My first tattoo – a flower on my lower back, dismissively dubbed a “tramp stamp” by pop culture – has long been a symbol of my complicated relationship with growing up. Once a youthful rebellion, it's now a quiet badge of honour for having survived adolescence.
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I’ve since added others, erased a few: Flames once licking up my forearms, lasered to shadow. The ink hurt less than the removal – physically, emotionally, even financially. But over time, my body and I made peace.
That said, my inked skin complicates a growing desire to experience the communal ways of hot spring bathing in Japan.
Despite changing tides, most public hot springs and shared facilities in ryokans still frown on tattoos. A few will accept guests if they cover them with stickers, but these accommodations remain a minority.
For heavily tattooed folks, full concealment is often required – a logistical and philosophical burden. After years of wrestling with shame over old body art, I’m tired of hiding.
Private onsen are a lovely compromise, but something is missing: The ritual, the rhythm, the quiet camaraderie of soaking shoulder to shoulder with strangers in healing water. The collective magic of it all.
I’d resigned myself to the fact that a “true” onsen experience was a closed door – that is, until I discovered entire onsen towns where tattoos aren’t taboo.
Photos: Lauryn Ishak
A seven-onsen spiritual circuit
Just two hours from Kyoto on the JR Limited Express, Kinosaki is more than an onsen town; it’s a pilgrimage site wrapped in springtime cherry blossoms and Edo-era charm. Here, soto-yu meguri – the tradition of bath-hopping in yukata (traditional robes) and wooden geta (slippers) – thrives, tattoos and all.
At the core of the town are the Seven Mystic Onsen: Satono-Yu, Jizō-Yu, Yanagi-Yu, Ichino-Yu, Goshōno-Yu, Mandara-Yu, and Kōno-Yu.
Each bathhouse offers not only distinct healing waters and architecture but also its own legend, providing a spiritual circuit as much as a physical one.
For those seeking deeper ritual, a short 20-minute hike to Onsenji Temple on Mount Daishi offers spiritual purification. Many make the ascent to receive a yu-shaku, a wooden bathing ladle that in the old days served as one’s entry ticket to the hot springs, and pay homage to Dōchi Shōnin, the monk who prayed for 1,000 days for the healing waters that eventually became Mandara-Yu.
Located closest to the temple, Mandara-Yu’s open-air ceramic barrel baths are where many begin their Kinosaki onsen journey, gazing over the mountainside and into myth.
Photos: Lauryn Ishak
Meanwhile, Dōgo Onsen, one of Japan’s oldest bathhouses, pulses with centuries of murmured stories and quiet heat. Legend has it that a wounded egret discovered the healing waters here over a thousand years ago. The building itself, all sloped roofs and faded grandeur, looks like it should be hosting ghosts of Meiji-era poets – and maybe it does.
Here, there are no stickers, no awkward glances, just submerging into waters once shared by emperors and commoners alike.
Access to Dōgo is through Matsuyama. Dōgo Onsen Station is a few minutes by tram from JR Matsuyama Station or Matsuyama-shi Station.
Where tradition meets technology
Kusatsu Onsen, high in the mountains of Gunma Prefecture, is a powerhouse of healing waters and ancient tradition. Steam rises like breath from its iconic Yubatake – giant wooden sluices channelling strongly acidic, mineral-rich spring water through the heart of town.
In winter, it glows softly under lantern light, while just steps away, the Yumomi ritual continues year-round at Netsu-no-Yu. Women in traditional dress stir the scalding water with large wooden paddles, moving to the rhythm of old folk songs in a centuries-old performance that honours the springs themselves. Some sessions even invite visitors, tattoos and all, to join in.
Photo: Lauryn Ishak
Among the town’s fully tattoo-friendly public baths, Sai-no-kawara is the most visually dramatic, with wide open-air pools flanked by volcanic rock and forest, while Goza-no-Yu is a deeply elegant reconstructed Edo-era bathhouse where even the silence feels carefully curated.
Kusatsu can be reached in just over two hours from Tokyo. From Ueno, you can take the JR Limited Express to Naganohara-Kusatsuguchi, then the JR Bus Kanto – a breathtaking mountainside ride through volcanic terrain and alpine air.
A remote respite
Then there’s Tsubame, a small, remote onsen in the highlands of Niigata Prefecture. One of the highlights here is Kawara-no-Yu, a free, konyoku (mixed-gender) outdoor bath built along the riverbed, where bathers are surrounded by trees, stone, and the sound of rushing water.
It’s a raw reminder of a freer, more intimate way to soak, where strangers share warmth without figurative and literal walls.
Getting there feels like a pilgrimage. From Tokyo, a shinkansen to Joetsumyoko, then the Myoko Haneuma Line to Sekiyama. The final stretch: A local bus that climbs through winding mountain roads, past waterfalls, moss-laced cliffs, and deer that flit like spirits into the dense forest.
When I arrive, no one asks about my tattoos. No one even looks. The silence here isn’t cold – it’s generous. I share a small bath at Ogon-no-Yu with two older women who say nothing, just nod as I enter. And that, in its quiet way, feels revolutionary.
In a country where ink still raises eyebrows, this place let mine vanish into the steam.
