Untroubled Waters

In America, standing near a fourth-story, avenue-facing window with no clothes on in the afternoon would be considered indecent exposure. It probably would carry a stiff fine, maybe jail time.

Yet, there I was Sunday, naked as a babe, stepping into a Japanese public bath as buses sped by on the street below.

I was enjoying a luxury known here as onsen.

Now, my motel is not equipped with a public bath. In fact, when I inquired about onsen, the manager pointed to my bathroom sink and giggled.

So, I crashed the onsen at the hotel of a fellow journalist. While he was finishing up a story in his room, he suggested I take a dip.

He showed me upstairs and briefed me on the rules. There are coed baths, but the one in this hotel was strictly segregated (whew!).

Onsen is basically a hot tub without bubbles.

Bathing suits are frowned upon. In fact, they are not allowed. The basic deal is this: You strip down in a separate room, pile your belongings in a basket, then soap and shower before you get in.

Also, and this is important, no rubber duckies.

The water, frankly, is hot enough to curl your toes, but, once accustomed, I did manage to slip off into a dreamy, steamy state.

Everything was hokedokie--the Japanese word meaning fine and dandy--until the bath turned into Grand Central Station. I didn’t so much mind the first guy who dropped towel and dropped in, but I drew the line at the man who entered the bath with his two young sons.

Hey, I was as comfortable as any naked man would be in a pool with naked strangers, two of them under the age of 5.

I nervously asked the man the age of his younger son. He raised two fingers and then proceeded to dip the boy below his Mason-Dixon line, if you catch my drift.

Having three young sons of my own, I am well aware of what happens when you dip an unclothed 2-year-old into a vat of warm water.

It was at this point that I said sayonara and headed for the door.