Sep 6, 2025.
Public Bath, Private Panic
We woke up early to squeeze in one last soak in our private onsen before breakfast. The morning air wasn't exactly cool, but compared to Kyoto in the middle of the day it felt downright refreshing. Sitting in steaming mineral water while listening to the gentle sound of fresh spring water continuously flowing into our tub was one of the most peaceful moments of the trip.
Still wearing the Japanese robes provided by the hotel (yukata, the lighter, more casual cousin of a kimono), we headed downstairs for the breakfast buffet. There were grilled fish, miso soup, rice, pickled vegetables, tamagoyaki (rolled omelet), and all kinds of traditional Japanese breakfast foods.
After breakfast, it was time to tackle something that had me just a little nervous...
The public onsen.
When in Japan, right?
Since the baths are separated by gender, Evan did the sweetest thing. He went into the men's side first, scoped everything out, then came back to our room to give me a full report of what to expect.
Armed with Evan's briefing, we rode the elevator together to the eighth floor before parting ways.
Upon entering, I slipped off the hotel sandals I'd been wearing and placed them on a shelf alongside all of the other identical hotel sandals. To remember which ones were mine, I clipped on the number 18.
Not because 18 means anything special...
Not because there was a separate piece for me that said 18...
just because there was a basket of clips and a lot of shoes. Hopefully this was the right call (because it was not included in Evan's tutorial)
Next came the towels. There were several different sizes available and, not knowing any better, I grabbed one.
(In hindsight, I should have taken both a large bath towel and a smaller hand towel.)
From there I entered a mirrored changing room lined with wicker baskets. Evan had already explained that this was where I'd leave my yukata. Small lockers held valuables like room keys and phones, and the key came off on a stretchy bracelet you could wear around your wrist.
Beyond that were individual washing stations, each equipped with a stool, handheld shower, mirror, bucket, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
Every guest washes thoroughly first so the communal water remains pristine for everyone else. It's a ritual rooted in respect for the people sharing the space.
Only then do you enter the baths.
But first, I made one final adjustment.
I covered the tattoo on my wrist with a Band-Aid.
Many traditional onsens in Japan still prohibit visible tattoos. The rule dates back to a time when tattoos were strongly associated with the yakuza, Japan's organized crime syndicates. Since onsens are meant to be places of peace, relaxation, and community, owners wanted to keep gang activity out of their baths. The problem, of course, was that they couldn't exactly put up a sign saying, "No yakuza allowed." So instead, many establishments adopted a blanket no tattoos policy.
My little wrist tattoo disappeared under a Band-Aid, and with that, I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
There was a large indoor pool overlooking the city and a smaller outdoor bath nestled among natural rocks.
I eased into the indoor bath first.
As I relaxed, I noticed another woman sitting in the bath with a small towel on her head. When she moved between baths, she held it discreetly in front of herself.
Apparently, the small towel is never supposed to go into the bath itself, so people either rest it on their head or beside the water.
Good to know...
...about five minutes too late. Where was this in Evan's tutorial?!
After enjoying the indoor bath, I made my way outside to the rock-lined pool in a "not so discreet, no tiny towel" kind of way.
The setting was beautiful.
The water?
Hot.
Like...really hot.
I lasted a few minutes before deciding I'd absorbed enough minerals for one morning.
Afterward, I returned to the washing station for another quick rinse before drying off, putting my yukata back on, collecting my room key...
...and retrieving my sandals.
Lucky number 18 served me well.
I'm really glad I pushed myself to experience the public onsen. Japan has thousands of natural hot springs, making onsen culture an important part of everyday life for many Japanese people. It's not just about bathing. It's about slowing down and sharing a peaceful moment with others.
Meanwhile, Evan was significantly more adventurous than I was, trying the men's baths on two different floors while I happily sipped tea on our private patio.
The Tightest Outfit I've Ever Loved
Soon it was time to leave our beautiful ryokan.
The hotel shuttle dropped us at the station, and after two trains we were back in Kyoto.
We dropped our luggage at the hotel and grabbed lunch in a mall food court, where we tried omurice, a fluffy omelet wrapped around fried rice.
