In the cedar forests of Nikko, where the morning mists cling to the lacquered shrines, Tokugawa Ieyasu still governs, not as a warlord, but as an idea.

Tokugawa (1543-1616) founded the Tokugawa Shogunate, bringing lasting internal peace and introducing reforms; centralising authority, regulating public behaviour, and isolating Japan. The effects of these reforms can still be seen in modern Japan.

I've spent a morning hiking around Nikko exploring its Shogunal tombs and learning how Tokugawa was symbolically enshrined in Nikko to spiritually protect Tokyo (or Edo, as it was then called) from this northern kimon, or “demon gate.”

Thoroughly worn out by my hikes but keen to do something culturally relevant, I decide to treat myself to a bath in an authentic Japanese onsen.

What is an onsen?

As a result of its ample geothermal and volcanic activity, Japan is home to numerous hotels and ryokan (a Japanese inn) that feature naturally heated communal wash houses called onsen.

People gather at these onsen to perform their ablutions and enjoy a little relaxation at the same time.

After finding a suitable hotel with one such onsen, I change my footwear to a pair of complimentary flip-flops (far too small to be useful) before entering the changing room.

Here I spot a list of rules that I translate to English using my phone.

Rule 1 on the list is that mobile phones are forbidden in the changing room.

The rest of the rules are just slightly more severe versions of those you would find in any gym, but I spot that bathing suits are not allowed.

This rule is why men and women are separated at most onsen.

Preparing for a bath in public

Completely naked, I walk into what turns out to be a pre-onsen washroom.

There are a variety of wall-mounted shower heads at crotch height, and there are small plastic stools to perch on and cleanse oneself.

The vibe is different to the changing room in my gym back home, which to me seems the environment that most resembles an onsen.

There is much squatting, hunching, bending, slouching, and curling—vulnerable postures I'm not used to seeing a group of naked men assume.

In Western changing rooms, there is a lot less open nudity and a lot more uprightness.

The tension levels are higher, which results in lots of nervous glancing, loudness, and emulation of Greek statues.

Here, the patrons have tunnel vision for the processes of cleansing themselves.

There is no preoccupation with how they’re being perceived, or in perceiving others.

I imagine this stems from the compartmentalisation of body, bathing, and identity in Japanese culture.

While it's inaccurate to say that in Japan people care less, or are judged less, on their appearance, in the onsen, there is a dissociation between body and person.

As far as the physical form is concerned—let's just say that there are no comparisons, and no judgments are passed.

This is one of the major points of difference between Japanese and Western cultures.

In the West, the condition of our bodies is inescapably linked to our identity and desirability.

At its most extreme, physical traits such as strength, physique, and beauty become our value to society.

And we're not exempt from this, even in a changing room.

Perhaps this is all in part due to how power is viewed in the two cultures.

In Japan, power is frequently enough the reward for years of loyalty and subjugation.

Power is recognised, not asserted.

For example, when Tokugawa Ieyasu won the battle of Sekigahara in 1600, he became effectively the most powerful man in Japan.

Yet he waited three years for the Emperor to award him the Shogunate, rather than pounce on the opportunity immediately.

In the West, however, power is projected by the individual because society tacitly encourages bold assertiveness.

This often spills over, rather pettily, into the most inane aspects of life, such as getting changed.

Feeling very much "of" the West but determined to get stuck in, I pull up a tiny stool and sag down into it for a shower, praying it can bear my weight.

Attitudes towards nudity in Japan and the West

The onsen I am at is so shallow that in order to submerge their shoulders, the bathers must lay completely horizontal.

There are just three of us bathing, and as I lie in this crystal clear, undisturbed water with two naked Japanese men, I’m reminded that not all components of the male anatomy have the same buoyancy.

There is also a faint eggy smell.

Thankfully, neither myself nor my bathmates are the cause, rather it is a function of the high sulphur content caused by geothermal activity, which is how many onsen are heated.

As time passes, my anxiety fades and I begin to properly relax.

The mist coming off of the onsen, the trickle of fresh water pouring through a wide metal tap and the potted bamboo swaying in the breeze; all make for a deeply pleasant overture.

As my head clears, I try to reflect on why I was anxious before.

I'm visiting Japan for the first time trying out a new activity. I don’t speak the language or know the rules.

