Confessions of a Gaijin: Episode 3 – Totally Naked In A Room Full Of Complete Strangers

Not too long ago it was Golden Week here in Japan, a sort of extended bank holiday in which the nation lets its hair down for roughly a week. My Japanese friends Yuri and Aki come to visit me for a few days and we enjoy a mini road trip around my prefecture, visiting temples and eating our days away. We are puzzling over what to do one evening when Yuri spots something nearby on Google Maps and squeals with delight.

“It’s a Sento!” she says. She is very excited about this.

Aki gasps. “A Sento?!l Sugoii!”

My friends are very lovely and view the world through rose-tinted glasses of constant optimism and enthusiasm. As a result, the two words they use most are “Sugoii” – a hybrid of ‘amazing’ and ‘great’ – and “Yay”, a word which very much speaks for itself.

“What’s a Sento?” I ask. In all my dealings with Japan thus far, this is the first time I have come across the term.

Yuri and Aki explain to me that it’s kind of like an onsen, the mineral bath spas which are so popular out here. They don’t really elaborate, but for some reason I don’t feel the need to press them. We’re on holiday! Everything is super-chilled and will no doubt become apparent in time.

We drive through the countryside until we arrive at our destination, nestled in the district of a small city in Kansai region. It becomes more and more apparent to me that I have no actual idea what we’re going to be doing.  It’s fine though, Yuri and Aki are kind, helpful souls and will no doubt give me a quick set of instructions before things get underway.

We walk into the lobby, not unlike the ones you’d find in your average three-star hotel. Men and women of all ages are wandering around happily. We slip our shoes off at the door, common practice in many hospitality hotspots in this country, before Yuri converses rapidly in her native tongue with the woman on the front desk. I am asked if I’d like to pay for under an hour or a flat rate that covers anything over 60 minutes. Again, I have no idea what the hell I’m paying for, but I want to be cooperative and efficient so I calmly respond that I would like the second option. There is, after all, no point in doing things by halves.

I am given a small rectangular bag made from robust, translucent plastic. It contains a towel and a set of brown and yellow pyjamas in my size. I am also given a locker key with a number on it. Any second now, I reason, Yuri is going to tell me exactly what I’m doing with these.

“Okay! You’re going that way,” she says, pointing to an elevator that says MEN ONLY in pale blue text (the female equivalent is nearby in light pink). I am mere milliseconds from saying; “That’s nice. Now what?” when my companions give me a quick, affectionate wave and promptly vanish before I can catch up with them. I stand in the lobby, wrapped in a thick layer of confusion but I realise that I have no option but to grab the elevator up to the third floor and navigate whatever mysteries await me.

The elevator opens and I step out. There are signs showing directions for this and that, the only catch is that they’re all in Japanese and I can’t read any of them. I reason that if I’ve been provided with a towel and some pyjamas, there must be a changing room nearby.  I proceed forward cautiously through the carpeted corridors until I hear the sound of lockers opening and closing and smell the unmistakeable funk that heralds my destination.

And it’s at that point that I see several Japanese men with their dicks out.

There is nothing particular sexual or exhibitionist about their display. They’re just padding about the place, swinging back and forth. A few of them are clutching the same small towel that I have been provided with. I still don’t know what the protocol is, but there are an awful lot of naked men in the locker room with me and hardly any of them have changed into their pyjamas. My deductive reasoning tells me that there must be some sort of bathing facility nearby and that I should probably go and investigate it. First, I must disrobe. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this. I don’t really have any body issues but being naked in public isn’t something I’ve done that many times, if ever. Nevertheless, everyone else here is pretty much starkers and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let British reserve get in the way of an authentic experience. I nod to myself, open up my locker and do what needs to be done. Moments later, I am in my birthday suit.

The next challenge is to figure out where I’m meant to be going. The Japanese are all about etiquette and anyone who doesn’t observe it is viewed as the worst kind of heathen so I need to get this right for fear I’ll be given some unkind gazes or asked to leave. The epicentre of all this nudity appears to be down a flight of stairs at the end of the changing room. Armed with only my wits and a small towel, I head down them, naked as the day I was born.

At the bottom of the staircase I see the main event: a collection of small shallow pools encircling a hub of small wooden stools with sit-down showering facilities. Each of the pools has a small read out showing how hot they are. The Japanese do baths in a slightly different fashion than people in the west: they scrub themselves clean beforehand outside of the tub and then fill it to the brim with near-scalding water before lowering themselves into it for a good soak. A bunch of men are scrubbing themselves vigorously on the stools provided so I join them. There are instructions for how to use the showers but again, they’re all in Japanese so I’m having to learn by doing. A few trial-and-error-laden minutes later, I’m clean as a whistle and can plonk myself down in one of the hot tubs.

The water is on the more assertive side of hot but feels absolutely exquisite. My body positively rejoices at the sensation. While I lie back I take in my surroundings. There are a fair number of people here but not many of them appear to be smiling. Even when I venture to one of the “outdoor” pools I am struck by the overall absence of jollity. Don’t people come here to relax? I try the sauna and it’s more of the same; the facilities are lovely, but the people using them appear to have their grump on. Middle-aged Japanese men are dotted about, rubbing the backs of their necks, clearly in need of some sort of happiness transplant. There are times when I feel like I’m in a Yakuza movie and any second now Takeshi Kitano is going to appear and shrug at me before getting one of his goons to punch me in the face.

But no-one punches me, or shrugs at me, or even looks at me. No-one is paying the only foreigner here much attention. In fact, I feel like I’m acclimatising to an extended amount of time with no clothes on and it’s all starting to feel rather liberating. After a concerted soaking period I use the showers and then head back upstairs to put my pyjamas on and wander around cluelessly until my time is up, at which point I head to the TV lounge, buy a beer from vending machine and watch one of those Japanese game shows where people are subjected to abject humiliation in front of a braying audience.  Despite all the confusion and trepidation earlier, I actually feel spectacularly relaxed (a contradiction in terms I know, but you get my drift). Yuri and Aki materialise a short whole after, giggling their heads off. “I’ve just realised,” says Yuri, trying in vain to mask her enormous grin with her hand, “we probably should have told you what you need to do.” The two collapse in fits of hysterics. I’m glad I can bring such mirth into the lives of my friends.