Ever so softly, I lowered myself into the milky pool of water, careful not to disturb the gathering of red apples having their own little meeting in the opposite corner. The warm water slowly enveloped me, draping over every nook of my body like silk.
Silky pool. Bobbing apples. Streams of spring water. The Aomori apple onsen easily marked the height of onsen luxury for me.
I finally let out a deep sigh, only then realising I had been holding my breath for quite a while.
Unsurprising, really. I tend to hold my breath whenever I step into an onsen. No matter how many times I visit one, there is always that lingering worry that I somehow stick out or disrupt the usual scene — or worse, that I am unwanted. In all my limited onsen experiences, I have still never met another brown woman. Maybe reason enough to take a Japan trip with Jik? Though I wonder whether I could convince her to go to an onsen with me.
Back to the Aomori apple onsen, the one I had looked around twice to confirm was truly all mine for the night.
With the sigh came a deep inhale, not just of the water’s warmth, but of the fragrant essential oils drifting through the steam. That was when I noticed the white herbal sachets floating quietly on the other side of the bath.
With time and aloneness, one inevitably becomes curious. I slowly drifted toward the apple conference, sitting among them until, before long, I was completely surrounded. They seemed to like me.
Perhaps it was no glamour effect, but those apples looked like the fullest, glossiest apples I had ever seen. They would make a good snack, I wondered. They seemed fresh, too, surely replaced regularly.
I got out before curiosity got the better of me.
But the effect lingered. My skin felt silky smooth for days afterwards.
What exactly is in the apples??
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[…] crunchier, almost comforting. It tasted bright like winter but also warm like an onsen, like Aomori […]