Evan's came topped with beef and a rich sauce.
Mine featured duck that tasted suspiciously like bologna.
Not terrible.
Just not making my Top 10 Japan Meals list.
After lunch we headed to Kyoto's famous Fushimi Sake District for a traditional tea ceremony.
The experience began with us standing ankle-deep in tubs of freezing water filled with rubber ducks to cool off before getting dressed. Evan was grinning wondering why this wasn't a thing at every place we entered.
Then came the kimono fitting.
Traditional women's kimonos are considerably more elaborate than men's, and the wide sash, called an obi, is often tied into intricate decorative knots. Mine was golden and arranged into a beautiful flower across my back.
Once the multiple layers beneath my kimono were secured I couldn't slouch if I tried.
The women styled my hair, handed me a matching purse and umbrella, and led us into the garden for photos.
Meanwhile, Evan was handed a katana.
He looked simultaneously thrilled and mildly terrified. He just kept repeating over and over again, "I can't believe they gave me this. I can't believe they gave me this."
Part of me was wondering, "should they have given him this?"
Our hosts then welcomed us inside with some of the best Japanese sweets we'd had during the entire trip.
Before entering the tea room, we learned how to move properly across the tatami mats by sliding our feet rather than stepping and carefully avoiding the seams where the mats met. Every bow, every movement, every placement of the fan had meaning.
The ceremony wasn't just about drinking tea.
It was about mindfulness.
We also learned about Japan's writing systems. Foreign names like ours are typically written in katakana, one of Japan's three writing systems, while kanji characters carry meanings of their own.
Apparently my name translated to "young and dignified."
Checkmate!
Evan's translated to "flourish 10,000."
Also solid.
Then it was finally time to prepare our own matcha.
Thirty strokes back and forth.
Make a "W."
Finish with a gentle circle to lift the whisk cleanly from the bowl.
I even created latte art using the Japanese character for love.
Before drinking, we held the tea bowl with two hands, rotated it twice so we wouldn't drink from its "front" (a sign of respect to the artisan who crafted it), bowed, and thanked our host.
We also apologized to the guest beside us for drinking before them, a gesture of humility that's been part of tea ceremony etiquette for centuries.
And finally...
On the last sip...
SLUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPP.
Loudly.
In Japan, that's how you tell the host the tea was delicious. 😋
It felt wonderful to spend an afternoon learning traditions that have been carefully passed down for generations. I left with a deeper appreciation of Japanese culture and an even deeper appreciation for elastic waistbands.
Three Trips for One Table
After tea, Evan and I wandered through the sake district, popping into shops before deciding that we probably ought to visit a sake brewery.
When in Rome or, more appropriately, when in the sake district of Kyoto.
The bartender enthusiastically offered us an 18-sake tasting flight.
Eighteen.
Absolutely not.
Instead, we each ordered a flight of three.
We explained what kinds of sake we usually (and by usually we mean the sakes we tasted three days ago at Sights) enjoy, and the bartender selected three sakes for each of us.
Unfortunately... Neither of us liked them.
While we quietly suffered through our flights, we struck up a conversation with a Canadian couple about our age.
They did order the flight of eighteen.
Maybe that's why they were so chatty? Either way, it was a good way to take our minds off the fact that we were not enjoying our flights of 3.
While heading back to our neighborhood via train we decided that we would try wagyu for dinner.
We found a restaurant everyone recommended.
The problem?
Every time we walked in, they smiled and said...
"Soon."
We came back.
"Soon."
We came back again.
"Soon."
Three visits later we were officially hangry.
When they finally seated us, they led us upstairs to an entire private room containing exactly one table.
Ours.
Not a banquet room.
Not a section.
One table.
We could hear every time a server climbed the stairs because there was only one staircase leading up to us. But even if we couldn't hear we didn't have to worry because before entering every single time they knocked to announce their presence. What did they think we were doing up there?
It was one of the most unique dining setups we've ever experienced.
The wagyu was served with matcha salt, and while the beef was incredibly tender both of us agreed afterward that all the waiting and repeated "soon" visits probably made the experience better in our minds than it actually was.
