We have reached the practical part. In Part 1 I told you why we bathe. In Part 2 I told you where. Now I tell you how to conduct yourself, so that you are remembered by the locals as “the polite foreigner” and not as “the incident.”
I will keep this short. Not because there is little to say, but because I would like to get back in the water.
The manners, from a creature with none
Here is the thing nobody says out loud: a monkey has no manners at all, and even I can follow onsen etiquette. It is genuinely simple. The bear has written the full human version, and I will send you there, but here is the monkey summary.
- Wash before you get in. Sitting down. Completely. This is not a suggestion. The bath is for soaking clean bodies, not for cleaning dirty ones. Rinse your little stool when you finish. This one rule carries most of the weight.
- No clothes. No swimsuit. You bathe as I do, as nature and the ticket price intended. Nobody is looking. We are all busy dissolving.
- The small towel never touches the water. Fold it, put it on your head. Every regular does this. It is not for modesty, it is a tradition, and it looks tremendous.
- Be quiet. Be still. No swimming, no splashing, no shouting across the steam. An onsen is a library that happens to be wet.
- Tie your hair up. Rinse off the sweat before you re-enter. Long hair in the water is the one thing that will earn you a genuine Japanese sigh, and you do not want to hear it.
- Tattoos: some baths still refuse them, out of an old association with the yakuza. Many now don’t care, especially in ski country. Cover a small one, ask ahead about a large one, or seek out a private kashikiri bath. The bear’s guide has the honest detail.
That is the whole of it. Six things. I am a monkey and I manage all six. You, with your opposable thumbs and your smartphone, will be fine.
For the grown-up, fully-detailed version — tattoos, gender curtains, what to do with your glasses — read the bear’s Onsen etiquette for skiers. He is thorough. It is exhausting to watch.
Now. Temperature. My life’s work.
I need you to understand that I have strong, non-negotiable views on how hot a bath should be.
The ideal onsen sits somewhere around 40 to 42 degrees. Warm enough to melt a monkey, cool enough to stay in and think. This is the correct range. This is where civilisation lives.
Above that, things get controversial. A great many famous Japanese onsen — I am looking directly at Kusatsu — run their water hot enough to poach an egg, and the locals lower themselves in with the serene expression of beings who feel no pain. Some traditional baths push past 45 degrees, and at that point I stage a formal protest. I get out. I sit on a cold rock. I reconsider the entire arrangement.
45 degrees is my line. I have never crossed it willingly and I never will. If you see a monkey testing the water with one hand and pulling a face, that is me telling you it is too hot, and you should trust me over the smiling grandmother beside you who has been building a tolerance to lava since 1948.
Ease in slowly from the edge. If your skin goes bright red in ten seconds, that is not relaxation, that is a warning. Get out, cool down, drink water, go back to a gentler bath. Nobody hands out medals for the hottest soak. I have checked. I asked.
The Onsen Hop
Which brings me, at last, to the reason the bear let me write three whole articles.
What I do all day — moving from bath to bath, judging each one, chasing the perfect temperature — the bear has turned into a small, silly game. It is called Onsen Hop. You play as a creature not unlike myself, leaping between steaming pools, and it is exactly as pointless and satisfying as my real life.
It is hidden away on this website like a secret bath up a back lane. It costs nothing. It asks nothing of you. It is the ideal thing for a rest day, a long train ride, or the flat hour after a big soak when your legs have stopped working.
Get a good score and you will have earned, in spirit, a monkey’s respect. Which is worth very little, but is offered sincerely.
A monkey signs off
That is the whole guide. Why we bathe, where to go, and how to behave once you are in.
I will leave you with the only piece of wisdom I actually possess. Your species spends enormous effort getting to the top of the mountain. Mine spends its effort getting into the warm water at the bottom. After watching both for a lifetime, I am quietly confident we chose better.
Wash first. Keep it under 45. Take your time.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, the water is exactly right and I have wasted far too much of it talking to you.
Before you go
- Read the whole series from the top: Part 1 — who I am and why we bathe.
- The bear’s cheeky beginner pep-talk: Bare Essentials — getting naked after skiing.
- Find your onsen resort on the Secret Ski Map, then play Onsen Hop while the powder settles.