The hidden Edo-era bathhouse that embodies Tokyo

There is no more intimate way to understand Tokyo's unique blend of past and present than shedding your clothes and engaging in "naked friendship" in this Edo-era insitution.

There are few cities where the future and past feel as present as in Tokyo. Neon-lit skyscrapers rise above centuries-old temples, bullet trains speed past meticulously tended Japanese gardens and robot cafes sit nearby family-run businesses that have existed for generations.

But there may be no better place to experience Tokyo's unique blend of innovation and ancient roots than inside Konparu-yu: a 163-year-old sento (public Japanese bathhouse).

Mizuki Uchiyama is a Japanese journalist who lived in Tokyo for more than 10 years and regularly returns. She has visited sento across Japan and visits Konparu-yu whenever she’s back in Tokyo.

First-time visitors could easily walk past Konparu-yu without noticing it. Hidden amidst a sea of modern glass towers, Michelin-starred restaurants and high-end department stores in the ritzy Ginza shopping district, a narrow side street leads to discreet doorway marked by a traditional lantern and a faded indigo noren curtain.

As I push past the noren, shed my clothes and sink naked into a steaming-hot tub, I begin one of the most uniquely Japanese experiences you can have.   

A 1,200-year-old tradition

Sento have played an important role in daily life among Japanese people for more than 1,200 years. Born during the spread of Buddhism in the 700s when cleansing one's body and spirit was thought to be an important duty to serve Buddha, these temple-shaped structures became particularly popular during the Edo period (1603-1868) and spread throughout the archipelago. Since most citizens didn't have private bathtubs at home, the local sento (literally: "coin bath") was a place to cleanse oneself relatively cheaply while socialising with friends and neighbours.

"In Edo, when society was sharply divided by class, bathhouses were among the few public places where samurai, merchants and labourers could bathe together," said Shinobu Machida, a researcher of Japanese bathhouse culture. "Samurai removed their swords before entering. Once people stepped into the bath, they returned to being simply human."

Centuries later, this sense of hadaka no tsukiai ("naked friendship"), where everyone is nude and equal, is still true at Konparu-yu. Outside, the world's largest metropolis might often feel frenetic and status-obsessed, but inside this Edo-era institution, watches and handbags disappear into lockers, job titles and salaries melt away in the steam and people from all walks of life sit nude in the same soothing water.

Over the years, I've shared steaming-hot baths at Konparu-yu with elderly regulars, white-collar office workers, young creatives and even the occasional visitor from overseas. Its tranquil tubs attract a perfect snapshot of life in Tokyo – past and present.

Entering Konparu-yu is also – quite literally – an immersion into Japanese culture. While no two sento are the same, visitors always follow the same time-honoured bathhouse etiquette: place your shoes and belongings in wooden lockers, wash yourself thoroughly and then enter a gender-divided........

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