But this was true of sitting in seiza (a kneeling position) in a Shogunal tomb earlier, and I was quite comfortable doing that.

Clearly, it is the prolonged group nudity I’m not used to.

Though I've seen evidence of other stigmas in Japan, there seems to be no issue with same-sex nudity, and I wonder why I feel uneasy while they don't.

In the West, bathing and changing are generally done in private as a young child.

Then, at some key point, often around the start of high school and puberty, youngsters are thrust into changing rooms with their peers and told to get on with it.

Usually this happens without adult supervision, so it's understandable that children find the situation ambiguous on some level.

What is the purpose of the room? Is it just to get changed? Or is it also to mess about with your mates? To establish social hierarchy? Is it sexual?

Understandably, the ambiguity is anxiety-inducing.

There's no precedent as to how we ought to behave.

Should we quickly get changed and get on with the day?

Should we whip each other with towels, pull each other's towels off, make jokes about each other's weight, sexual orientation, and endowment? Should we hit each other?

With so little direction and so much unchecked anxiety, it's no wonder most teenagers will resort to protecting themselves by deflecting their anxiety onto others through the above actions.

In Japan, however, group nudity is habitual, familiar, and guided from a young age.

These men in the onsen with me (easily in their 50s) will have been taken to the onsen by their fathers, grandfathers, and uncles from a young age and shown how to behave.

There would never have been any ambiguity as to the purpose of being there.

A trusted older relative will have shown them where to put their bag, what shoes to wear, when, how to fold their towel, what order to cleanse oneself, where to look, when to talk and what to say.

All young men in a community will have received such prescriptive training in a supportive, unambiguous environment.

I'm sure rat-tailing would be swiftly reprimanded, and any knob jokes swiftly discouraged.

Tattooed people are forbidden. Sometimes

In Japanese culture, tattoos are associated with organised crime.

Consequently, tattooed people are forbidden from onsen.

Tattoos go against the ethos of an onsen, where the body is seen as separate from individual identity for the sole purpose of cleansing.

As tattoos individualize the body, they are perceived to break the feel of neutrality that onsen exist to evoke.

Despite all this, the forbidding of tattoos, or people with them, is notional, and how the rule is enforced varies from onsen to onsen.

Some will expel you for mere contact with the tattooist's gun, whereas others have odd and ambiguous acceptable size limits (e.g., 10 cm) that presumably refer to the longest dimension of the offending body art.

The good news is that, if you are a tattooed individual, all you need to circumvent this rule is some additional cash.

Many ryokan and hotels offer private onsen for hire where tattoos go unpoliced.

This made me smile, for if the official line is that tattooed people are forbidden due to the association between tattoos and gangs, then this is essentially an admission that ryokan allow criminals to bathe—their proprietors just want a cut.

In Japanese onsen etiquette, talking is kept to a minimum

While talking is not prohibited in onsen, there is an expectation to be respectful and maintain the calm and relaxing atmosphere for everybody.

Tokugawa Ieyasu ended the period of Sengoku (warring states) and set in motion essentially 250 years of peace in his nation.

He achieved this through strict hierarchy, ritualised obedience, and the promotion of emotional restraint.

Hot tempers, short fuses, and general loudness had no place in this new Japan.

These qualities were considered a threat to peace, and a person exhibiting them would be viewed as reckless and immature.

As I was thinking this, one of the bathers got up and left.

Afterwards, I somehow managed to flatten myself even more, leaving just my eyes and nostrils above the waterline, like a wallowing hippo.

While revelling in the likely prospect of soon having my very own private onsen, the other remaining occupant piped up with a familiar stream of consciousness.

“Where are you from?”

“Why are you here?”

“What is the weather like in the UK?”

“Manchester United?”

“Why don’t you like football?”

The banalities of football travel far and seem to transcend culture.

I suppose this man was a bit of a rule breaker, and had waited until we were alone to avoid the wrath of the other bather.

We established that he was local to Nikko and a regular at the onsen.

After I vetoed the topic of football (I really had travelled too far for that), I’d hoped to engage him in conversation about judo, or Japanese cuisine, or even the local history of shoguns.

But, to judge from his facial expression and curt answers, he felt the same way about those iconic cultural elements as I did about football.