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The Zen meditation teacher is speaking softly as he explains the path to enlightenment but I am not understanding. Perhaps this is because he’s speaking in Swedish. But as he gently strikes a gong, such a beautiful tone hangs in the air that I worry less about not having a clue. Perhaps, in fact, my Not Knowing is a supreme Zen state.

I’m in a yasuragi, a Japanese spa, but this is the Far North rather than Far East. Hasseludden sits on a forested headland beside a Baltic inlet just outside Stockholm. Built by Japanese architect Yoji Kasajima in the 70s, it took on its present incaranation as Scandinavia’s only Japanese spa in 1997.

If you're looking for links between Sweden and Japan to explain it, I suppose you could mention all the water and trees and a shared love of clean-lined design (dig that pale wood). Then there's the self-control and reserve - just think of the England boss, Zen Goran Erickson...

My suite has a name, Wa ("Peace"), and decor based on the Japanese principle of wabi, beauty in simplicity - an old Japanese wardrobe here, a bonsai there. There’s also a wet room/bathroom big enough, my welcome information tells me, to perform the Japanese bath ritual in. I make a mental note to ask reception what the Japanese bath ritual is.

Before plunging into the intricacies of the yasuragi way, though, I’m happy just to sit awhile on my little balcony gazing over the pines to the Baltic waters a few hundred yards down the slope. The scene could almost be something out of a Hokusai painting if it weren’t for the massive ferries gliding serenely in and out of the inlet at regular intervals en route to Helsinki and Tallinn rather than Osaka or Nagasaki.

As well as wabi, the Hasseludden credo speaks of sabi - "the indescribable elegance of an old and worn object". Being old and careworn, this is an idea I can connect with. For elegance, I rely on stylish swishing in my yukata, the thin Japanese robe worn from morning to night at Hasseludden. I ask what the Japanese character repeated in white lettering across its black fabric means. "’Happy’," I’m told. "We call it your ‘happy coat’."

I’m most happy sitting up to my neck in steaming water in Hasseludden’s outdoor "springs", shallow pools jutting out into the trees, lined with natural stone including boulders to rest your head, the clean Swedish air providing a delicious contrast to the heat on your body - as does a length or two in the vast cool pool inside

But before you can enjoy this bliss you must go through the bathing ritual. In Japan, you wash before immersion in their onsen (hot springs) and sento (public bath houses), purifying your soul as well as doing your bit to keep the water clean, and Hasseludden is no different.

I purify several times over the next couple of days, sitting naked on a wooden stool in the dimly-lit washroom to soap myself, working towards the heart as instructed, before dousing myself with water from a wooden bucket. Only then can you don togs and pad out to the pool, where one wooden wall is draped with a Japanese banner and two sides are lined with recliners to gaze out through huge windows at the forest.

To complement the water-based stuff, there are treatments and (optional) twice daily classes in Zen meditation, Qi Gong - a freer cousin of T’ai Chi - and Do In, which seems to involve boosting your circulation by slapping yourself!

Keen to span the Nordic Nippon spectrum with a couple of massages, I go for Shiatsu one day, Swedish the next, experiencing the yin and yang of touchy-feely, soothing flow followed by brutal kneading. But Jonas, I forgive you.

Of Hasseludden's trio of restaurants (including a Teppanyaki), the Little Tokyo sushi bar was my favourite, for its convenience just upstairs from the pool, and for a relaxed vibe and good value (three pieces each of sushi, gyoza and tempura at just over a tenner without the Japanese beer).

So what did I discover in my Zen state? Well, sitting zazen style can make your legs go numb after about 10 minutes. And a journey to pleasure can begin with a boat trip to a Swedish pier.

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