Japanese Tryptich, Part 1: Onsen.

I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I choose Kimono style #2, walk through the pink doors and head out to the women's section in my towel. I soon realize that only the small ones are being used, so I quickly recycle the big one and place the small one on my head, clasping it with a hair clip.

I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I sit on the plastic bench, scrubbing my legs with a coarse sheet and rinsing with a bucket full of hot water. None of the signage is translated except for one that reads "No tattoo or body drawings." Thankfully, I'm a pseudo-Jew and tatt free. I continue on to the steamroom, where I watch a soap opera on the giant flatscreen TV. Thankfully, there is lots of white padding to separate my butt from the scorching bench.

I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I grab a handful of salt from the urn and begin scrubbing my toes. I sit up, using the shower hose to rinse the salt from my back and accidentally squirt the woman across from me. I try to play stupid American, gesturing with my hands that I'm sorry, but she shakes her head in disbelief. I gracefully make my way to the shower.

I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I make my way through a series of outdoor baths, soon landing a spot in front of the mega jets. The pressure is perfect and the mineral water feels soothing on my back. The sun soon pops out from behind the clouds and it suddenly hits me that I am seven stories up, looking out at the MV Explorer in the Yokohama harbor, naked.










I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I head to the "relaxing room" on the Fifth floor, wearing nothing beneath my kimono, and curl up on one of the hundreds of recliners. I watch an episode of "Bones," with Japanese subtitles until the snoring around me escalates and I suddenly feel like I'm in a sawmill. A giant clock on the giant ferris wheel reminds me that it is 4:20 pm, so I leave in search of the foot bath.

I'm in a Japanese Onsen.
I ride up the elevator, get off on the Eighth floor and unexpectedly find myself in the middle of an arcade, again, with nothing on beneath my kimono. I walk past the rows of video games, stopping for a brief second to poke my head into a Purikura machine, then grab a large puffy yellow jacket from the rack before heading up to the 9th floor lookout. I soak my feet in the large circular rock bath, once again looking out at the ship in the harbor and reading about UC Berkeley in my New Yorker magazine. The puffy keeps me warm but my kimono keeps flapping in the wind. Maybe I was supposed to wear something beneath it? Oh well.