Life In Japan: Onsen | John Rachel

Granted, it took me sixty years to figure it out. But yes, it was worth the wait. I say . . .

The onsen is the greatest invention in human history!

Salad Shooter™

Okay . . . okay . . . maybe that’s a bit extreme. After all, there’s the wheel, the combustion engine, the computer. The salad shooter!

Having said that, the onsen still has to be somewhere up there in the Top 20.

An onsen — 温泉 — is a hot spring for bathing. And I have to say, I had no idea what I was missing until my first visit to Japan in July 2007. That was in Nagano Prefecture, where I was a WWOOFing volunteer at an organic farm/restaurant called Canadian Farm.

A little history: My first introduction to the onsen was a chapter in a hilariously funny book by one of my favorite humor writers, a volume called Dave Barry Does Japan. I can still feel his discomfort, his utter humiliation, sitting in a pool of steaming hot water with a bunch of strangers, naked except for folded towels draped over their heads. In fact, I can still recall my discomfort and humiliation my own first time in Nagano! Of course, that was purely the result of my own narrow conditioning, my being uptight, self-conscious, squeamish, and completely ridiculous, the product of growing up a pathetic urban hick in the hypocritically Puritan anti-culture of the American Midwest.

But enough about me and growing up in the shaming buzzkill of Detroit, Michigan.

In 2007, I quickly discovered that onsens are as much a defining characteristic of Japan as sushi, geishas, tofu, Mt. Fuji, and sumo wrestling.

There are hundreds — maybe thousands — of onsens scattered across the volcanic landscape here. Americans go skiing. Or to the beach. Or Disneyland. Japanese go to onsens, often for an extended holiday. There are whole towns full of resort hotels catering to this ritual.

Onsens come in all shapes and sizes. Some indoors, some outdoors. Some are spartan. Others indulge in lavish aesthetics and connecting with nature.

Our favorite local onsen — there are three relatively close to town — is on the way to Kyoto, maybe a twenty-five minute drive. It’s called Rurikei. While the attached resort is relatively fancy, the baths themselves are purely functional. Mostly indoor but a few outdoor pools.

Rurikei has no stunning mountain or rocky river rapids vistas. But it’s very functional, with a decent-size swimming pool, steam baths, saunas, refreshments, even massages.

One of the main reasons we really love this place is that, unlike 99% of other such facilities, it’s co-ed! Yes, it’s a family affair with males, females, moms, dads, kids, all ages, all sizes. Of course, everyone wears a bathing suit. On the other hand, if a person prefers a more traditional setting, each dressing area has bathing pools, men only and women only, where everyone lets everything hang out as they hang out in the hot water together. There are even huge flat-panel televisions, so there’s no excuse for missing a favorite sporting event or cooking show.

I marvel every time I go. I leave feeling renewed, relaxed, refreshed. And clean! I’ve never ever felt so clean, as when I walk out after an hour or so at a Japanese hot spring.

By the way, it’s not just us humans who are totally enamored with relaxing in the steamy hot, therapeutic water of an onsen.

[ This originated at the author's personal website . . . https://jdrachel.com ]





Life In Japan: Onsen

Life In Japan: Shoes!

Japanese DO NOT wear their shoes inside their homes.

I can’t begin to tell you how difficult this was for me to understand and adjust to when I initially arrived.

Frankly, at first I thought the whole country was OCD, in the throes of some obsessive clean disorder, or perhaps all cult foot fetishists.

This led to some moments of intense embarrassment. I would tromp into someone’s house in my loafers and as politely as they could manage, be greeted with a look of total horror! No one wanted to offend me but I might as well be dumping a bucket of monkey entrails onto their floor. Their reaction was entirely reflexive. My reaction was oafish: “Uh, sorry about that.” I definitely didn’t get what a hygienic faux pas I had just committed . . . at least for a while.

Growing up in different cultures, we are each conditioned in different ways. I had never thought about it. Shoes were shoes. They go on the feet and they go where the feet go.

Then I did start to think about it.

Most homes in the U.S. are carpeted, at least the living and sleeping areas are. Recognizing that dust, dirt, hair, skin, pet fur, drool, eyelashes, belly button lint — whatever — tends to drop and accumulate, we regularly vacuum. Then once a year, every other year, or when it finally dawns on us “it’s time”, we either rent a carpet shampooing machine or we hire a professional carpet expert to give our floors a thorough wash.

But . . .

Have you ever looked at the wash/rinse water in the tank of a carpet shampooing machine after the job is done? It’s unbelievable! Disgusting! Horrible! Scary!

You see, regular vacuuming just gets the surface. And all sorts of truly ugly abominations, particles, chips, flakes, and strands sink into the nap and settle at the bottom in the woven base. Now, think about it. We Americans lay on the carpet, rest our hands on the carpet, let the baby crawl on the carpet, maybe even make love on the carpet, fractions of an inch from all sorts of unimaginable filth.

How does all this debris accumulate? Some comes from us and our pets, or from our own bodies. But a lot is brought in on the soles of our shoes. All day we walk around on dirty surfaces, streets, sidewalks, where dogs have pooped, cars have driven, people have spit, worms have crawled, birds have deposited droppings — I could go on but you get the picture — then track all this into our beautiful American homes. Not very smart if you think about it, eh?

Maybe the Japanese are onto something!

Back to my awakening. When I refer to my initial cluelessness about wearing shoes inside, I’m talking about only my first few months here. Rather quickly, I changed my habits, in the process turning my thinking around a full 180º about shoes and cleanliness. Now I’m fully rehabilitated from my Western ways, wondering why I never questioned them before.

No, Japanese are not pathologically obsessed with cleanliness — well . . . maybe a little — but merely prudent and protective of the sanctity and hygiene of their homes.

By the way: Notice the slippers in the photo at the beginning of this article. Every Japanese household provides slippers for their guests to wear after they’ve removed their shoes. For me personally the only problem is, most standard slippers are much too small and quite uncomfortable for me to try to squeeze into. But I do appreciate the gesture. Nice touch!

I’m sitting here in my living room writing this. I’m in my stocking feet. Those are my black sneakers in the photo of our foyer. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ This originated at the author's personal website . . . https://jdrachel.com ]




Life In Japan: Shoes!