Japan hosts annual Naked Festivals even winter with thousands of dudes running around in nothing but loincloths (if that). Thanks to the Tottori City website for this image.
“Hello, my name is Mac. I teach across the street at that technical high school and I love baseball. I help out the baseball team on Thursdays and Fridays by hitting fungoes and-”
“Wait a minute, I know you,” said the sharply-dressed man sitting to my right. “Do you remember me? We met at Poka Poka Hot Springs!”
It was hard to place him at the spa, because he hadn’t been wearing that smart, pinstriped suit and tie, nor had his wrist been adorned by a silver watch as it was now. If I had indeed met him at Poka Poka, then we had probably been stark naked.
“You said the exact same thing to an old man there,” the young man continued. “Then I jumped into the conversation. I remember it perfectly.”
I still envision memories organized like a Rolodex in my mind, and I doubt that I will ever digitize no matter how much technology improves. I spun the wheel, sent the white cards and blue tabs flying through the defined circle, and searched for his face and voice and for that experience.
Aha!
“It was raining, wasn’t it? We were on the outside patio and that old man was laughing at how much I was enjoying the rain,” I offered to the young man, who nodded excitedly.
“Well, I’m sorry my self-introduction isn’t more varied or thrilling. Nice to meet you with clothes on!”
Laughter bubbled up from around the room where about fifteen young people had gathered to get briefed about our upcoming day with Mountain Man. We were in the midst of going around the circle and introducing ourselves when Banker, the young, alpha male-type in the suit, interrupted me, sure that he had seen my face (and so much more) before.
Interestingly, that night at the hot springs was significant not only for the rain and conversation, but because I had also seen a former student of mine and had been unable to identify him for lack of clothing. Apparently, it works both ways.
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Japanese people most definitely have less shame about their naked bodies than do Americans. The same elements exist between the sexes, but the familiar rules dissipate when it’s all dudes or all gals (so I’ve heard . . . ).
One can observe the most obvious examples of this behavior in public baths and hot springs, where one enters, strips, enjoys the facilities, rinses, repeats, dresses, and returns to the rigid, clothed world.
Snazzy 'I Rabu Yuu' public bathhouse on Naoshima Island. Dig the pearl diver, tropical plants, and postcard collage design on the tub floor.
Many a foreigner has entered the bath house for the first time and been squeamish and hesitant to remove each and every article of clothing. It would be interesting to take a poll and see which is more embarrassing to them - being seen naked by strangers or being seen naked by friends.
I had no such choice upon my first experience. I went with two women, one of whom I would eventually have a relationship with for two years. When we arrived at the mountainside resort and strode up to the spa area, they peeled off to the right, and I went to the left alone.
A note: mixed, public bathing is a possibility, although I have never been to a hot spring that allows it. I’m not sure that would be such a great thing, anyway.
Once in the men’s area, I realized that I knew very little about how to bathe in public the Japanese way and had no familiar faces to ask. To the Rolodex I went, going back to second-year Japanese in college where I’m sure we brushed upon the subject or watched a video about hot springs. Wait, that was a short scene from Mr. Baseball with Tom Selleck.
Get nude, shower, then bathe. Since you have cleaned yourself with a shower, there is nothing creepy or dirty about sitting in the same water as a bunch of other guys, in theory. Make sure the hand towel you carry with you doesn’t touch the hot water, and you’re golden.
Most men hold the small towel strategically so that it’s covering their bits and pieces when they are not submerged. I didn’t know this that first time, and I slung the towel over my shoulder and strutted around like a peacock. It didn’t matter much as I wasn’t that interesting to the few other old men enjoying the hot spring.
The Monet on the ceiling was a nice touch at I Rabu Yuu. The elephant watching me bathe was not.
In general, the bathers are so relaxed that they hardly acknowledge each other’s presence. I have never encountered awkwardness or staring, and I now love these hot springs so much that I’m probably oblivious to any sideways glances or shielded whispers.
During the winter, I go at least once a week, usually on Friday nights to give myself a pat on the back for making it through another week of cold. On one such occasion, I ran into the members of a Korean professional baseball team on their way out of the hot spring. They trained in Kochi in February and I had gone to watch them practice and take notes. I cursed my luck for missing the chance to talk with them and get some information.
As luck would have it, a coach had lagged behind to take in the sauna one more time, and he came into the dressing room from the bath area as I was prepared to do the opposite. I asked him, in English, if he was affiliated with the ball club, and he introduced himself as the pitching coach.
We chatted a bit about Kochi and free agents, and then I asked him if he had a business card. I followed him to his locker and he presented me with a shiny SK Wyverns card while I passed mine over to him. I doubt that that will be the last time I exchange business cards with someone in the buff.
So, this convention exists in Japan and is a favorite topic for Japanese in “How do you like Japan?” conversations. It’s not so hard to understand - they believe that communal nakedness breaks down boundaries and fosters open communication. They also believe that about alcohol. It’s a pity that you have to get naked, drunk, or both to make connections with some people.
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The lax attitude toward showing skin appears at school quite often, and I am still taken aback when it occurs in more and more unexpected situations.
Last year’s seniors had a few extra classes after the final exam, and the few that showed up were hopelessly infected with senioritis. I couldn’t fathom why we would hold classes for them, but it was my job to come up with something for them to do. I had them write down three good memories and three bad memories from their three years in high school.
Of course, there were some very interesting responses (”One time I had to leave a midterm to go use the bathroom, and I used up all of my strength in there so I couldn’t stay awake for the last half of the test”).
More than a few IT students recounted the snowball fight they had had on their school trip to distant Matsuyama the previous winter. They went all out, building forts, stocking up ammunition, and planning attack formations. And they did all of that without the aid of winter wear; they attacked each other on a snowbank just outside of a hot spring. They had a snowball fight sans clothing.
