The Art of Being a Guest

Tatami floors, kaiseki dinners, and futons laid while you bathe - what to expect from a traditional ryokan stay and why it costs what it costs

The first time I stayed at a ryokan, I made every mistake. Wore slippers on the tatami. Tried to tip the nakai. Showed up to dinner fifteen minutes late because I lost track of time in the bath. The staff corrected nothing directly - just gentle redirection, a slight pause, the dinner kept warm without comment. By the second night, I understood: the structure isn't restrictive. It's the point.

A ryokan is a traditional Japanese inn - tatami floors, sliding doors, futons laid out while you're at dinner, the whole choreographed experience. They range from austere temple lodgings to sprawling luxury properties where the kaiseki dinner alone costs more than a hotel room. What they share is a structure that hasn't changed much in centuries.

The Arrival Ritual

Check-in starts at 3pm, but arriving early isn't rude - it tells the staff you're here for the whole ritual, not just a bed. Staff meet you at the entrance. Shoes come off immediately. House slippers appear.

You're shown to your room while someone carries your bags. Tea and a small sweet wait on the low table. The room looks sparse - tatami, a scroll, maybe some flowers. The futon is hidden in a closet. Space is emptiness here, not absence.

Your nakai (room attendant) explains the schedule: bath times, dinner time, breakfast time. In traditional ryokan, this person looks after you specifically - serving meals, preparing the room, answering questions. Tipping isn't expected, but genuine thanks goes a long way.

The Bath Before Dinner

Ryokan with onsen (hot spring baths) expect you to bathe before dinner. It's not just cleanliness - the hot water marks a transition. Travel ends. The stay begins.

Bath procedure follows standard onsen rules: wash thoroughly at the shower stations before entering the water. Soap and shampoo are provided. Your small towel stays out of the bath (fold it on your head if you must). The large towel waits in the changing room.

Most ryokan have separate baths for men and women, sometimes rotating morning and evening so guests can try both. Some have private baths bookable by the hour - useful for families or anyone uncomfortable with communal bathing.

The water is hot. Hotter than you expect. Enter slowly, stay as long as you can stand it, then rest in the changing room before going again. Three rotations is traditional, though nobody counts.

Kaiseki Dinner

The meal is the centrepiece. Kaiseki is a multi-course dinner rooted in tea ceremony aesthetics - small dishes, seasonal ingredients, precise presentation. Expect eight to twelve courses served over two hours.

The sequence follows a logic: something to start (sakizuke), something raw (otsukuri), something grilled (yakimono), something simmered (nimono), rice to finish. Each course arrives individually, paced to your eating speed. The nakai watches and times the kitchen accordingly.

You don't order. The menu is set, determined by the chef and the season. Spring means bamboo shoots and fresh greens. Autumn brings matsutake mushrooms and persimmon. If you have dietary restrictions, mention them when booking - kaiseki accommodates vegetarians and allergies, but needs advance notice.

Dinner happens in your room or a private dining space. You sit on cushions at a low table. Your nakai serves each course, explains what you're eating, removes plates when you're done. It's attentive without being intrusive - the balance takes training.

Sleeping on the Floor

While you're at dinner, someone enters your room and transforms it. The low table moves aside. Futons emerge from the closet: a thick mattress, sheets, a duvet, a buckwheat pillow. By the time you return, the room has become a bedroom.

Futons are more comfortable than they look. The mattress has more padding than a camping roll, and the tatami beneath provides surprising support. If you need extra cushioning, most ryokan can provide additional layers.

The pillow takes adjustment. Buckwheat hulls rustle when you move. Some find this unbearable; others find it soothing. Softer pillows are available on request.

Night sounds differ from hotels. The building settles. Other guests walk corridors in slippers. Someone opens a screen door somewhere. Traditional construction doesn't prioritise soundproofing. Bring earplugs if you're sensitive.

Morning

Breakfast mirrors dinner in formality: multiple small dishes, grilled fish, miso soup, pickles, rice, maybe a small hot pot you cook at the table. It arrives around 8am unless you've requested otherwise.

After breakfast, the futons disappear while you're eating. The room returns to its daytime configuration. The transition happens invisibly. You never see anyone do it.

Check-out is typically 10am or 11am. Some guests squeeze in a final bath before leaving. The same staff who greeted you see you off at the door. The bow lasts until you're out of sight.

What It Costs

Ryokan pricing confuses visitors because rates include dinner and breakfast (called "1 night 2 meals" or ippaku nihonji). A room listed at ¥30,000 per person seems expensive until you realise that's accommodation plus a kaiseki dinner plus breakfast. The equivalent as separate purchases would cost more.

Budget ryokan start around ¥10,000-15,000 per person with simpler meals. Mid-range runs ¥20,000-35,000 - this is where quality peaks relative to price. Luxury properties charge ¥50,000-100,000+, and at that level you're paying for history, exclusivity, and kaiseki that approaches art.

Most ryokan price per person, not per room. Two people sharing costs double what one person pays. Solo travellers sometimes face surcharges or unavailable rooms - ryokan economics assume pairs.

The Purpose

A ryokan stay is structured leisure. You don't decide when to eat or where to sleep or how long to soak. You surrender planning in exchange for care. Everything is handled. You just have to show up.

The Japanese call this omotenashi - hospitality - but it's also a kind of permission. Permission to do nothing. Permission to let someone else manage the logistics. Permission to be a guest in the fullest sense.

Modern life makes us productive hosts of ourselves - always planning, always optimising. A ryokan removes that. For a night, for two nights, you live on someone else's schedule. You eat what's served. You sleep where they lay the futon. You wake when breakfast arrives.

And somehow, after years of running my own calendar, that sounds like rest.