Livin’ in a pantsless paradise

Day 17: Takaragawa

Welp, that’s our first ever Onsen under our Yukata belts. First, and last.

To be fair, bathing naked at the open-air hot springs in Takaragawa, two hours north of Tokyo, was nowhere near as bad as I was expecting. Behind all my super-rational arguments — “really, what’s the point?” — I’m a prude, and public nudity is my idea of a nightmare. Quite literally; I had a terrible night’s sleep on my traditionally slim futon, broken by dreams where I was called out for my visible tattoos, had heated arguments about mutual respect, and stormed off down the mountain dragging my case behind me.

Of course, nothing like that actually happened. Zoë and I slapped our wooden slippers down to the pool, bravely whipped off our towels and sunk our palest parts into steamy waters we had to ourselves for half an hour or so. When some Japanese bathers did join us, they seemed even more shy and awkward than we were. Soon enough, our collective anxieties evaporated into the mountain air.

An hour in, Zo and I found ourselves wondering, “is this it?” We weren’t experiencing any sense of overwhelming relaxation, apparent health benefits or feelings of liberation. Sure, it felt good to push ourselves so far outside of our comfort zone that we could no longer make out its padded walls. And it certainly was nice to soak in crystal clear waters, surrounded by the last of the season’s cherry blossoms. But I would have preferred to hike through the epic scenery, before rewarding myself with a nice hot — private — bath.

Maybe we missed the point. Perhaps our puritan ancestry runs too deep to allow us to ever feel truly comfortable in our own skin. Or what if we’re just plain at relaxing without a book or a podcast or a dog for entertainment? Whatever, the reason, while I’m glad we tried this, and perfectly content to be writing this with the pure waters of the Takaragawa River rushing past me, we won’t be doing it again.

Now, where are my undies?