The Dip

I looked at the woman behind the desk.
She looked at me.
I looked at the little, little, tiny towel that she just handed me.
Chotto motte. Wait a minute! Wait a minute. This is not a towel. I know the sign says "Towel," but this is NOT a towel. A hand towel, maybe. A face cloth, maybe. A veil, maybe. An eye patch, maybe. But certainly not a bath towel. This teensy weensy towel can't possibly cover anything.

I looked at the woman behind the desk.
She looked at me.
"Chiisai des," (it's little), I said in Japanese.
She looked at me.
I looked at my backpack. I hope, I really hope that I packed my travel sewing kit. Certainly I did not want to offend any customs. But, maybe, just maybe, I could sew 2 or 3 or 37 of these small traditional towels together and create one big coverup, perfect for us more bashful types. Yes, that's it! I could make a toga. Or, better yet, a ghost costume. Next time I'm bringing a sheet.

I looked at the woman behind the desk.
She looked at me.
"It's my first time at an onsen," I said.

Yup. I was doing it. I was really doing it. I was actually going to try the highly popular Japanese onsen for the first time. A relaxing soak in a natural hot spring was exactly what my sore body needed after a day of skiing.

I was doing it. Well, actually, I wasn't doing it quite yet. First I needed to get over the fact that this women-only onsen was public. I will be soaking with strangers. And, that this onsen had a, ahem, bathing-suit-less custom. So, nothing was going to be between me and the hot spring bath except my Revlon lipstick, Ruby Radiance.

I looked at my friend who was already in the onsen.
She looked at me.
Be a mermaid, be a mermaid, be a mermaid, I said to myself.

And, after a few nervous minutes, I did it. Very slowly (it was hot!), I entered into a glorious, wonderful, extraordinary, picturesque, unbelievably hot outdoor onsen. I did it!

I looked at my friend.
She looked at me.
"The towel," my friend said to me as she pointed to my towel. I had put it on one of the granite rocks. (Where else are you supposed to put it?) "You are supposed to put it on top of your head. It will help keep you cool. You are not supposed to put it on the rocks."

"So...," I said after a few more minutes. I actually wasn't sure if you are supposed to chat in an onsen or not. But, it felt strange not to say anything. Here we were--a few foreigners and Japanese women together with dollop of towel on our heads. Here we were up to our chins in a hot spring. Here we were experiencing an onsen the, ahem, Japanese way. And, at some point, we were all going to have to get out of the bath and walk naturally to the dressing room. So, shouldn't we chat a bit first? Shouldn't we at least share addresses for a holiday card? Weren't we the sisterhood? The Sisterhood of the Suitless. The Sisterhood of the Brave. The Sisterhood of the Not-So Embarrassed. The Sisterhood of the Little Towel. But, what exactly do you talk about in an onsen? Clothes? The Billy's Boot Camp exercise DVD?

I looked at my friend.
She looked at me.
"So...," I said to my friend. "How do you cook your pot roast?"