To drift off to sleep as nature intended, and to wake as nature intended. In modern society, is there any greater luxury than this?
I welcomed the start of August in Shiretoko. Opening my eyes, the light was already streaming past the curtains, and the powerful cries of seagulls echoed all the way into the room. What a wonderfully invigorating sound. The previous night, still basking in the afterglow of the extraordinary sauna experience at UNEUNA, I had apparently slipped into a deep sleep without even noticing. Glancing at the clock, it read 4:30. Both my head and my body felt refreshingly clear — almost unbelievably so.
The morning bath at Kitakobushi Shiretoko Hotel & Resort opens at 5:00. I slowly raised myself up on the bed and gazed out at the sweeping panorama of the Sea of Okhotsk beyond the window. Not a cloud in the sky — a perfect, clear morning. It looked as though I'd be able to enjoy an outdoor cool-down in the crisp morning air, with that magnificent view all to myself. Just thinking about it, I could feel my heart beginning to race.
At precisely 5:00, I made my way to the large communal bath, Oounabara. The men's side yesterday had been UNEUNA, but today the sides had switched, and it was KAKUUNA's turn. Stepping into the bathing area, I found that several other early risers had already gathered. Everyone had been too eager to wait for the morning view of the Sea of Okhotsk and the sauna. I understood that feeling completely — it hurt how well I understood it.
In a matter of seconds I'd shed my yukata and was standing before the large window of the indoor bath. Just as the day before, a vast expanse of blue ocean flooded my eyes. To be perfectly honest, the exhilaration of coming face to face with that breathtaking view beyond the glass is something I could experience again and again without ever tiring of it. I almost turned back to the changing room just to walk in all over again. But I had plenty of time until checkout at 11:00. Three sets before breakfast, three sets after — that was the plan settled.
I rinsed off and, at last, opened the door to KAKUUNA.
What greeted me was a world entirely unlike the soft, curving lines of yesterday's UNEUNA — a bold, linear space charged with strength and intention. The wooden interior featured a repeating pattern of triangular panels evoking drift ice, while the walls surrounding the stove rose with hexagonal stone columns expressing the lava that flows from a volcano. The sharp, razor-edged beauty of it made me catch my breath.
Sitting down on the bench, the window straight ahead framed the morning Sea of Okhotsk like a picture on a gallery wall. I felt as though I had wandered into the world of a beautiful photograph. The sauna stove read around 90°C, and an auto-löyly system activating every ten minutes quietly maintained the humidity.
The morning sauna draws out sweat more slowly than afternoon or evening sessions. But that is precisely what makes it good. The heat meets the body gradually, and you can feel each cell being commanded to wake up, one by one. In the silence, only the ambient sounds of Shiretoko's nature reached my ears softly, and little by little my heart rate began to climb.
As I had noticed the day before, a sign in the sauna room indicated that conversation was welcome. Yet not a single person uttered a word. Faced with this razor-honed design and the overwhelming scenery spreading beyond the glass, idle small talk would simply feel out of place. Everyone was focused solely on staying in this space as long as possible, absorbing the view before them, and finding their own stillness. Words were unnecessary.
After thoroughly heating my body in that state of absolute immersion, I moved to the cold plunge bath just outside the sauna room. Ninety centimeters deep, around 15°C. The moment I sank in up to my shoulders, the blood vessels in my just-woken body contracted sharply, and a cold that seemed to pierce straight through the top of my skull surged through every inch of me. Dragging my now perfectly alert body along, I headed up to the rooftop outdoor relaxation space, TOKONOU Terrace.
By good fortune, I had the rooftop entirely to myself.
An endless blue sky, and a calm sea stretching all the way to the horizon. Many birds circled overhead, and a fresh breeze swept through. Whether it was the clarity of the air, everything in sight was impossibly, beautifully transparent.
I sat in a chair and let the morning sea breeze of Shiretoko wash over my entire body. What an extraordinary feeling. I didn't want to move a single millimeter. In fact, I couldn't move. There was an illusion that the boundaries of my body might dissolve and I would simply become part of the Sea of Okhotsk. I could have stayed there forever, waiting until every last reserve of energy had been replenished. That is the kind of place it is.
After sitting there for a while, gazing blankly up at the sky, another guest came out onto the terrace. The instant he took in the view, he let out a quiet, heartfelt sigh — "Ahh... incredible..." — and then stood perfectly still, staring out at the sea. In all likelihood, everything he was feeling at that moment was an exact match for what I had been feeling. Yes — all in all, it was absolutely perfect.
Afterward, I completed the sublime loop three more times: the bold linear beauty of KAKUUNA, the deep cold plunge bath, and outdoor relaxation on TOKONOU Terrace. I had arrived at the large bath at 5:00, yet by the time I stepped out of the changing room, it was past 7:00.
With each set, a growing reluctance set in — especially during the outdoor cool-down, where an indescribable sadness came over me at the thought of no longer being part of that majestic landscape, and I found it nearly impossible to pull myself away from the terrace.
After finishing a full breakfast and resting in my room for a while, I made good on my promise and returned to the large communal bath. My mission: to complete an additional three sets before checkout. I wanted to wring every last drop of pleasure from this extraordinary experience right up until the moment I had to leave, so I could close the chapter with no regrets.
As a small aside — just before checkout, I received permission from the staff to photograph the bathing area as cleaning was beginning. And there, I found myself completely captivated by the meticulous care with which the staff cleaned every corner. They checked the drainage channels in fine detail, lifted the covers, and scrubbed every last inch to an immaculate finish.
The fact that I had not noticed a single unpleasant stain or odor during my entire stay was the result of this kind of quiet, diligent work carried out day after day. Behind our cries of "this is incredible" as we find our totonou, the souls of those who keep the facility alive are poured into every corner. That realization left me bowing my head in deep gratitude.
11:00. The time to check out had finally arrived.
Kitakobushi Shiretoko — a place I had longed to visit for years, quietly dreaming that one day I would make it here. Saying goodbye was achingly sad, but I could not stand still. My next destination was waiting.
So, where was I heading? The wheels would be rolling toward Nakashibetsu.
There, a rare and remarkable inn exists — one where you become completely one with the great natural world, as though dissolving into nature itself. A place I had burned with the desire to visit before I died.
That inn is called Yuyado Daiichi.
