What it’s like at a traditional Japanese onsen

Onsen and it's rituals can be an unexpectedly touching experience for western travellers. Photo / Sarah Pollok

Many travel memories begin to fade as soon as they are formed, but standing completely naked among a group of equally nude strangers isn’t something I anticipate forgetting any time soon.

Months after my first trip to Japan, and first traditional onsen, the experience remains as crisp and clear as the alpine air that brushed goosebumps from skin that rarely saw the light, let alone other people’s eyes.

“I’ll never have this chance again”, I mutter to myself in a small wooden hut that perches on the edge of a densely forested mountain. “It’s not like Kurobe Gorge is an easy place to swing by.” Requiring a plane, bullet train, taxi, mountain rail car and hike, reaching Meiken Spa in Kurobe Gorge is, in fact, the opposite of easy.

So, before doubt could take hold, I hastily peel off my layers until it is just me, the enormous mountains and a big blue sky. Oh, and four other women silently sitting in a steaming little pool.

For all the nervousness, what comes next is, to my relief, far less embarrassing than expected. Instead of heated glares or even curious glances, the Japanese women barely open their eyes as I sit down on a stool set under a showerhead and grab the large bottle of body wash.

At face value, the ritual of stripping, washing then soaking in an onsen seems a little awkward but otherwise unemotional. You are, essentially, having a shower and then sitting in a large bath. So, it’s a surprise when I’m confronted with feelings that would echo through my head and heart for weeks to come.

In Japanese, the word onsen technically translates to “hot spring” but can also describe the area around a spring, the bathing facility, or the water itself. As a practice, it’s been part of Japanese culture for around 1300 years, after Buddhist monks popularised the activity, and comes in all forms from small outdoor pools in remote mountains, to large indoor bathhouses among urban centres.

However, they must meet certain regulations set out in the Hot Springs Act (Onsen Hō) to qualify as a true onsen. Water must naturally be at least 24C or contain a certain amount of minerals like sulphur, sodium or magnesium; qualities many believe make onsen therapeutic and healing. For generations, visitors claim an onsen soak eases muscle and joint pain, speeds up recovery from illnesses, eases skin issues and improves sleep.

Without any particularly hard science behind these claims, I hold them lightly but can’t deny there is something about sinking into the slightly sulfur-smelling, milky water that feels physically and emotionally nourishing.

The water, obviously, plays a part. Hot and steamy, it envelops my muscles and coaxes rigid shoulders from ears and perpetually-scrunched eyebrows apart. The environment contributes to a deep sense of calm too. Free from phones and screens, music or even conversation (talking is discouraged in an onsen), it is one of the longest times in a long time I’ve simply sat still and let my mind wander uninterrupted.

A slowness resulting from the heavy heat, rare silence and complete nakedness also performs a kind of alchemy on the otherwise mundane act of washing and bathing. With the luxury of time, lathering and rinsing become less about hastily scrubbing off the work day or workout and more about tenderly refamiliarising myself with my body; its contours and textures, marks and details. I take in my taut forearms and hairy shins, the silvery stretch marks and constellation of moles covering my chest. With handfuls of soapy water, I feel where my silhouette moves from soft to firm, bony and back to soft. Although, familiar criticisms are softened as I glance towards the tableau of bodies to my left.

As per the unspoken rule, I don’t stare. To step into an onsen is to understand that this is a place to be alone, together, in the most vulnerable of states. Instead, I catch glimpses of the women as they silently simmer in the mountainside pools.

Some are a party of cherubic curves, their plump cheeks rosy from the onsen steam while others have the shadowy shape of a baby bird, with delicate limbs and papery skin. The rest are a mix of everything in between. There are flat bottoms and generous chests, skin that is firm and rough, puckered with cellulite or loosened by time. Grey hair and black hair, wide hips and pointed hipbones; every figure a gentle rebellion against the archetype of “woman” I’d unknowingly inherited from movie scenes and social media screens.

I wish I could say these aesthetic expectations melted away in the steamy onsen waters. That, in a sink soak, I stopped viewing the body as an object to optimise but rather, as a naturally imperfect vehicle; a way of moving through the world. Alas, it seems these narratives will take a little longer to unwind, but as baby steps go, bathing naked with strangers is a memorable place to start.

Air New Zealand flies direct from Auckland to Tokyo. For more things to see and do in Japan, see japan.travel/en/au