This is a personal account of a Japanese individual’s experience at Koganeyu.
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I am at a public bathhouse, a traditional Japanese sento. As I stand with the memory of the stylish locker room I was in just moments ago, I feel a slight sense of surprise. The scene of an old Japanese sento, which has even been imprinted in my mind despite my limited experience with bathhouses, unfolds before my eyes. Yes, that’s right, I have come to a sento.
At the same time, a peculiar smell, reminiscent of sulfur, lingers in my nostrils. I wonder what that scent could be. With a slight sense of unease, I step into the bathing area. The tiles beneath my feet are a creamy shade of yellow. At first glance, I don’t spot a sauna room, but I notice a modest aluminum door towards the back of the bathing area. Could that be the entrance to the sauna?
Something catches my eye—a row of brightly colored yellow bath buckets lined up on the shower platform. As if guided by them, I take a seat in front of the showers. The showers themselves are of the old-fashioned fixed type. Such types often have weak water pressure. As I turn the faucet, my small concern is washed away along with the sweat. When I reach out to wash my hair, I find shampoo packaged in an unexpectedly stylish and expensive-looking design, quite different from what one would expect to find in a public bathhouse.
I wash my hair and cleanse my body, preparing for the task ahead—thoroughly washing and rinsing the entrances to my sweat glands.
Before entering the sauna, I wanted to warm up my body, so I got into a colored hot bath with vigorously bubbling water. As I sat down in the tub, powerful bubbles reached up to my mouth. Sitting next to the somewhat intense bubbles, I felt my body temperature rising and glanced up.
Hanging from the ceiling were rows of gently colored, yet beautiful patterned fabrics. The thin wires suspending them crossed over the wall between the men’s and women’s baths, swaying freely in the air and flowing in one direction. I watched them.
Once my core temperature had sufficiently risen, it was time to enter the cold-water bath. Even without the sauna, this alone would be refreshing. The gentle temperature of the water enveloped my body and gradually clung to me. It made me feel as if I could stay immersed here forever, as if wearing a thin robe.
However, I had come here with the intention of going into the sauna. Reluctantly leaving behind the lingering sensation of the water, I stepped in front of the aluminum door located at the back of the bathing area and reached for the knob.
To my surprise once again, as I opened the door, a narrow corridor stretched out before me, seemingly representing the cramped nature of Tokyo. It was enclosed by walls of sterile colors. This space was distinctly different from the public bathhouse I had just been in. Looking at one side of the wall, the finishing material that had once been there had been removed, exposing the bare concrete surface. The other wall consisted of fresh concrete blocks. The enclosed passage, despite its narrowness, amplified my anticipation as it continued further ahead, serving as an approach.
As I proceed further, the full extent of this space comes into view. What catches my eye is a large water bath illuminated from below. The blue glowing tank, combined with the dimness and rugged concrete surfaces of this space, resembles a beautiful water surface within a cave. It’s irresistible, I must take a dip in it. Next to the water bath, there is a corridor leading even deeper, offering a glimpse of the outdoor bathing area. The front of the water bath is faced by concrete blocks, enclosing the sauna room. The flow of movement is perfectly simple.
I reach out to touch the water in the bath. It’s cold. Noticeably colder than the internal water bath. My mind instantly imagines what it would be like to enter this cold bath with my heated body, and my body screams, “I want to go to the sauna quickly.” I glance back and reach for the door to the sauna room.
In the quiet and dimly lit space, men are seated. The sauna room has benches arranged in two tiers, providing enough space for around 5-6 people on each level. The walls are finished with barley grain stones, creating a modern atmosphere. As I enter through the door, I see the sauna stove on the left. Thin pipes extend from the top of the heated sauna stones, emanating from reflectors. It’s an automatic löyly system. Luckily, there was an available spot on the upper tier right in front of the sauna stove, and I took a seat.
There is no television. Occasionally, the sound of someone wiping off sweat can be heard. The sound of others’ breathing is audible. Faint noises from beyond the walls reach my ears.
Thump, thump, thump.
Is it the sound of water flowing through pipes? It’s a remarkably striking sound in this serene space. It feels as if the movement of water is passing smoothly through my chest, incredibly soothing.
It’s mellow yet intensively hot. My body, coming into contact with the high-temperature air, absorbs the heat, and my pulse gradually rises. Before I realize it, the sauna room is full. Through the small window at the entrance, I can see a man waiting for his turn.
Perhaps about 7-8 minutes have passed. Just when I feel I can push a little further, a sudden sound, resembling the release of steam, reverberates through the sauna room. The automatic löyly has begun. The water sprayed onto the sauna stones instantly evaporates into the air, filling the sauna room. The perceived temperature rapidly rises, and sweat starts to flow. The conflicting feelings of “I should leave soon” and “I want to continue enjoying this intense heat” collide within me. As I hesitate, the sweat continues to pour. Before I know it, my pulse has skyrocketed.
“How about going into the cold-water bath with this body? Have I accumulated enough heat?” The final check is complete. I have finished the first set here.
Leaving the sauna, I squat in front of the cold water bath and pour the water over my head with a bucket. I pour. I pour. It’s freezing! I step into the blue water, exhaling as I submerge my entire body. My whole body tightens and my feet tense up, almost reaching the threshold of pain.
The water bath is quite deep, allowing me to easily immerse myself up to my shoulders. How many seconds, how many tens of seconds can I stay submerged? I float in a world of sensations, simply breathing. The light underwater is dazzling.
At a certain moment, my breath becomes chilly. The cold breath flows from my throat to my nose, passing through my forehead and entering my mind. A refreshing sensation. This signals me to get out of the water bath.
I quickly wipe off the water from my body and move towards the open-air bathing area located further inside. I pass through the corridor and step into the outdoor space. The outdoor bathing area is enclosed by beige-colored louver walls, with no roof. There are seven white chairs placed where one can sit comfortably. Men are sitting on them, each in their own thoughts. Luckily, there was one chair available.
I slowly lower myself onto the chair and gaze up at the sky. A sensation as if my head is detached from the back of my skull. Feeling a gentle floating sensation, I see a square-shaped sky right in front of me. After a while, my consciousness starts to float up towards the sky, and I have a strange sensation of looking down from above at this space enclosed by just one wall, amidst the bustling streets of Kinshicho, Tokyo. In that moment, this place, cut off from the metropolis of Tokyo, and this fleeting instant, felt incredibly precious to me.
The sight of unfamiliar men lined up in a state of reverie would normally appear strange. However, in this moment, I feel connected to them through a sense of bliss. I am deeply and profoundly at peace. To the unknown men I met in a corner of Kinshicho, Tokyo, I hope happiness and serenity will find their way to them.
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As I pass through the noren curtain, it is already beginning to darken outside. I feel a indescribable sense of pleasure, as if I have returned to the real world.
As I start walking, a thought suddenly occurs to me.
There are various “differences” scattered here. In other words, these are the small surprises I felt here. Could it be that they amplify the astonishment we feel when entering the sauna, stepping into the cold water bath, or leaving the water bath for the outdoor bathing area? Could that be the reason why this sauna is so deeply harmonizing? With such a hypothetical and answerless idea in mind, I turn my gaze back towards the building I was in just moments ago.
In the dimly lit alley, the sign of “Koganeyu” quietly shines.
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