Japanese baths are a sight to behold. Or so my friends tell me. Onsens, as hot springs in Japan are called are places of wonder. The waters are rich with minerals and salts unique to the region said to cure ailments and aches, soften skin, and even make one beautiful. I wouldn't know about any of this as twenty-some years ago I made what my Japanese friends call "your fateful mistake."
Mind you, I knew exactly what I was doing. When my friend showed me the tattoo of an orange tropical fish on her hip I was sold. Knowing full well tattoos in Japan were then reserved for those more comfortable with the underground, I would be forever banned from public baths, onsens, pools, and as I learned recently, gyms. Not caring about these consequences, I allowed myself to get inked. To date, I don't miss bathing in public, and still do not find sitting in hot water in front of others relaxing or restful. The ink serves me well. I get to avoid bathing with strangers. So far so good.
When I moved into my apartment in Tokyo two winters ago, and after I got over the initial shock of having to live in something the size of my friend's closet I went through a phase of confusion. I saw there was a wall-mounted air conditioner, and the remote control had a "heat" button but repeated attempts for hot air were not successful. Perhaps Japanese air conditioners blew heat as well (why?) but not as heaters? It made no sense. As a result, I spent my first several winter months without heat, layering extra blankets, and on really cold nights my coats, in an attempt to add warmth.
I did eventually figure out how to make my air conditioner offer heat and was promptly scolded by many for not working out such simple instructions. It's the several months prior to my discovery I want to write about today.
Japanese bathtubs, especially for those of us who avoid onsens, are simply places of bliss. They're deep. As in, you can fill it up with water, as hot as you want it (these instructions I did figure out) and then soak. I can sit up straight in my tub up to my neck in hot water, temperature of my choice. For those nights sans heat, the bath-right-before-bed was a need and not a simple want.
I long ago discovered Japanese bath salts. Depending on the store, there are walls filled with packets of salts offering anything from extra-sweat (as in sweat-inducing salts), soft skin, no more aches, diminished rheumatism, weight-loss (these don't work), and improved circulation. Then there are the scents. Oh, the scents! Rose, lavender, jasmine, pine, grass, citrus, eucalyptus, grapefruit and more, small apartments like mine take on the scent of that night's bath. Add to this, hot pepper (meant to induce sweat), magma (bubbles), the gel-like substance that makes everything slippery, sleep-inducing vapors, calming, nerve-soothing, and the ones clearing sinuses there's not a lot a good Japanese bath won't cure.
The packets of salts cost around 100 yen and go up from there. For 1000 yen ($10USD) I can get whatever I want: scented, mind-altering, herbal, or mud-like, all meant to make me beautiful, youthful, thin, and relaxed. I don't often justify the 1000 yen investment into this health regimen because after all it's only a bath, but there are those days...yes, those days where the 1000 yen bath seems to do what food (specifically bread and chocolate) and a good book cannot. On days like this I splurge and let myself soak, easing away the messiness of the day convinced I will have shed those pesky 5 pounds the gym cannot. (The messiness usually goes away. The pounds do not.)
Try to include on your next trip to Japan a visit to an onsen (unless you're inked) or a long and relaxing evening in a deep bathtub. You'll be glad you did. For those who choose the tub, add your favorite salts for added pleasure. It's worth the price. Even the 1000 ($10) yen bath salts.
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