Say you want to travel outside of Tokyo, whether you live in Japan or you’re just visiting. You’ve had enough of modern Tokyo and now you’re craving something more historical, more traditional. Enough “aw” at all the kawaii-ness, now you’re looking for “awe,” something more reverent and spiritual. So you go to Kyoto, perhaps Nara.
Both domestically and internationally, these ancient capitals are considered the most “Japanese-y,” where you can experience “true” Japan. Though such things shouldn’t be defined, and I oppose this essentialist view, I admit there’s a general consensus.
Map of the San’in region (Credit: Wikimedia Commons)
However, after visiting the San’in region this summer, I found myself thinking: maybe this is the version of Japan people are really hoping to see.
It’s difficult to explain the region’s specialness. While it might sound odd, to me it felt pagan (in a positive way). Let me explain.
San’in, the “Birthplace of Japan”?
Located in the southwest of Honshu and facing the Sea of Japan, the San’in region typically refers to the two prefectures of Shimane and Tottori. It was my first time visiting, and surprisingly, many of my Japanese friends had never been either. In fact, Shimane and Tottori are consistently ranked among the least-visited prefectures in all of Japan, both by domestic and international travelers.
However, it doesn’t mean the region is unknown. According to the Kojiki, Japan’s oldest surviving chronicle (completed in 712 AD), this is where the country began, not in the imperial palace of Tokyo or the grand ancient capital in present-day Nara, but in the Izumo area of present-day Shimane.
Izumo Taisha, Japan’s oldest shrine (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
Izumo Taisha, often considered Japan’s oldest and most important Shinto shrine, is dedicated to Okuninushi no Kami, the god of nation-building. The exact date of its founding is unclear, but it is the oldest known Shinto shrine.
In the traditional Japanese calendar, October is called Kannazuki (Month Without Gods) because it is believed that all the Shinto deities from across Japan leave their shrines to gather for an annual meeting. The meeting, of course, is held in the grand Izumo Taisha. Hence, in this region alone, October is known instead as Kamiarizuki (Month With Gods).
Miho Shrine in Matsue (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
Because of its foundational role in Japan’s creation myth, San’in is dotted with sacred shrines and mythic sites tied to these ancient stories. And yet, it remains off the radar for many travelers, especially those coming from abroad.
Perhaps that’s what makes it feel so untouched, even sacred. After spending time there, I thought: What a pity. It was one of the most unique places I’ve visited in Japan, deeply historical and spiritual, even for someone like me who isn’t religious. The presence of Shinto is so strong, it feels… well, pagan. Of course, Shinto is present all across Japan. But here, the sacredness feels older, wilder, mysterious and even eerily beautiful.
The “Pagan” Heart of Japan
I can’t possibly cover everything I saw in the San’in region, but what struck me most was the spiritual culture. Shrines aren’t new to me, but this trip felt like stepping into another realm. It was cinematic, like I was inside a film. And the whole time, the word that kept coming to mind was: pagan.
Tateiwa Shirine
The most unforgettable moment was my visit to Tateiwa Shrine. I noticed it on a map near my accommodation (which was itself a mountaintop temple dating back to 894AD). We decided to stop by, expecting another small countryside shrine. What we found was something entirely different.
Bamboo forest path to Tateiwa Shrine (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
At the roadside, there was only a small sign and a wooden box full of walking sticks, the kind you borrow for a steep mountain trail. It was near sunset. We stepped off the paved road into a narrow wooded path. The further we walked, the darker it became, the trees gradually turning to bamboo. Eventually, we arrived at a clearing. A vast bamboo forest surrounded me, and in the center stood three massive stones, each over 12 meters tall.
A shimenawa rope stretched between two trees, forming a sort of crafty torii gate. Strips of zigzag-shaped paper (shide) hung from ropes scattered around the stones. No shrine building, no staff, no one else in sight. Just the stones, the rope, the paper, the silence.
