Traveling in Japan’s largest cities can be a test of mental endurance. The constant high-speed sensory overload coming at you from every angle, at first exhilarating, can eventually become exhausting. The blur of rush hour continues all day with trains, packed to bursting, empty into frenetic subway and railway stations on multiple levels. Endless waves of humanity add to the crush and din of the Japanese megalopolis as commuters scurry into crowded streets, busy offices and labyrinthine shopping arcades.

Everywhere you turn there’s another garish sign, rows of vending machines lining the concrete, slick black taxis creeping in the neon haze and parked bicycles crowding the sidewalks. In search of zen bliss or a photogenic temple, you move past the flashing colored lights, through the assault of noise and shopping crowds. This much stimulation can wear you down.

When it all gets to be too much and I start to feel like a hamster in a Habitrail and need to unwind, I drop into a Japanese bath house, known as sento.

Urban Japan can bring sensory overload.

Sento, whose Chinese characters mean “money” and “hot water,” originated in the Buddhist temples of 8th century Japan. Over time, sento evolved into centers for gathering, socializing and bathing. Until the 1970s, many homes in Japan did not have their own bath and so a daily visit to the sento was simply part of life's routine. Usually visited in the early evening, a trip to the sento was a way to relax at the end of the day, meet friends and enjoy a good scrub and hot soak in a large communal bath.

For the traveler in urban Japan, the sento provides the opportunity to refresh after a long day of shopping or sightseeing or before a night out in the neon jungle. I have also found, through months of painstaking research, that a visit to the sento is the perfect remedy for a sake-induced hangover.

Sento can be found throughout Japan from the smallest of fishing villages to the center of the biggest cities. In a smaller town, one looks for a prominent smokestack-like pipe emitting steam, but in most cities, it is best just to ask for a recommended sento.

There is a fairly rigid set of rules to be followed to ensure a pleasant and successful visit to a sento. Rule #1: Follow what the Japanese inside the bathhouse are doing. If they take off their shoes, you take off your shoes.

Usually there are small lockers with keys (don’t lose it!) outside the sento for storing shoes. At smaller local bath houses, customers may simply line their shoes up neatly (facing outward) at the entryway. If this is the case, leave your shoes there — they will be fine.

At the entrance to most sento, an attendant sits at a counter or bandai, accepting payment from customers. A typical sento costs around 350 yen (a little over US$ 3) with some sento charging additional fees for special baths or saunas. Extra fees vary from sento to sento, so ask if you are not sure.

As you enter the sento, you can also buy toiletries such as soap, shampoo, disposable razors and so forth, and, for a nominal fee, borrow bath towels.

After you have purchased your accoutrements, proceed to the changing room, usually just beyond the main entry. If there is any doubt as to which changing area you are entering, make sure the attendant sees you and they will certainly correct you if you are mistaken.