Forty thousand healings, a Ghibli bridge, shops frozen in the Showa era. And me, in the middle of Gunma’s mountains, a little too soaked but quite alive.
A village that looks like nothing, but heals everything
Shima Onsen isn’t really earned, it’s discovered. You arrive gently, by bus or by car, after a mountain road that winds between the trees. And then, without warning, the scene tips: wooden houses, century-old ryokan, a clear river, and the silence of an old sepia photo. You think you’ve stepped into an almost ordinary thermal village. Except no. Here, the water is said to have the power to cure forty thousand illnesses. The place’s name says so quite seriously: Shima (四万) is literally “forty thousand.”
But rather than overdo it, the village prefers to play the old-world charm card. Vermilion bridges, strange tunnels, signs from another century, and public baths open to all at any hour. Everything seems quiet, almost asleep… and then you notice something is off. In the best way.
The ryokan that could have housed gods
If you’ve seen Spirited Away, it’s impossible not to startle at the sight of the Sekizenkan. Its long building of dark wood, its red bridge, and its discreet tunnel resemble the Bathhouse of the Spirits in Miyazaki’s film to an uncanny degree. The Ghibli team denies any direct inspiration, but nobody’s fooled. Crossing that bridge at dusk, I had a doubt: am I still in the real world, or have I slipped into a scene from an animated film?
And as if that weren’t enough, the road leading to Shima is equipped with a musical-groove system. Yes, a road that sings. On the last few kilometres, your car plays Always With Me (the film’s theme) all by itself. That day, I cut the music, rolled down the windows, and just listened to the asphalt welcome me. A suspended moment.
A ryokan that has seen ghosts pass
The Sekizenkan isn’t just a potential film set, but a real ryokan founded in 1691, often cited as the oldest thermal hotel in Japan. Inside, you walk twisted corridors, on floors that creak with dignity. The windows are warped, the walls slightly tilted, time has left its trace on every wooden plank. I slept there one night (with a view of the river and private baths at midnight), and felt that even my dreams were coated with steam and black lacquer. There’s something in the atmosphere, a slightly haunted elegance, that stays with you longer than expected.
A bath for every mood
Shima Onsen is a thermal town where you don’t settle for a single bath. Here, you stack them: private baths in the inns, public baths in the village, free baths along the river. Some are open at any hour, like Kawara no Yu, a small outdoor stone basin where you immerse yourself for free, in silence, in dim light: just the hot water and the river as soundtrack.
The most touching may be Omomuso no Yu. A small free public bath, simple and almost austere, but laden with history: it’s here that the first miraculous spring is said to have sprung. There aren’t many people, but those who stop seem to be looking for something a little deeper than mere muscle relief.
Chihiro on the facade, Showa in the street
Coming back down toward the centre, you stumble into streets that have frozen time. Peeling signs, deserted game parlours, shop windows that smell of cold tobacco and dust. On one corner, a snack bar called “Joy” that seems to have closed the day before 1983. In front, an improbable line-up: a public bench with a Morinaga logo, a plastic lantern, a karaoke CD video sign. Everything looks left in place, but with care, as if the memory is being maintained.
And then there are these absences, these spaces between buildings, where you can sense that there once was something. Clean, tidy ruins, as if the houses had simply decided to leave elsewhere. The emptiness at Shima is as expressive as the objects.
Onsen to drink
If you’re playful, you can try a shot of drinkable onsen water. Yes, the thermal water can be drunk here. At Yuzuriha, a small wooden pavilion offers a hot drinking-water fountain, said to be good for the stomach. I tasted it. It’s… very particular. Lukewarm, slightly metallic, vaguely salty. Let’s say it’s not for pleasure. But then I followed up with a yakimanju, a grilled bun stuffed with bean paste, glazed with a sweet miso sauce. And there I understood: you needed the water to earn the reward.
Shima under light infusion
Shima Onsen isn’t a place to visit, it’s a place to infuse in. Nothing happens, and that’s precisely why something happens. In the evening, you walk through empty streets, bathed in a trembling orange light. A suspended bridge connects two buildings, like a passage to a parallel world. The baths steam gently in the cool air. No one speaks loudly. Even the cats are discreet.
After a few days, you find yourself no longer wanting to check the time. You lose your bearings a little, but you gain something else: a rare calm, a new lightness. Shima may not really cure forty thousand ailments. But it cures the noise of the world. And that’s already not nothing.