Sacred stones of Tateiwa Shrine (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
I got goosebumps. It was eerie and beautiful. My partner compared it to something out of The Blair Witch Project, which might not be the most “cultured” account, but it honestly fits. Except, this site has been worshipped for over 1,300 years. The rocks are the deity itself, and local residents still hold rain rituals here every September.
It felt ancient and almost sacrosanct, nothing like the clean, brightly painted shrines I’m used to. It was, without question, the most memorable shrine I’ve ever visited.
Mt. Daisen
The second moment came at the torchlight procession at Mt. Daisen in Tottori Prefecture. Standing at 1,729 meters, it’s known for its symmetrical shape, making it one of Japan’s “Kyodo Fuji” (local Fujis).
But what truly defines Daisen is its long history of worship. The mountain has been a spiritual center not only for Shinto, but also for Shugendo, a syncretic mountain religion blending Shinto, Esoteric Buddhism, Taoism, and local folk beliefs. This particular ceremony marks the annual summer opening of the mountain path, and it’s held to pray for climbers’ safety.
Torii gate of Okamiyama Shrine annex on Mt. Daisen (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
Daisenji Temple on Mt. Daisen (photo: Vickee Poon)
The torchlight procession begins at Ogamiyama Shrine’s annex. The main complex is at the base of the mountain, but the ceremony takes place at the summer shrine further up in the mountain at an elevation of 900 meters, already quite remote and far from any village. That’s where I was.
We were standing in the dark in front of the shrine gate, the stone steps wet with spring water, and the sound of insects filling the dusk. As it grew darker, suddenly, an orange glow reflected off the moss-covered stone lanterns flanking both sides of the mountain path—procession had begun. Priests and men in masks (some as tengu, the long-nosed spirits of Japanese folklore) led the way, followed by over 2,000 people holding flaming torches.
(photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
Together, they slowly descended the mountain path. It looked like a river of fire, snaking its way down through the woods. The procession seemed to go on forever, the fire never-ending. It felt ritualistic, even otherworldly.
It was somewhat mysterious, even eldritch, like Beltane. Yet once you arrive at the end of the procession near the foot of the mountain, there’s a bustling row of food vendors serving yakisoba, croquettes and local craft beer. After all, it reminded me that it is still a Japanese matsuri I’m familiar with.
Why San’in Felt Different
People love seeing traditional elements when they travel, right? It’s the same for me, whether I’m traveling abroad or within Japan. One thing I found myself thinking about during this trip is how much of what we now recognize as “Japanese” aesthetics are often shared among broader East Asia. Just like how Middle Eastern architecture shaped what we now think of as classic European architecture, Japanese architecture also carries deep continental influence. That alone is fascinating, seeing how styles traveled, evolved and were adopted. It gives you a sense of connection.
Torii gate of Kumano Jinja on Gongenjima in Uryu Harbor, an annex of Hinomisaki Jinja (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
But in San’in, I personally felt there were more “distinct” elements. For instance, many of the shrines I encountered were built in the taisha-zukuri style (other than Tateiwa, which has no built structure at all). This form of Shinto architecture predates the arrival of Buddhism in Japan and carries a more ancient aesthetic. It’s kind of like encountering the remnants of Runic or Druidic cultures in an area now shaped by Christianity, if that metaphor makes sense. I think that’s the “pagan” feeling I was picking up on. This goes beyond architecture; it extends to the wider spirituality.
Kagura, a Shinto ceremonial dance at Tachimushi Shrine and Mankusen Shrine (photo: Takeshi Dylan Sadachi)
Even as someone who isn’t religious, I’ve always enjoyed visiting shrines and temples when I travel, just like anyone would in Kyoto. I also grew up going to matsuri. However, something about San’in felt different, more mysterious. It gave me goosebumps in a way no other destination has. Since I came back, I’ve been telling everyone to visit nonstop, probably annoying them by now.
If you like traveling off the beaten path in Japan, you might also want to read:
Day or Weekend Trip From Tokyo? Escape to Southern Chiba
Ukai: The Ancient Japanese Art of Cormorant Fishing
Mikuni Minato: A Peaceful Port Town Away from the Crowds
