My first encounter with a Japanese bath was in my very own shared apartment in Legend 101, Ukima Funado. I posted on it back in the day here for those who would like a flash back. I took to that bath like a fish to water. It was the depth that did it for me and the control panel on the wall which allowed one to dial up the heat or give the water level a top up at the touch of a button (I know, taps do that too, but we didn't have control panels for baths where I can from - taps we did have). I'd sit in that bath full of hot, hot water and listen to the radio while drinking beers, thinking about the world and life in Japan. I especially loved that the bathing tradition called for washing thoroughly and then entering the bath in a state of absolute cleanliness for one purpose and one purpose only; to relax. Beautifully done.
As time went on I learned about onsen and visited a couple with a Japanese friend and some of his friends. Stripping off to the bone never really bothered me as it may some people. I simply felt that it was right not to be square and self conscious. Actually the one thing that I was self conscious about, rather than being in the nude, was my tattoos. I never got any grief for them though, luckily. Since then I've been to a good number of onsen of various types with various types, including wife and family, indoor and outdoor. The word for outdoor (or rather open air) bath has such a lovely ring to it; rotenburo.
The next stage of bathing I discovered was sento, communal baths dotted around the suburbs which date way back to when the family home didn't have a bathroom. Sentos are magnificent throw-backs to an almost by-gone era although every time I've been to a sento I've seen plenty of dads bringing their young sons along, no doubt continuing a tradition that started generations ago with their father or grandfather. I enjoyed observing the passing down of such a lovely custom from father to son and I imagine on the other side of the wall the same from mother to daughter. I know some of my own daughter's happiest memories of being back in Tokyo are of visiting an onsen (not sento) with her mum and grandmother. The thrill of it was obvious to me; she felt part of a tribe, deeply connected to an older generation, time and place and particularly Japanese. She'll cherish those memories.
When staying at the family home I'd often get on the train of an evening and head a couple of stations down the line to the one sento I found closest to my house, Tsubameyu. It was old school, not one of those new, highly polished and soulless Super Sentos, but one from back in the day. It had the brown vinyl massage chair, wicker furniture and an old, worn rug in the reception area where you could sit and watch TV with a bottle of fruits milk or a beer and just take in the atmos. It's moments like that when I couldn't help but think, "This is the Japan for me." I went back a couple of visits ago and Tsubameyu was closed for good. Like so many rare and beautiful pleasures in Japan the proprietors simply grew too old to continue and had to retire with no-one to replace them. I still miss it. The loss of that sento was to me the canary in the coal mine. Its closure, so sudden to my mind, imparted an awareness that time is indeed fleeting and it is not only wonderful, old sentos that are vulnerable to the all-too-soon passing of it, but people that we love as well.
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