3:57 am.

I can’t sleep in my tiny hotel room across the street from Tokyo Station. It’s not noise or the temperature of the room or anything; this is a normal occurrence for me, even a week after arriving in Japan. I am often overcome with exhaustion (because of the previous days’ waking and walking—10, 12, 15 kilometres in a day) and if I haven’t caught a nap (like I did during most of a kabuki performance a few days earlier—what were they yelling and howling about anyway? I probably should have picked up the English translation machine; I still would have snoozed but at least I would have known what was going on in my moments of consciousness), I’m wiped out by 8 or 9 in the evening.

But I digress. Frequently. So I’m up at 4, and I’m sad. Sad to be alone, sad over a very recent, final parting with someone who was very special to me (those of you who know what I’m talking about, thank you for your hearts, kind thoughts, and your support-I’ll be ok), sad that it’s raining…just a bit overwhelmed by life in the moment. No tears, just sad. So, I get up, fire up the laptop (the bane of the contract writer’s existence) and tackle a couple of dangling assignments. Or at least I pretend to.

Now it’s six, and I don’t need to be anywhere until about nine, when I must dive into the Monday morning rush hour at Tokyo Station. I wonder if I’ll see those people-pushers on the train platforms? That might be fun…claustrophobic though. Don’t feel like starting anything new, don’t feel like going out for food, don’t feel like getting dressed without a shower, but the bathroom within this room is odd.

Japanese bathrooms are odd, to us. Of course, there’s the toilet, which, once you figure it out, makes you wonder why this isn’t a universal thing. I think I expected my bottom to be too wet to pull up my pants, but the spray(s) are very directed. It also often has a heated seat and runs some water so no one can hear what you’re doing in there (correction: the water runs to warm it up, but it still helps with the noise…). Very civilized and I would most definitely consider one when and if I get around to a bathroom reno.

Sometimes they feel…encapsulated as well—almost like a unit that can get entirely wet, like on a cruise ship or something. This one has a tub, a very small one, that shows how much water you can put in if you weigh 50, 60, 70 kilos (she said, laughing her ass off). The water lines and numbers don’t go high enough.

What to do? The bath of course.

In my first hotel, I went in midday, so I was alone in a very large room. It had a dressing area with lockers and benches and amenity counters. After stripping down completely (no bathing suits), you head into a separate room with the pool or pools and tubs and a bank of low wash stations with stools. You sit at the stool and wash: hair, arms, legs, feet…everywhere. Then you can dip into the pools. It was lovely to be there alone.

(I neglected to mention that I had to fill out a form that said that I was not drunk or high–paraphrasing of course–and that if I had a tattoo, it was not gang-affiliated. You’ll see why that was requested as you read on.)

But this morning’s was just as special in a very different way. First, in very many places, tattoos are frowned upon, as in Japanese culture—it’s a gang thing that goes back years (you’ve no doubt heard the word “Yakuza”), and while they’re still around their numbers have dwindled. That said, many places have a no tattoo policy, even for those from other cultures. Last night’s hotel was one with a no-tolerance-for-tattoos bath.

Welp. I’ve got one of them. A fairly good-sized compass, only a few years old (if you know me, you know right away why I’d choose a compass, but if you don’t–I got it just after my almost 30-year marriage ended, as I headed out in a new direction…and of course, there’s the travel addiction I have). And I only have the one, right now. As I’m joining a tour, I did a little reading about baths and onsens (traditional baths with spring fed water), and there seemed to be a split on restrictions on tattooed tourists. But of course, I booked this hotel myself and they have a strict policy against them (in fact they show you when you check in with a little picture and diagrams and big red X’s. No Yakuza for you.).Good thing I brought big Band-Aids with me to cover up.

I headed down to the “ladies-only” floor (hadn’t noticed there was one—actually two–the night before and walked onto the spa. It was packed, maybe eight or ten women in a fairly small space. I guess many had the same idea as me…. might as well start the day super clean and soaked. I ducked into the tiny bathroom and slapped the band-aid on saw a brightly coloured compass point sticking out and added a second, smaller mismatched one to the bottom of the patch. I’m sure they all saw it. Oh well, the cops haven’t come for me yet.

The room…. was amazing. Not as big or fancy as the other hotel, but so much more intimate. Steam from the single pool filled the air, so everything felt a little dreamy, fuzzy, soft around the edges. Benches and stools made of wood that filled the air with that good wet-wood smell. The pool itself had a deep greenish-blue light, glowing dully through the water. Three women sat in the
pool, two of them talking quietly, the other, towel wrapped around her head, rolled a set of large (think pool ball) size wooden beads over her shoulders. Three more were occupying stools in front of sinks, bathing. I was the only non-Japanese women in there.

I dropped into a space in the mist and adjusted the water. This bath had wooden buckets you could fill and drop onto yourself, which of course feels great. There’s a faucet that goes to a handheld shower or a straight spigot, to fill the bucket I guess). I think a person probably spends more time and care bathing this way than what we’re used to. There are a few options to choose from in soap and there’s always shampoo and conditioner.

Then it’s on to the pool. It’s only about two feet deep at the lowest point and it’s warm—ok, hot. But as I sat there in the fog, looking at but not watching the women in various stages of morning ritual, I felt calm. It felt natural. People of different body shapes and ages, no one self-conscious (except me, and just for the giant band-aid on my arm). It was truly a communal experience and even though there wasn’t much talking, it spoke to me about how we’re all just trying to get by in a world that sometimes doesn’t give us time to reflect, where too much shit happens and where we let the expectations of others bog us down.

That’s where my mind is this morning. Off to see some stuff now.