The second half of my trip was ending when I went to Mt. Kurama with my friends. I had been there before to climb the mountain with Suzie and Mr. Shigeoka, and at night to see the fire festival, both stories for another day, I'm afraid. But now, we headed to Mt. Kurama for one reason and one reason alone, to go to an Onsen, or a hot spring.
Now, I didn't know that's where we were going that day. I thought I was heading up into the mountains to climb Mt. Kurama, as I did before with Suzie. After walking up a long, spiraling road that was barely big enough for two cars, our group, tired from a few hours of walking, began to seek out the Onsen.
I had been told to bring a towel, and as my fears suggested, I should not ask questions and just hope for the best. I have nothing against public nudity at all. It's entirely the opposite. What I was afraid of, and have always been afraid of, is others seeing me. We all suffer from one form of insecurity or another, but for years, mine has been centrally placed on my weight. From an early age, I had been overweight, and it was nobody's fault but my own. It wasn't until dieting and a growth spurt in my sophomore year in college that I began to even accept the way I looked.
Over the course of last summer, when I had taken two intensive Japanese classes back to back, I had put on fifteen to twenty pounds while I lived in an apartment by myself. Having lived with my parents during college, I hadn't really experienced the famous Freshman 15, and had actually lost weight throughout. However, the pressure of the class combined with the stress and loneliness, with a dash of care packages from home, all equaled weight gain.
Flash forward to the end of the first week in Japan. Walking three to four miles a day, eating became an afterthought as I explored my surroundings with my new companions. By the end of the week, I had lost almost ten pounds (it seemed, I had no scales to verify), and looked visibly thinner.
Now, living with a host mother that was always intent on me being stuffed to the gills with good food, I had put the weight back on. Now, this isn't some sort of pity piece designed to make me feel better or you to empathize with me. Most of us have to deal with our own imperfections and in the interest of being perfectly honest with you dear readers, I wanted to let you know why I was so apprehensive in going on this trip.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is we did go to the Onsen and I, along with a male friend, headed into the male side of the Onsen, while the two female friends entered their respective side. In Japan, public baths and hot springs are divided by gender in most cases, except if a family rents a private room in which all can bathe together.
The night was cold and the first traces of snow had fallen while we searched for the Onsen. It had melted before it had even hit the ground, but it was a reminder of how much colder it was up in the scenic mountains. The Onsen itself was built alongside the mountain, with a large building that encompassed indoor baths, massage tables and chairs, and a cafeteria separate from the outdoor baths that we had chosen.
Inside the male section lay a small line of shelves with baskets for one's clothes, if they didn't want to pay for a locker. Your clothes or belongings could be stolen at any time, but invoking the Japan Rule (it's Japan, everyone is nice, there's supposedly no crime, yadda yadda), I used the free baskets to store my clothing. My friend did the same. In the same room, lay the coin lockers and two sinks and mirrors. The room was cramped and men both undressed and dressed in the small space. Without further adieu, in the midst of the milieu of naked guys, we undressed quickly and quietly, in the way that men seem to do. We're focused on the task at hand, we understand the potential awkwardness, but by not verbally addressing it, it is seemingly not there.
But it is, and the thought that "it's only nudity, after all" replays in my head over and over, and with that, we move into the next room. The next room is quite large and outdoors. On the right hand side is a large pool filled with three to four feet of naturally hot spring water, that pours forth from a large spigot from the side of the pool. The left side has a row of mirrors and stools for which to sit on and wash one's hair. Next to these and closest to the dressing room are two doorless, shower stalls. Soap and shampoo are provided. Body towels and modesty towels (to cover one's figs) are extra and can be paid for when buying the entry ticket.
We showered (not together, mind you. Although there's nothing wrong with that, if you're into that, and are two, consenting adults, or are just mildly schizophrenic, ahem) and entered the bath. There is a moment, where your figs are just hanging in the breeze and all of the gentlemen in the Onsen are merely staring up at you, either eyeballing you or visually inviting you with the slightest of manly nods into the onsen (which I will stop capitalizing here for no reason other than I don't really think it should be capitalized) which say "I accept you, man," or something to that effect.
Once in, one simply relaxes. I don't think I was either good enough friends with my companion or perhaps it was simply against protocol to make anything other than small talk in there, because that is precisely what we did once or twice during the hour we stayed in. From the corner of that bath, I could see another door leading to a sauna, but after my last disastrous attempt of going into a sauna without a towel, I was content to just rest in the onsen.
Thirty-five minutes later, I was feeling a little too warm and heading my friend's example, I decided to get out for a bit and cool off. I had brought a bottle of water with me and had placed it alongside my clothes, a t-shirt, hoodie, and a pair of jeans that were filled with far too much change. Just as my friend returned to the pool, I exited and walked into the changing room and made my way over to my belongings.
The changing room wasn't that crowded and just as I arrived, had mostly cleared out. As my hand reached towards my basket of clothes, the blood rushed through my dehydrated body to my brain.