Our school does not have locker rooms, but every student is required to change into PE gear when the time comes for their class to take to the gym or the communal ground. Boys simply change in class while girls head out to a shed that houses equipment for the volleyball and swimming clubs.
It’s slightly humorous when a class has PE right after English, because the chimes ring, the students do their Japanese class-ending ritual, and then whip their clothes off and start shouting about whatever sport it is they are playing next.
The few English classes that come right after PE are downright hilarious. The Japanese teacher (female) and I walk in as the chimes are ringing, and half of the students are in their underwear, applying deodorant and body spray, still dispensing the last bits of trash talk from the gym.
As they slowly put their clothes on and take out their English materials, the Japanese teacher takes roll and I stand there shaking my head. One or two boys will always sit there and complain about how hot and sweaty they are and basically refuse to get back into the school uniform.
Japanese teacher: Nakamura, put your pants on!
Nakamura: I don’t wanna. It’s so hot!
Japanese teacher: Everyone else has their pants on. You must put yours on, too. Let’s go, get ‘em on!
Nakamura: (nondescript grumbling)
Mac: (holding both hands over his mouth to stifle laughter)
Come on, when have you ever heard a middle-aged female teacher tell an 18-year-old man-child to put his pants on? I can’t even imagine what turn of events would lead to that verbal exchange in an American classroom.
Lots of boys roll their pants up like British knickers, and several loosen their belts while they sit down. It leads to some interesting situations if I call on a student to come to the front of the class and do something in English. While pants falling down and revealing Roger Rabbit underwear constitutes a nightmare for an American kid, it’s all a joke to these Japanese boys.
Speaking of underwear, Japanese people really seem to like situations where a man ends up in his skivvies or starts the scene or skit in revealing, skimpy clothing. A few comedians have that as part of their shtick, and of course life imitates art.
One of the events for Sports Day featured a few specially chosen teachers getting dressed down and then dressed up by students from each of the disciplines.
A couple groups had elaborate costumes and didn’t want the audience, which numbered in the hundreds of parents and friends, to see the process, so they brought curtains with them and shielded the teachers while they made them over.
Other groups, notably the civil engineers, delighted in stripping the teachers and leaving them out there half-naked while they slowly collected materials and re-dressed them. I honestly can’t recall whether I saw any of my favorite American teachers in a Speedo, but I’d think it would have taken some extraordinary circumstances to get to that point.
I’ve lost count of how many times that has happened in just over a year at this technical school.
I suppose the naked thing isn't so strange when you consider that some professional athletes dress like these guys. The masks are for special Sports Day entertainment.
The final example that pushed me into writing this piece happened last Friday, Home Day. Each homeroom planned a fieldtrip of some sort and executed it, and they do this twice a year. This is what I’m talking about when I say that this school takes any excuse not to hold regular classes.
I chose to hang out with the wildest of the wild, the not-so-civil engineers, in order to sit back and watch a teacher besides Ms. Inept run the show. They had planned a basketball tournament at the city gym across the street from the school followed by a barbecue down on the banks of Mirror River.
Students ride their bikes to any site within the Kochi City area for sports club practice or events like Home Day. After the basketball, the teachers gathered the unruly students and reminded them to wear their school uniforms and obey the laws of traffic on the way to the barbecue. Then, they turned the boys loose into the streets of Kochi.
Absolutely out of the question at mid-day on a Friday in California, isn’t it? Not here.
We met by the riverside and set up seven small barbecue grills underneath a bridge. The weather was perfect, about 80 degrees, and a cool breeze blew downstream and helped us light our coals.
Following the feast, a few boys brought out hard rubber baseballs and baseball gloves and played catch. I refrained, finally wiser for the experience.
Beneath the bridge and about 50 feet out into the river stood a large cement column supporting the bridge. A couple of boys thought it would be fun to see if they could throw the ball hard enough to make it bounce off the column and return to shore. They failed miserably and two of their balls started making their way toward the Pacific.
They pointed fingers and shoved each other toward the water until one kid finally had had enough. He shed his clothes and stood with his toes hanging over the cement bank, perhaps pondering the safety of what he was about to do.
The other 38 students crowded around, clad in their uniforms, snickering at the boy in his Mickey Mouse briefs about to jump into Mirror River. Old folks and mothers with toddlers passed by as they had been doing all afternoon, smiling and laughing at this harmless expression of youth.
Mickey Mouse Briefs left the ground and plopped into the river. He retrieved both balls and climbed out. Some students had stolen his clothes, but the prank had a fun feeling and I didn’t detect any malice at all.
The class leader thought that it was a fantastic time to take the class photo, so Mickey Mouse Briefs posed in front of the group, holding a ball and wearing nothing but a pair of Mickey Mouse briefs and a huge smile.
Civil engineers screwing around when they should be helping set up for Sports Day
I like wearing my birthday suit and dig the Japanese way of thinking about nudity.
I didn’t see that coming at all. I joined the marching band in my freshman year of high school because I thought I would have to take showers in front of everyone else if I took PE. I had a trumpet that I had gotten as a Christmas present and had taken two, maybe three lessons, but I would skirt the PE requirement if I marched in the band, so I took that way. True story.
I made it three days before realizing that I would have been just as naked goose-stepping around with a shiny trumpet in front of hundreds of spectators as I would have been in the showers changing out of sweaty, stinky gym clothes. I quit, and incidentally didn’t ever have to strip completely during those four years.
An episode involving wine, Munchies, an obnoxious drinking game, and a collapsing table changed my mind during college, but it took that first hot spring experience in Japan to fully realize the joy of removing social constraints and definitions along with my clothes and just chilling out.
I find the Japanese way in this area to be relaxing, refreshing, fun, and natural. Who’s on the next plane over here?
