Ise - Japan’s most ‘omotenashi’ destination?

I’m on a local train to Ise and, as lush rice paddies dotted with charmingly lopsided farmhouses roll by, it becomes clear that we’ve entered into what the Japanese call "inaka," roughly translatable as “the boonies.” It’s the first time I’ve been to this part of the country, which for me previously only existed in whimsical scenes from anime. But one thing is for sure - we’re not in Tokyo anymore.

Located in Mie Prefecture, in the eastern part of the dramatic Kii peninsula, Ise sits right at the rural heart of Japan’s main island, Honshu. The scenery from my window seat is bright and breathtaking, despite the April clouds, and photogenically empty of communications towers. It’s even more postcard-perfect when I step off the train at Ise-shi station - the quaint entry point to one of Japan’s most historical, sacred towns.

I’m on a press tour as part of the the town’s promotional efforts in the run up to the G7 summit, set to take place in Ise-Shima at the end of May. The Ise region hopes to benefit from an estimated 13 billion yen in tourist revenue as a result of the publicity generated, fitting in with the government’s plans to boost tourism to lesser-known areas of Japan.

At the station, the sole platform is decorated with obliging multi-language signposts leading to the tourist information center just outside of the entrance. In front, I hear music, spotting a group of people swaying to the right and left in perfect unison. I immediately assume it’s a welcome party for me and I’m just about to go over and high-five everyone when my interpreter Sayuri comes over with a wide smile. 

The dance, in actual fact, is just a random cultural event for visitors to enjoy on a weekday morning.

“It’s Awa-odori, a traditional Japanese dance,” says Sayuri casually, as if this kind of culturally interesting display happens everyday. 

I want to take pictures but we’re on a tight schedule, so I’m ushered into a picturesque wooden building - the press center - for a briefing before the tour. They’re impressively well-prepared, offering me an overflowing bag of leaflets, maps and CDs with all the information a newcomer to these parts could ever need.

As it turns out, Ise has been doing the whole tourism thing for centuries. Ise "onshi" were the Edo-period equivalent of travel agents, journeying around Japan to hand out religious charms, sharing stories and access information to encourage peasants to make the difficult trip to worship at the Ise Jingu, the holiest of holy shrines at the center of Ise.

Our first stop is for lunch. We wind along newly surfaced roads lined with Japanese cypress trees, the mountains peeking through the sunlit gaps, toward the scenic coastal area of Futami - the starting point of ritual purification for pilgrims heading to the Ise Jingu. 

Motomi, our guide, is waiting in a near-empty carpark and we walk along the seafront towards Taichiya, a generations-old restaurant serving an original pilgrim’s set of "kai-meshi" -- rice topped with steamed turban shell. Also on my lacquer tray is a generous helping of Ise udon, the local version of the thick Japanese noodle. The soy sauce broth is so dark it’s black.

“We boil the noodles for a long time to make them extremely soft,” says owner Hiroshi Irago who runs the restaurant with his wife Keiko. “It means that the udon is very easy to swallow which was good for the tired pilgrims when they arrived.”

 I spot evidence of this thoughtful hospitality everywhere in Ise -- from the easy-to-digest food to the navigable network of wide slate pathways around the town’s main sites to the generosity of the people.

“Throughout history, the people of Mie have been immensely welcoming of visitors,” writes Mie Prefecture Gov Eikei Suzuki in one of my tourist brochures. “This is why I contend that the famed concept of 'omotenashi' - Japanese-style hospitality - is rooted in Mie.”

 Ise’s "ometenashi," though, seems wholly different to the well-worn concept bandied about by the media since the Olympic bid. Here it feels more open, more accepting, less of a way to distinguish host from visitor but instead a bridge of connection across cultural boundaries.

Stuffed, we head to the Meoto-iwa or "Wedded rocks." (photo below). Two large rocks jut out from the sea just offshore, one slightly larger than the other, connected in matrimony by a thick rope. I spy a teenage couple taking a giggling selfie from the viewpoint at the adjacent Futami Okitama shrine - praying here is said to bring you luck in love.

Moving on, we stop by the Iwatokan Hotel to meet salt-maker Ryota who shows us his traditional techniques to create pure salt for religious offerings. Rice, water and salt are the three essential elements of life, Sayuri interprets, as Ryota reverently stirs one of three vats of bubbling seawater. When we leave, he presses a bag filled with holy salt into each of our hands. Nextdoor we get a brief tour of the Hinjitsukan, the grand former holiday home of the imperial family which now houses a museum and regular exhibitions. They let me sit in the emperor’s chair to enjoy his favorite view of the gardens. We listen in silence to the music of the water running through the rocks - “more of a rich person’s pastime,” Sayuri whispers to me.

Back in the car for the main event: the Ise Jingu itself. Arguably the most important religious site in Japan, the Ise Jingu is Shintoism distilled into a timeless, tranquil shrine complex. Nature and man exist in haiku-worthy harmony and its spiritual sovereignty is palpable. It is huge, encompassing one fifth of the town of Ise itself, and made up of two main parts, the Geku (outer) and Naiku (inner) shrines located about five kilometers apart.

This is where the mother goddess of Japan has reigned since the birth of a nation and she expects gratitude for her work. People come here to give thanks for daily blessings and give offerings rather than ask for their prayers to be answered. Since we were in a hurry, we went straight to the Naiku part though if you’re following the traditional route you should go to the Geku first.

A curved stone bridge leads from the entrance into the Naiku, crossing over the drinkably-clear waters of the Isuzu River thought to be the artery between the realm of the gods and the material world. I notice one side of the bridge is much whiter than the other - is this to do with the shrine’s purification powers, I ask, keen to show my spiritual understanding. 

“This is because of the gravel inside the shrine complex,” Motomi tells me. “People’s shoes collect the white dust and then drag it across the bridge.”

 Ah, I nod, disappointed. But it’s hard not to feel my soul being cleansed of worldly worries as we walk through the 2,000-year-old forest that shrouds the Naiku. Motomi points to the different rocks representing various "kami" (gods). They’re protected by what looks to be a series of gold-roofed chalets. There are 125 shrines within the Ise Jingu complex, each a unique and lauded example of pre-Buddhist architecture.

What strikes me is that all of the shrine buildings look brand new. 

“The shrine is taken down and rebuilt every 20 years in a ceremony known as the 'Shikinen Sengu,'” says Motomi. “The ritual has been going on for 1,300 years.”

Motomi explains that the repeated rebuilding is supposed to make the shrine eternal. Since the structures are made from wood, they need to be replaced so that the shrine can exist forever. In the process, skills to rebuild the shrine are passed down from generation to generation.

Leaving the Naiku, the soles of my shoes make white footprints on charming Oharai street leading away from the shrine. We take a break for some "akafuku mochi," the local sweet and a relatively new Ise invention at 300 years old. The waitress greets us with a bright grin despite being up since 4 a.m. to serve tea to the early shrine visitors.

I ask Motomi when the next shrine rebuild will take place. “Please come back in 2033!” she says and I have a feeling that she genuinely means it. “I would love to” I reply, knowing that I genuinely will.

© Japan Today