I've spent countless YouTube hours watching travelers wind their way through Japan's remote mountains in search of hidden onsen. Macaque conjures what I imagine in those moments before slipping into these natural hot springs: that sharp intake of breath as mountain air fills the lungs, a bracing brightness that stings like citrus without any trace of sweetness. Then comes the dry herbal/woody medicinal presence of cypress wood warming in the sun, and finally, the contemplative drift of incense carried on thermal currents. Its smoke is different here - softened and diffused by rising steam until it becomes almost tactile, like silk suspended in air. There's something sacred in this solitude of smoke and steam, something that recalls the aftermath of a hot shower but earthier, more ancient - less about soap than the quiet ritual of purification, with just a whisper of mineral-rich air. The lasting impression is of warmth remembered rather than felt, like late afternoon sun lingering after the day has begun to cool.