EPT![[image loading]](http://photos-g.ll.facebook.com/photos-ll-snc1/v2118/35/36/64200053/n64200053_30594174_3825.jpg)
Dogo Onsen.
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A bit of history.
In the film You Only Live Twice, James Bond is treated to what his Japanese contact calls “your first civilized bath.” A trio of scantily-clad females scrub and massage Bond's chest and back until, utterly relaxed, he retires to bed with his love interest du jour. My experience at Dogo Onsen was pretty much identical.
No, just kidding! Unlike Mr. Bond, I had to do all my own scrubbing, but there was something decidedly civilized about the whole experience. After purchasing a ticket of admission and reviewing the rules of etiquette, I handed my valuables to a pleasant woman who was attired in an elegant yukata. With a blinding smile, she handed me a yukata of my own, this one less elegant, and directed me down the hallway to three more women, all of whom were wearing identical smiles. They gestured for me to hurry down the corridor. The staff seemed accustomed to having foreign guests. I was a reality, not a novelty.
(A yukata, I should probably explain, is a traditional Japanese garment similar to the kimono, though less formal. They are frequently worn around onsen, traditional Japanese bathhouses whose water comes from natural hot springs.)
I wandered into the locker room and disrobed, doing my best to keep from staring out over the sea of naked Japanese men. Many of the men were conducting themselves as if they were out for a pleasant stroll. They were wandering from location to location in the locker room, sometimes stopping to regard their reflections or rub their hair with a towel, but they seemed to lack any sort of objective. They were wandering for the sake of wandering. Maybe they found the extra air flow agreeable. My objective was simple: avoid eye contact on my way to the bath.
I had purchased the premium bath, which meant that I had access to one of the more ornate tubs. It was still in the Japanese aesthetic, though, a minimalist presentation with a few bold lines of blue amongst the tranquil white. I scrubbed myself thoroughly under one of the shower heads and entered the bath.
It wasn't a life-changing, revelatory experience, but slipping into the water of the oldest, most famous onsen in Japan was certainly surreal. With 3,000 years of history and numerous mentions throughout Japanese literature, Dogo Onsen is, for lack of a better term, kind of a big deal. In a country so renowned for its work ethic, it was good to see the Japanese holding the art of relaxation in very high esteem. I folded my hand towel onto my head and submerged myself up to my chin.
A long while later, I emerged from the tub, dried off, and donned my yukata. My instructional pamphlet recommended that people not experienced in wearing a yukata wear undergarments underneath. To me, this indicated that the Japanese go naked under them. I snorted, left my boxers in my locker, and made my way up to the second floor.
One of the pleasant women from before directed me to a straw mat and arranged several plush cushions around me. The floor was open-air, and a gentle breeze wafted over my steamy skin. Another woman arrived with green tea and some rice crackers. I happily munched on these snacks and people watched. Husbands and wives in matching yukata and geta (wooden sandals) were strolling around the outside of the onsen, taking in the late afternoon. Teenagers were enjoying ice cream on the numerous benches. Though it was a tourist destination, Dogo Onsen didn't feel like it. It was clearly beloved by the Japanese—not as a sight to see, but as an idea to embrace. No one was there to see anything. They were there to take part in the simplest of joys, to let themselves go in the fantasy of being treated like a member of the ancient nobility.
After changing back into my street clothes, I made a beeline for the brewery across the street, a small establishment that specialized in dark beer. The typical Japanese lager is light and flavorful, with a dry finish, perfect for washing down yakitori and other pub snacks. I was excited to sample something a bit more complex.
In addition to quaffing three beers, I dined on duck meatballs with a delicious sauce, traditional yakitori, some skewered vegetables, a bowl of rice, and a salad that was far too light on dressing, even by my standards. Still, the meal left me satiated and drowsy, especially after my long day of walking. I wandered back to my hostel, intent on making the most of the next day.
