There’s a deep connection with the natural world on Japan’s Shima Peninsula, and as Explorer Elisha discovered, it helps keep long-standing traditions and customs alive despite the modern challenges.

 

You’d be forgiven for never having heard of Shima Peninsula in Japan; I know I hadn’t. Located south of Nagoya city in eastern Mie Prefecture, the peninsula is covered mostly by Ise-Shima National Park, one of 34 national parks in Japan. But this is not a national park as we know it in Australia.

It protects more than just the rolling hills and rugged coastline, but also encompasses the cities of Toba and Shima and the practices, traditions, and religious sites within it. While it may not be home to show-stopping attractions, Shima Peninsula has a subtle way of revealing itself to you. And after a week exploring the region, it taught me more about Japanese culture than perhaps any other place in the country could.

All Roads Lead to Ise Jingu

While I’d spent the previous week wandering the ancient pilgrimage trail of the Kumano Kodo, I kept hearing about Ise Jingu, the most sacred Shinto shrine in the country. So it was only fitting that I finished my trip to Japan in the Shima Peninsula.

 

 

The lesser-travelled Iseji Route of the Kumano Kodo extends along the east coast to Ise Jingu, which is where my time in Ise-Shima National Park began. Ise Jingu is a large complex that includes 125 shrines, centred around the two most important, Naiku (Inner Shrine) and Geku (Outer Shrine). There is nowhere more sacred in Japan than these shrines.

 

 

It’s hard not to like Shinto shrines. They have a distinctive peaceful aura thanks to the park-like setting and understated buildings blending into the natural environment. Even for the most important, the buildings are subtle, not elaborate or intricate like many religious complexes around the world. And this is quite deliberate.

Shintoism is defined by the symbiotic relationship between humans and nature. Rather than an established dogma, at its core the deities are believed to reside amongst the sea, the mountains, and the forest.

As we walked over the bridge and underneath the large timber torii gate signalling the entrance to Ise Jingu Geku, the forest grew thicker and the winding path led to the main shrine.

 

 

I found myself admiring the ancient trees that surrounded the buildings, some wide and tall enough to be hundreds of years old. And that’s kind of the point of Shinto shrines, to pay respect to the natural world as though it were filled with deities. It made me realise that an appreciation for nature is the oldest belief system that we have as humans, whether you come from Japan or Australia or elsewhere.

Believed to have been established over 1500 years ago, both the inner and outer shrines are pulled apart and rebuilt every 20 years. Every single part is replicated and rebuilt, with space already vacant beside the current shrines for the next rebuild scheduled for 2033. Why rebuild a perfectly fine shrine, you might wonder? We asked our guide the same question.

When none of us could guess correctly, Akiko explained that it’s so the traditional building techniques and tools are passed down to the next generation. This was a common theme throughout my time on Shima Peninsula – a strong desire to keep tradition alive and aligned with nature.

Working With Nature

We continued to travel along the southern coastline of Ise Bay dotted with small, rocky islands that are constantly thrashed by crashing waves. Tucked in between the ocean and the forested coast near Ise City, we were introduced to the 2,000-year-old tradition of making sea salt used for both rituals at Shinto shrines and in cooking traditional Japanese meals.

Momoki Ryota realised that when he makes salt, it’s with his heart and soul. ‘It’s like a spiritual practice’, Momoki explained with his warm smile. His passion for making sea salt comes from both his family connection to the product, but also in the spirituality of working with nature.

His small factory, Iwato Salt Factory in Futami, is located where the mountains meet the sea.

 

 

This gives his salt a unique taste and composition of minerals that nourish our bodies. But it’s more than just a tangible product to Momoki.

His mother introduced him to the tradition of making salt from the sea, and when she passed away a year ago, he was determined to continue making it in her honour. The water is boiled in a wood-fired kiln until it evaporates and crystallises, leaving behind granules that are then roasted and left to dry in a cool room.

This is certainly not mass production. Momoki works with ancient techniques of making salt that are closely in sync with nature. He notices the little things, like the fact that the taste changes from season to season and that the best salt is created at high tide during a full moon.

‘It’s not much of a profitable business’, Momoki explained. He believes the ‘deities are making the salt not humans’, because nature provides us with all that we need.

Underneath the Ocean

Standing on top of the Yokoyama Observatory Deck, I gazed over the uninterrupted view of Ago Bay, an intricate maze of islands scattered around the indented bay of Shima Peninsula.

 

 

The walking trails and viewpoints on this hillside provide some of the best views in the region and an appreciation for the beauty of the coastline that’s difficult to gauge at sea level.

Yet, it’s as much about what’s below the ocean’s surface here as much as the beauty of the landscapes above it. Aside from being home to Ise Jingu, Shima Peninsula is most well-known for freediving, pearl farming, and fishing.

 

 

I thought I’d already eaten more than enough seafood on my trip to Japan, but I wasn’t going to miss having lunch with an ama diver, so I had to find a second stomach.

‘Ama’, meaning sea woman, are Japanese free divers who have been collecting seafood and pearls for at least 2,000 years, but possibly even longer. We were greeted by Kimiyo, a 70-year-old multi-generational ama diver who’s been diving for 55 years.

While she laid out a seafood banquette that included spiny lobster, abalone, scallops, squid, sea urchin, and several types of fish, she explained what life as an ama diver is like.

They utilise traditional methods of freediving, no oxygen tanks, with simply, a wetsuit (although traditionally just a white cotton dress), a metal hook, and a floating timber bucket to collect their catch.

 

 

It’s always been a female role, because women are considered to have more body fat to withstand cold water. They’re so highly revered that local men were urged to marry ama divers, Kimiyo explained with a smile.

Their methodical approach is seen as a sustainable way of fishing. They dive predominantly seasonally, taking just what they can gather with their hands. However, the introduction of large-scale commercial fishing and the warming sea from climate change has meant being an ama diver isn’t much of a viable livelihood anymore.

In fact, Kimiyo’s daughter has moved to Osaka rather than continue the diving tradition in her family. Still, others have found the desire to join the ama and help keep the tradition alive. We also met Miyuki, a younger diver who moved from Osaka specifically to become a diver. She said the connection with the ocean was enough to encourage her to continue the practice as long as possible.

A Place to Embrace Tradition

Shima Peninsula may not instantly jump out to you; there are no snow-capped mountains or white sand beaches here. However, it’s a place that celebrates tradition almost everywhere you go and where the appreciation of nature runs deep from generation to generation. 

While so much of the world has lost touch with how our life is sustained by nature, there’s a deliberate attempt to celebrate the value of the natural world in Ise Shima through traditional techniques and practices. And I found this to be an inspiring effort in the face of modern challenges.

Dig Deeper Into Japan

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