi-religious medicinal destinations to social hubs, not unlike Roman baths.
Today, countless onsen are dotted across Japan, from local towns to large purpose-built resorts — more than 3,000, according to the Ministry of Environment — each filled with hot spring water. Operators must follow strict laws: water temperature is typically somewhere between 93 to 107 F, or 34 to 42 Celsius, and must not fall below 77 F.
Most hot spring locations, often marked by a ♨ symbol, offer uchiyu (indoor) and roten-buro (outdoor) baths. They are divided into two sides, for men and women. Bathers soak solo or gather with friends and family to unwind in the mineral-rich water, which is known to relieve muscle tension, improve circulation and support skin health.
But not knowing how to take the first step can leave overseas visitors feeling a little exposed, as I did.
“At first, I was a bit shy, not only because I was undressing in front of a friend, but also among total strangers,” says bathhouse expert Stephanie Crohin. Originally from France, Crohin quickly realized that she was the only one thinking about nudity.
“Everyone else was just scrubbing, chatting, or soaking — so I relaxed,” she recalls.
It wasn’t until years later, when visiting a type of public bathhouse called a sentō with a university friend, that she fell in love.
“I discovered a whole world I knew nothing about,” she says. “Sentō is probably the only place where you truly forget about body insecurities.”
Travelers often confuse onsen with sentō, and for good reason. Both involve getting naked and taking a dip in warm waters. Unlike onsen, sentō are not naturally heated. Found mostly in urban areas, they once provided locals without bathrooms with a place to bathe.
At the time of Crohin’s first visit, there was virtually no information available in foreign languages about sentō. But through her work with the Sentō Association, she has helped open up bathhouses to visitors and residents from overseas.
Her advice for bathers visiting a bathhouse, whether it’s an onsen or a sentō, for the first time is to enjoy the experience.
“It’s completely normal to feel hesitant at first — I did too!” she says. “Nobody is watching or judging you. Everyone is focused on their own moment.”
Hot spring newbies may think they’re going to stand out or draw attention in a local onsen, but Crohin says the reality is the opposite.
“Every body comes with its own imperfections, and this is the only place I know where nobody cares,” she says.
Her advice for bathers who are feeling first-time nerves: treat it as a cultural experience, not just a bath. After a few minutes, the discomfort of being naked in public is quickly forgotten.
“You may even leave with a sense of freedom and acceptance that’s rare in our appearance-obsessed world,” she adds.
The same sentiment is shared by Hoshino Resorts. Opening its doors in 1914 as Hoshino Onsen Ryokan, a small family-run ryōkan, as traditional Japanese inns are called, in Karuizawa, Nagano Prefecture, the company has since grown and now has accommodation options across Japan and the rest of Asia.
“For Western visitors to Japan who are feeling nervous about their first visit to a public bath or unsure about the etiquette, our primary advice is: don’t worry!” says Chanel Cai, a resort representative.
“In fact, Japanese people are not observing or aware about other people’s bodies in the public bath, it’s simply a part of daily life here.” As soon as they are immersed in hot spring waters, she says, bathers are in a world of their own.
“There’s no need to feel self-conscious.”
Being self-conscious about nudity is one thing, but the rules of onsen and sentō can also make foreign travelers nervous.
On my own first trip to an onsen with Michiko, I readied myself with a towel and a bag of toiletries before we drove through snow-piled streets to a local onsen on the outskirts of Hakodate, glowing in the dark, steam billowing from its roof.
The entrance buzzed with local families, some men lying around on tatami watching a comedy on TV, others sipping vending-machine drinks and waiting for their friends. Everything was in Japanese. Thankfully I had a helpful host, but a little bit of research before your first trip should allay some anxiety.
One commonly known rule is simple: no tattoos.
“This is historically linked to the associations [of tattoos] with organized crime,” says Cai. Tattooed onsen visitors often have no choice but to cover their ink with sleeves or bandages.
While the no-tattoo rule may be common in onsen, the future of tattooed bathers is changing. In June, stating that they are “committed to respecting diverse cultures,” Hoshino Resorts made a significant policy change and now permits tattoos. Other onsen have done the same.
Meanwhile, Crohin reveals that many sentō will allow bathers with ink to enjoy a bath without trouble.
Beyond ink, general etiquette for using sentō and onsen is a matter of manners.
“It’s important to be considerate of others when using communal areas,” says Cai. “This includes keeping shared items clean, tidying up any hair that falls, maintaining a quiet atmosphere, and refraining from swimming in the baths.”
Understanding general rules — such as being mindful of other bathers, no splashing or loud talking — is important. But there’s a whole process involved before you even dip a toe in.
If you’re unsure, or there is no English signage, just observe and follow the flow. “It’s very intuitive,” explains Crohin, who shares her step-by-step guide:
Take off your shoes at the entrance and place them in a locker.
Pay the fee at the counter. (Sauna is extra)
Enter the changing room, undress completely, and store your clothes.
Bring a small towel into the bath area.
Wash your body thoroughly while seated at a shower station.
Rinse off all soap before entering the baths.
Never put your towel into the bath.
Long hair should be tied up.
If you use the sauna, rinse again before going back into the water.
Dry off before returning to the changing room. And if you turn up empty-handed, there’s no need to worry as most bathhouses provide items such as shampoo and soap, as well as towel rentals.
“Most importantly,” urges Crohin, “Don’t hesitate to chat. Even with basic Japanese or gestures, people are kind.”
This is exactly what I discovered.
Michiko helped me pay at the entrance for my bath, around 500 yen, or around $3. We put our shoes in a locker and swapped them for slippers. Then we passed through a red noren curtain, marked for “women,” into the changing room.
I took off my clothes and nervously clutched a tiny towel to my body. Passing into the bathing area, women perched on low plastic stools in front of mirrors, showering themselves, washing their hair, cleaning their ears. I did the same, washing my hair and body, glancing around at my neighbors to see if I was doing it properly — and of course wondering if people were looking at me.
Then, I made my way to the hot spring pools. Under the freezing night sky, snowflakes falling, we sat and soaked among groups of women and small children, chatting about life, problems and hopes.
That calm atmosphere stayed with me. Whenever I travel around Japan, hot spring visits are a must.
There really had been nothing to worry about.
AloJapan.com