For many people visiting Japan, the concept of public bathing may seem unusual, even uncomfortable. Yet for generations of Japanese people, the onsen—natural hot spring baths—have been a cornerstone of healing, relaxation, and social connection. Rooted in ancient beliefs and daily rituals, Japan’s onsen culture represents far more than a method of washing; it is a spiritual experience deeply embedded in the rhythm of life.
The story of onsen in Japan begins thousands of years ago. Archaeological evidence suggests that the Japanese have used natural hot springs since the Jomon period, over 2,000 years ago. From the earliest times, bathing in geothermal waters was seen not only as physically cleansing but as a way to purify the spirit. Over the centuries, Buddhist practices, Shinto purification rituals, and folk traditions merged to create a unique cultural significance around bathing.
Today, Japan is home to more than 3,000 onsen locations, from snowy mountain villages to coastal towns. Famous destinations include Hakone, known for its scenic views of Mount Fuji and sulfur-rich waters; Beppu, offering diverse bath types like sand baths and mud baths; Kusatsu, prized for its high acidity that kills bacteria; and Noboribetsu, where mineral-rich sulfur springs flow through volcanic valleys in Hokkaido. Each region’s spring water has unique mineral content—iron, sulfur, carbon dioxide, radium—and the therapeutic benefits vary accordingly: easing joint pain, improving circulation, nourishing skin, or relieving stress.
These hot springs are classified by mineral composition. Sulfur springs have a pungent smell and are believed to help with skin issues and circulation. Iron springs often appear orange and support anemia recovery. Carbonated springs tingle with natural fizz and are used to reduce blood pressure. Some springs are colorless and odorless, others milky white or emerald green. For many Japanese, choosing an onsen is like choosing medicine—the right water for the right condition.
But beyond the physical benefits lies the emotional and cultural depth of bathing. Japanese homes typically have a separate washing area and soaking tub, and a nightly bath is still a cherished ritual in many families. This foundation of private bathing makes the transition to public onsen seamless for locals, who see it not as awkward but as deeply soothing.
Foreigners, however, often hesitate. A 2024 tourism report revealed that fewer than 20% of international visitors tried an onsen during their stay. Reasons include discomfort with nudity, unfamiliar rules, and restrictions on tattoos. Although many traditional onsen still prohibit tattoos due to historic ties to organized crime, more facilities now offer solutions like tattoo covers, private rooms, or “tattoo-friendly” certification. Multilingual instructions and pictograms are becoming widespread to ease cultural friction.
Understanding etiquette is crucial. Before entering the bath, guests must wash and rinse thoroughly. No swimsuits or towels are allowed in the water. Hair should be tied up, photography is forbidden, and—most importantly—swimming or splashing is strictly prohibited. The bath is a quiet place of reflection, not play. These unspoken rules are part of the meditative stillness that defines the experience.
For those short on time, Japan also offers day-use onsen (higaeri onsen), allowing visitors to enjoy the baths without staying overnight. In urban areas, especially around Tokyo, “super sento” (super public baths) have become popular weekend escapes. These modern facilities feature multiple indoor and outdoor baths, saunas, cold plunge pools, and even artificial carbonated springs. But they are more than just bathing spots—they include restaurants, massage parlors, barber shops, nap lounges, and co-working spaces. You could easily spend an entire day unwinding, reading, eating, and soaking—making them ideal for city dwellers and international tourists alike.
Beneath these modern conveniences lies a more humble and historic root: the sento, Japan’s traditional public bathhouse. Sento emerged in the Edo period to serve densely populated neighborhoods without private baths. For centuries, they were social centers, especially in working-class communities. However, with the rise of in-home plumbing, the number of sento has drastically declined—from over 20,000 at their peak to fewer than 2,000 today. Still, some survive as cultural icons, often painted with Mount Fuji murals and managed by generations of local families. A new wave of retro-chic appreciation is even drawing young Japanese and curious foreigners back to these historic spots.
Ultimately, whether you visit a rustic mountain onsen, a flashy super sento, or a timeworn neighborhood bathhouse, you are stepping into a uniquely Japanese world where bathing is not just hygiene—it’s connection. To community. To tradition. To the self.
For visitors willing to embrace the experience, shedding their hesitations along with their clothes, a profound calm awaits. One that transcends water temperature, mineral content, or facilities—and offers instead a quiet reflection on what it means to be clean, to rest, and to belong.