Experience Traditional Japanese Sento Bathhouses! Vol.3

┃The Wellness Benefits of Sento SENTO Community

Sento are often seen as an extension of the home, both for the families who have run these bathhouses for generations and for the people who visit them. When I step into a sento, I prepare myself to share that space and that moment with others bathing at the same time. This sharing can be explicit, through small conversations, or silent and implicit, simply through being together in the same warm water.

Personally, I attach great importance to greetings. When I enter the changing room or the bath area, I always offer a general konnichiwa or konbanwa, a domo to those already in the bath before stepping in, and finally an osaki ni followed by sayonara or oyasumi nasai depending on the time of day when I leave.

Back then, I often went to the bathhouse around the same hour, and naturally got to know the regulars. They recognized me, greeted me kindly each time I came, and sometimes even introduced me to people I had not met before. Little by little, I began to feel that I belonged to a community, the community of the bathhouse I frequented. I was a foreigner, but that no longer mattered. In the bath, stripped of all superfluous attributes, we are all the same. That naturally fosters communication with strangers, with regulars, and also in more intimate exchanges with friends, as if the bath were a place without masks, where one can open up freely. I deeply appreciate this invitation to honesty that seems inherent to the space.

After several years of visiting bathhouses all over Japan, I wanted to learn more about what goes on behind the scenes. I offered to help the couple who ran a sento near my home a few hours a week. My job was to stay at the reception desk two evenings a week for two hours, a routine I continued for six years. During those hours, I was the face of the sento, the one who welcomed customers, answered questions, guided newcomers, and often became a confidante. Through this experience, I discovered that for many people, the sento represents a true place of trust. Because most sento have been rooted in their neighborhoods for decades, often run by the same family for generations, a genuine bond has formed with the residents. Just as people can visit a temple or shrine in their neighborhood to reflect, they can find a similar comfort and quiet presence at the local sento.

During my first weeks at the front desk, the regulars were a bit surprised but amused. Still, I never sensed any reluctance regarding my foreign presence. I imagine they thought that if the bathhouse family trusted me enough to handle the reception and the cash register, then they could trust me too. Some even assumed I was the new wife of the owners’ son. Soon enough, everyone grew used to seeing me there. They would tell me about their day, their worries, small joys, or even ask for my opinion on their latest clothing purchase.

Community is therefore a key aspect when talking about sento. Since their beginnings, sento have brought people together, initially out of necessity for hygiene and comfort, and naturally a bond formed between residents and the families who owned the baths. It was a place one visited daily, where one met other neighbors, a bit like a bakery back home but more intimate. It is easy to imagine that the sento’s role quickly went beyond providing a simple service, becoming instead a true space for sharing. During the Edo period, some people even used their bath time for meetings, and though things are less formal today, that spirit has not changed much. Because sento have existed in the same neighborhoods for generations, surviving through many eras, they have become landmarks, emotional anchors for many locals. I have often heard regulars say, “I have been coming here since I was a child” or “I have been visiting this sento for fifty years.”
People know each other, cross paths, talk, exchange advice, help one another, even take part in raising each other’s children. It is a whole world that revolves around a bathhouse.
I often like to call sento “information stations.” For someone who has just moved to a new neighborhood, the sento is the perfect place to gather information from bathers who live nearby or from the owner, who often grew up in the area and has spent their entire life in that bathhouse. Likewise, when I travel around Japan, the first thing I do is visit the local sento. Not only does it soothe the fatigue of the journey, but it is also the best place to find local tips. Often, after a bath, I enjoy going to a restaurant recommended by the people I have met there.
Sento also play an important role in children’s education. From a young age, children are exposed to adults who are not part of their family, in a place where respect is a deeply held value. Regulars do not hesitate to gently teach children good manners. The same goes for adults, especially in big cities where people are busy and self-absorbed, often ignoring those around them. The basic rule of the sento is to share the space without disturbing others, which naturally encourages greater awareness and respect for the people nearby.
To make the most of your own sento experience, I invite you to take a look at the code of conduct described in a previous article.