And then, everything went black.
Now, I didn't know that's where we were going that day. I thought I was heading up into the mountains to climb Mt. Kurama, as I did before with Suzie. After walking up a long, spiraling road that was barely big enough for two cars, our group, tired from a few hours of walking, began to seek out the Onsen.
I had been told to bring a towel, and as my fears suggested, I should not ask questions and just hope for the best. I have nothing against public nudity at all. It's entirely the opposite. What I was afraid of, and have always been afraid of, is others seeing me. We all suffer from one form of insecurity or another, but for years, mine has been centrally placed on my weight. From an early age, I had been overweight, and it was nobody's fault but my own. It wasn't until dieting and a growth spurt in my sophomore year in college that I began to even accept the way I looked.
Over the course of last summer, when I had taken two intensive Japanese classes back to back, I had put on fifteen to twenty pounds while I lived in an apartment by myself. Having lived with my parents during college, I hadn't really experienced the famous Freshman 15, and had actually lost weight throughout. However, the pressure of the class combined with the stress and loneliness, with a dash of care packages from home, all equaled weight gain.
Flash forward to the end of the first week in Japan. Walking three to four miles a day, eating became an afterthought as I explored my surroundings with my new companions. By the end of the week, I had lost almost ten pounds (it seemed, I had no scales to verify), and looked visibly thinner.
Now, living with a host mother that was always intent on me being stuffed to the gills with good food, I had put the weight back on. Now, this isn't some sort of pity piece designed to make me feel better or you to empathize with me. Most of us have to deal with our own imperfections and in the interest of being perfectly honest with you dear readers, I wanted to let you know why I was so apprehensive in going on this trip.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is we did go to the Onsen and I, along with a male friend, headed into the male side of the Onsen, while the two female friends entered their respective side. In Japan, public baths and hot springs are divided by gender in most cases, except if a family rents a private room in which all can bathe together.
The night was cold and the first traces of snow had fallen while we searched for the Onsen. It had melted before it had even hit the ground, but it was a reminder of how much colder it was up in the scenic mountains. The Onsen itself was built alongside the mountain, with a large building that encompassed indoor baths, massage tables and chairs, and a cafeteria separate from the outdoor baths that we had chosen.
Inside the male section lay a small line of shelves with baskets for one's clothes, if they didn't want to pay for a locker. Your clothes or belongings could be stolen at any time, but invoking the Japan Rule (it's Japan, everyone is nice, there's supposedly no crime, yadda yadda), I used the free baskets to store my clothing. My friend did the same. In the same room, lay the coin lockers and two sinks and mirrors. The room was cramped and men both undressed and dressed in the small space. Without further adieu, in the midst of the milieu of naked guys, we undressed quickly and quietly, in the way that men seem to do. We're focused on the task at hand, we understand the potential awkwardness, but by not verbally addressing it, it is seemingly not there.
But it is, and the thought that "it's only nudity, after all" replays in my head over and over, and with that, we move into the next room. The next room is quite large and outdoors. On the right hand side is a large pool filled with three to four feet of naturally hot spring water, that pours forth from a large spigot from the side of the pool. The left side has a row of mirrors and stools for which to sit on and wash one's hair. Next to these and closest to the dressing room are two doorless, shower stalls. Soap and shampoo are provided. Body towels and modesty towels (to cover one's figs) are extra and can be paid for when buying the entry ticket.
We showered (not together, mind you. Although there's nothing wrong with that, if you're into that, and are two, consenting adults, or are just mildly schizophrenic, ahem) and entered the bath. There is a moment, where your figs are just hanging in the breeze and all of the gentlemen in the Onsen are merely staring up at you, either eyeballing you or visually inviting you with the slightest of manly nods into the onsen (which I will stop capitalizing here for no reason other than I don't really think it should be capitalized) which say "I accept you, man," or something to that effect.
Once in, one simply relaxes. I don't think I was either good enough friends with my companion or perhaps it was simply against protocol to make anything other than small talk in there, because that is precisely what we did once or twice during the hour we stayed in. From the corner of that bath, I could see another door leading to a sauna, but after my last disastrous attempt of going into a sauna without a towel, I was content to just rest in the onsen.
Thirty-five minutes later, I was feeling a little too warm and heading my friend's example, I decided to get out for a bit and cool off. I had brought a bottle of water with me and had placed it alongside my clothes, a t-shirt, hoodie, and a pair of jeans that were filled with far too much change. Just as my friend returned to the pool, I exited and walked into the changing room and made my way over to my belongings.
The changing room wasn't that crowded and just as I arrived, had mostly cleared out. As my hand reached towards my basket of clothes, the blood rushed through my dehydrated body to my brain.
And then, everything went black.
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Some time before, I needed to buy a good house for my corporation but I did not have enough cash and couldn't buy anything. Thank heaven my sister proposed to try to get the loan from trustworthy bank. Thus, I acted so and used to be happy with my short term loan.