The traditional Japanese onsen can be a confronting experience if you’re not used to casual nudity, but I’m nothing if not willing to try new things. The three-week tour of the country I had signed up for, along with two dozen other young men and women, stopped overnight at no less than two onsen hotels. The first was close to Tokyo, and busy. The amount of local eyes meant a decent chunk of our tour had to sit the baths out, because even the smallest tattoo was a huge taboo. The second one, a *shinkansen* ride into the countryside, we had to ourselves, and our local guide advised the owners would probably look the other way and not assume we were yakuza if those of us forbidden by little ankle, wrist and shoulder pieces (plus one guy with a full sleeve) decided to take a dip.
It may have helped attendance that we were a lot further into the trip by now, with the group’s comradery developed a lot further than it had been at the first resort. Also that the sake had flowed freely over dinner before we were led back to the hotel.