Isawa Jinja

Izawa Jinja.

On a small peninsula in Mie Prefecture, accessible only by walking a coastal path through quiet forest, sits one of Japan's least visited First Shrines.

To reach it, you walk for twenty minutes along a narrow trail, between cliffs of dark stone and a sea so blue it seems painted. The path climbs gently. Pine branches lean over the way, salt-bleached. The Pacific extends to the horizon on your left.

When you arrive, the shrine is small. So small that the first reaction of many visitors is, "Is this really it?"

Yes. This is really it.

Most pilgrims come away with the same realization: the shrine is not the building. The shrine is the walk to get there. The salt air, the coastal trail, the sense of leaving the everyday world step by step until something in you quiets down. By the time you stand before the small main hall, you have already arrived at what you came for.

The deity here is, in old understanding, a young female figure connected to the dawn — to the morning sun rising over the sea. The bay below faces east. On certain days of the year, the sun rises directly out of the water and lights the path you walked in on.

Sit on the rocks above the sea after visiting. Let the salt air dry on your skin.

Some places are buildings. Some places are journeys. This one happens to be both, but it is much more the second.