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Picture this: I was sitting in a hot-spring-fed outdoor pool in my birthday suit, with my two naked teenage daughters on either side of me, both trying to stay underwater to protect their modesty.
In the gardens surrounding the pool, snow had settled, dusting the red-berry-laden heavenly bamboo shrubs, and merrily announcing that Christmas was in the air.
A mist was swirling over the mineral-rich water, steaming hot at 42 degrees, contrasting with the outside temperature of negative three. My girls ask, with rolled eyes: "Why are we doing this again, Mum?"
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"It's what the locals have been doing for hundreds of years," I answered cheerfully.
The pilgrim experience now ticked off, they tiptoed back to the dressing room, quietly giggling as they passed other naked hotel guests in the indoor geothermal pool. Back in the dressing room, they retrieved their colourful yukata and geta (robe and slippers) from the lockers.

































