During my second trip to Japan, that inner curiosity nudged me toward an experience I had long contemplated but never fully embraced—visiting an Onsen. For the uninitiated, an Onsen is a traditional Japanese hot spring bath, naturally heated by geothermal waters and deeply woven into the country’s culture of wellness, ritual, and respect.
Until then, I had only considered private Onsens—safe, enclosed, predictable. But travel has its own way of intervening. While in Shinjuku, I stumbled upon a sprawling, multi-storey Onsen establishment, and something within me decided it was time.
The journey began at the entrance, where shoes are removed and neatly placed into lockers—a small but symbolic act of leaving the outside world behind. At the reception, after paying the entry fee, I learned about the different levels and experiences: hot stone baths, mineral-rich hot spring pools, various saunas, relaxation lounges, massage rooms, and dining spaces. The facility was thoughtfully layered across floors, with separate bathing areas for men and women, each experience designed with quiet intention.
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I was handed a kit of clothes and guided inside. What opened up before me felt less like a bathhouse and more like a sanctuary. The lobby was expansive and calming, dotted with relaxation spaces. There were elegant vanity sections where women calmly prepared themselves, unhurried and unselfconscious. Beyond that lay the locker rooms, and further still—restaurants, lounges, saunas, and finally, the heart of the experience: the hot spring baths.
As a first-time visitor, every step felt ceremonial. The bathing area unfolded into different sections—each pool offering a distinct sensory experience. The silk bath was gentle and indulgent, wrapping the skin in a soft, almost velvety embrace. The pink magnesium salt bath stood out for its soothing warmth, melting away tension in ways words barely capture. And then there was the open-air Onsen.
That moment remains etched in me.
Lying naked in warm mineral water, facing the open sky, I felt a cool breeze brush against my skin while my body remained cocooned in heat. It was thrilling, vulnerable, and profoundly grounding all at once. Around me were other women—equally bare, equally at ease. No one spoke. There were no curious glances, no judgment, no comparison. Only an unspoken code of respect, silence, and peace.
For the first time, I stood fully present in my own body, without performance or apology. It was liberating in a way I had never anticipated. Japan has a remarkable way of teaching you—not through words, but through experience. In that stillness, I felt evolved, softened, and expanded. I told myself “This is You, Prerrna Agarwal, free, happy and evolved”.
I was in awe of the meticulous setup—the variety of warm pools, the harmony of design, the quiet reverence with which the space was held. But more than the architecture or the baths, what moved me most was that I was entirely with myself. The experience was tranquil, meditative, and deeply restorative. I found myself admiring my body with newfound tenderness, pampering my heart as I soaked in mineral-rich waters that felt almost sacred.
It was not just a bath. It was a reclamation.
This is one experience I truly believe every woman should allow herself at least once in her lifetime—not merely to bathe, but to unlearn, to release, and to rediscover freedom in its most natural form.
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