My Broken Shower

A week and a half ago the hot water heater in my shower broke. I’ve previously outlined all the reasons why winter is so cold here, so I won’t go into it again, but even without all of those reasons, living sans hot showers in the middle of winter in any country is a pretty pitiable situation. Following an incident involving billowing, black smoke and the smell of burning plastic, I had three different men on two different days come to make sure that, yes indeed, the heater is broken and needs to be fixed (which is, obviously, the simple truth I had informed them of initially, but in typical Japanese style, half the time fixing something is spent confirming the fact that there really is a problem in the first place). It won’t be fixed till this next Saturday, which means that I will have been shower-less for over two weeks, and have been showering at a friend’s and using an alternative that is pretty unique to Japan.

Fortunately for my current situation and for others in similar situations (since I can only imagine there must be others), Japan likes public bathing facilities. Called onsens, these baths often feature special, magically scented/filtered/originated water that promises to not only clean you, but also relax you and your weary soul. The onsens I have visited have all been scenic and spa-like in both (my) purpose and (their) execution, but my present conundrum has shown me that the most likely reason Japan’s onsen culture has continued into the present age is because winter here sucks and their water heaters break because many of them are poorly designed and the people need a socially acceptable alternative to taking showers the same temperature as glaciers. Hence, the perpetuation of resort-like, elaborate public baths in the middle of cities that are generally not terribly expensive (maybe $7 for as long as you want, and there are usually sauna rooms, etc., and shampoo-type products provided) and are often quite beautiful.

One potential snag, however, for the modern Western in his/her enjoyment of relaxation in a cedar-scented hot tub with other people he/she doesn’t know is the fact that many of these onsens remain traditionally traditional and don’t allow tattoos. Tattoos are still social taboos in Japan, but they also aren’t difficult to cover up if you are wearing clothes, so they don’t have much effect on everyday life and work. At an onsen, however, where the point is to get clean, hiding the ink becomes near-impossible (I’ve heard of people covering them up with bandages, but that definitely seems not worth the effort. Especially if you have more than one). Up until this point, the tattoo/onsen non-allowance hasn’t been issue for me because it was either a) not a problem at the particular onsen, or b) I just didn’t ask. This is generally more of a problem at old-school onsens which keep stricter rules, and less of one at onsens in bigger cities with more younger (or foreign) clientele. So it surprised me when, at an onsen in a city which had plenty of younger people , I was interrupted while washing my hair by a woman telling me that I actually wasn’t allowed to enter the facilities with tattoos, but it was fine for that day, presumably because I’d already paid and, well, had already started my onsen-ing. Which is really too bad, because the particular place had a nice vibe and was only a fifteen-minute drive from my house. Not that I can now ever go back again. However, if you are ever in Akita City, I’d recommend it – as long as you are tattoo-less.

Snow Footprints