Plenty of foreign visitors could make use of a journey up to Onsenji. Or at least,the Onsenji of old.
This Buddhist temple sits in the pine forest midway up Mount Daishi,overlooking the spa town of Kinosaki Onsen in western Japan. It's been a place of pilgrimage since the year 738,an ornate wooden structure dedicated to the legend of Dochi-Shonin,a monk who is said to have prayed for 1000 days to bring forth the natural hot springs that feed Kinosaki's onsen to this day.
For centuries,those hoping to visit the onsen would have to make the trek up to Onsenji before they were allowed to bathe. Here they would be given instruction on how to use the hot-spring baths properly,before being bequeathed a wooden ladle to prove to those below that they were ready for the experience.
First-time visitors to Kinosaki these days have no such instruction,as they don't anywhere in Japan. Instead,you have to try to divine the etiquette of the onsen,to watch carefully and do as others do,to disrobe at the right time and wash with the correct vigour and bathe in a way that's socially and hygienically acceptable.
So many rules and considerations – and that was before the COVID-19 pandemic. What happens now?
I'm here to find out. How does onsen culture work in the time of COVID?
Since landing in Japan I've seen nothing but face masks. Hygiene is taken seriously here,in a country that took a notoriously long time to reopen to international tourism. The first meal I ate in Japan was at Haneda Airport,where a sign on my table said:"Please eat without talking."
COVID-19 safety measures in Japan are strict and they're slavishly adhered to - indoor mask mandates have now officially been dropped,and yet usage is still very high. So how does it work at an onsen,where bathers famously strip off all their clothes and climb into a steaming soup of humanity with some of their closest new friends?