ASO, Japan — Lazily, fat raindrops start to fall — nothing more than a hint of a shower.
Yet, at this stage, cool drops on a red-hot, naked skin sweltering in subtropical air and scalding water shock the senses — an exhilarating thrill.
I'm lying on my back in an onsen pool continuously fed by slightly odorous, piping hot water from the surrounding volcanic range in central Kyushu, Japan's southern island.
On one side, a yellow-and-green caterpillar slowly makes its way up a flower in the ascetic Japanese garden surrounding the pool. On the other side, an elderly Japanese man is gently snoring, his body half-submerged. Beyond the garden's rocks, some farmers are working the bright-green rice paddies in the distance.
Besides the soothing snore and the steady plops of rain, nothing breaks the peace of the experience as every muscle in the body seems to go limp with contentment.
It's as good as an onsen bath gets — in summer at least. In winter, the sensation can be quite the reverse.
Close to Yamanouchi in the Japanese Alps a few years ago, I had joined a band of friends to visit the bathing monkeys of Jigokudani — a band of macaques who escape the snow and chill by merrily playing in the hot springs of the natural park.
After a long, tiring day of walking, we finally arrived at a traditional ryokan hotel in Shiga Kogen with its own onsen spring. Cold, numb and wet, we were all ready for some heat — but got more than we bargained for.
First, we were told to wash ourselves in a wooden cabin before slipping into the pool, an essential part of onsen etiquette. The water inside the male-only cabin was already so hot that it took several minutes to slip in.
Once neck-deep, we slowly waded outside into the mixed garden pool where the water just got more steaming as it came closer to the spring.
The view was stunning. Beyond the haze in the freezing air, all the trees, plants and rocks were covered in a thick coat of pristine snow, and beyond, the jagged peaks of the Japanese Alps pierced a steadily darkening sky.
The same hot-cold feeling as in Aso came when walking in the garden's snow until our toes got all frosty before dipping back in at the scalding end.
The pool was a lesson in onsen survival: You move, you burn.
Sit dead-still and the water on your skin seems to cool down just a little. Move and you hit new currents of heat. I would even cringe when another bather moved at the other side of the pool, in the knowledge that the currents it created would eventually hit my skin.
All this pleasure-and-pain stuff make onsen bathing an unforgettable experience.
It doesn't get worse afterward.
In Shiga Kogen, the owner invited us to a tea ceremony when our skin was still tingling with heat. Delicately carved apples were served with roasted tea by women in kimonos while the ethereal sound of string instruments filled the wooden room.
The day's experiences were enough to lull us to sleep on the train back to Nagano.
Not all hot baths are that romantically Japanese though. They can range from run-down tubs, plastic cups and concrete floors to Westernized displays of ostentatious marble.
A great place to find the whole gamut is in and around Beppu, on the other side of Kyushu island from Aso. Japan has more than 2,000 hot-spring areas dotted across the country, but what Vegas is to gambling Beppu is to onsen bathing, with some 3,000 hot springs.
Fully expecting a traditional Japanese "resort" because we had insufficiently studied the details, entry along the major highway from Oita left us agape. It was a succession of high-rises, modern hotels, garish advertising and seemingly everything you wanted to escape when coming to an onsen bath.
We needed a little perspective. Standing on a hill overlooking Beppu bay, white plumes of steam shot upward everywhere against a crystalline blue sky.
Some are so hot, bathing is strictly off-limits. Little wonder some clusters of springs are called "jigoku" — or burning hell.
Some of the onsen in the Kannawa district do bring back visions of a lost Japan, but overall, with its scores of tourists, we were happy to escape the overdose. Instead we wended our way up into the mountains and the national park beyond.
To find a good marriage between onsen and nature, travel the road crossing the island between Beppu and Aso.
The landscape is spectacular. High up there is the view of a smoking volcano, along the way you can stop for hiking, and in the valleys, green meadows suddenly give way to dangerous crevasses.
And more than once, you can catch a whiff of sulfur, straight from the bowels of Earth.
Onsen pop up all over the place, often in beautiful wooden buildings where the architecture is as refined as the food.
A good example was the Kanno Jigoku just off the road — a little stream running through the complex of baths, playfully hugging the rounded stones. Run your fingers along the stones though, and the smell of sulfur will long stay with you.
When the Belgian soccer team was looking for some extra inspiration over the summer during the World Cup, coach Robert Waseige promised an onsen bath would "make them new men in half an hour."
They must have picked a specifically sulfuric one since the players complained they still reeked of rotten egg after several showers.
Many traditional ryokan hotels know how to perfectly combine the joys of bath and table. The Four Seasons in Aso ryokan a few miles from Aso turns food into an art.
Seated on a tatami in a closed-off room, the hostess served us plate after plate of local delicacies, from the roe of sea urchin to raw sole presented in a flower design to tender bamboo shoots, grilled ever so lightly.
Sake, the Japanese rice wine, was cooled in bamboo goblets and served from a bamboo contraption so complicated it required the permanent presence of the hostess and plenty of bows and "domos" — thank yous — from us.
Kyushu island is gastronomic heaven. The sea is always close by, bringing a daily supply of the freshest fish for the raw treats of sushi and sashimi and the climate produces the greenest of pastures for cattle to graze.
Even the onsen springs have their gastronomic qualities since Beppu boasts a famous steamed pudding heated by white plumes from their "hell."
Kyushu is also known for its horse meat, abundance of vegetables, and rice paddies which produce great sake.
It all seemed to come together in the Sakamoto restaurant on the outskirts of Aso.
For carnivores, the local horse meat, served in thin slivers and challengingly raw, is a must, while vegans can start off with Dengaku — firm tofu on a stick, covered in a fermented bean topping before being grilled. Another vegetarian special was the sliced lotus root, served with cayenne ahead of an all-to-popular main dish — yakatori. It allows the guest to stew his own assortment of vegetables and meats with a soy-based sauce to douse the piping-hot pan in the middle of table.
Add a serving of deliciously tender Kobe beef, and it makes for a perfect evening, with a view of a fine Japanese garden thrown in for free. And you can cap it with local hot sake, one of the smoothest ever I've tasted.
Oh, one thing: Make sure to keep the knees moving every now and then under the low tables. Otherwise, stiffness might keep you there past closing time, unable to get up from the pillows.
The perfect remedy is, of course, to soak the knees in a hot onsen for a while.