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When you come to Kagawa, if you have the chance to visit Higashikagawa City, don’t miss this venerable shop that has continued since the Edo period and is one of the few still insisting on making wasanbon sugar in-house — Mitani Sugar Manufacturing.
People know wasanbon for its delicate, elegant sweetness, but what drew me most this time was its predecessor, shimoshita sugar. Shimoshita is made by pressing and boiling sugarcane until the sugar naturally crystallizes; its color is a deep brownish hue similar to unrefined brown sugar, and it has a rich, full-bodied flavor that never feels cloying. Skilled artisans repeatedly knead it by hand, press out the molasses, and work it on wooden trays called "bon," layer by layer, slowly transforming it into wasanbon that is snow-white and melts on the tongue.
In an age that prizes speed and efficiency, Mitani Sugar Manufacturing still keeps to a slow, careful rhythm, and that makes it especially moving. When you let a piece of wasanbon dissolve in your mouth, the first impression is the mellow depth left by the shimoshita, followed by a gentle, unfolding sweetness. This sweetness, carrying two centuries of history, makes you fall in love with it before you know it.
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Located at the foot of Mt. Okoji in Sanuki City, Kagawa Prefecture, and adjacent to the 88th temple of the Shikoku Pilgrimage, Okoji Temple, the Astronomical Telescope Museum is the world’s only museum dedicated exclusively to astronomical telescopes.
The museum cleverly repurposes an abandoned elementary school building. Former classrooms now display small telescopes donated by individuals, evoking a warm sense of history; the old indoor pool houses imposing large telescopes from observatories across the country. This blend of old and new creates a fantastical scene with striking visual impact.
With more than two hundred telescopes in its collection, the museum not only traces the development of astronomical observation in Japan but also brings together many classic models that people dreamed of owning as children. The staff focuses on restoration and active preservation so these instruments are not merely static antiques but ready-to-use tools that can be pointed at the night sky, captivating astronomy enthusiasts.
Around 125 dedicated volunteers run the museum, more than half of whom come from outside the prefecture. By day, the museum offers in-depth tours and hands-on workshops guiding visitors to observe sunspots; by night, it holds viewing sessions that use the collection’s telescopes to capture the splendor of the planets.
These instruments, once destined for retirement, are reborn here and lead visitors to look up again at the grandeur of the universe. In the mountain air far from city noise, the pure starlight is enough to make one forget the manmade neon of urban life.
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Every year on January 3rd, Yoda-dera Temple, the inner sanctum of the Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage, holds its New Year goma fire ritual. Goma is one of the most emblematic practices of the Shingon school, tracing its origins to ancient Indian fire offerings. By offering items to the flames and chanting mantras, the ritual symbolizes the burning away of worries, karmic obstacles, and impurities, transforming them into purification and the power of prayer.
We arrived at Yoda-dera around noon that day. The goma altar in front of the main hall had already been set up, and neatly stacked goma sticks waited quietly to be lit. Just after one o’clock, the mountain resounded with the low, distant sound of conch shells. Yamabushi in ceremonial robes blew the conches as they slowly walked toward the main hall, then chanted the Heart Sutra to Yakushi Nyorai, opening the ceremony.
After the sutra chanting, the monks and practitioners moved to the goma altar, marked the ritual boundary, established the protective enclosure, and performed rites facing the four directions to invite Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and guardian deities to descend and protect the site. As mantras and sutras rose and fell, the goma sticks were thrown into the fire in sequence. The flames grew stronger and the smoke shot into the sky, as if carrying the world’s wishes and prayers heavenward.
When all the goma sticks had burned away, the ritual opened for public worship. Visitors circled the goma altar in order, letting their bodies and clothing be touched by the smoke rising from the flames. The smoke is said to ward off misfortune and purify body and mind, bringing peace and health for the new year. Surrounded by swirling smoke, people pressed their hands together in silence, entrusting their wishes to the lingering warmth.
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A few years ago, around this same season, I visited Tamura Shrine in Kagawa Prefecture to pay my respects. This shrine was not only the highest-ranking shrine in old Sanuki Province, it is also the place of worship for Hotei among the Sanuki Seven Lucky Gods, often drawing many people who come to pray for improved fortune.
Beside the temizuya, a stack of special “mizu-uranai” fortune papers sat waiting. I was told that if you place the paper in water, the fortune slowly appears—mysterious and richly ceremonial.
The most striking sight was the vermilion, continuous torii pathway. In the center of the path stood a huge Sanuki lion head. Its gold-and-red lion face, solemn and ornate, symbolizes the local lion dance and vividly expresses the region’s character.
Since it was the year’s end, local people gathered old amulets and dolls in one spot to be taken to the shrine for a doll memorial ritual. That careful farewell to old items and the feelings they carried made the visit more than a tour of historic sites; it let me feel the local warmth and the community’s respect for tradition.
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Last Saturday I went with friends from Tokyo to Sanuki Mannou Park in Kagawa Prefecture to see a breathtaking winter light show. I had expected only a few scattered displays, but as soon as we stepped through the gate we were met by a dazzling sea of LED lights that turned the whole park into a dreamlike scene. They say the installation used as many as 650,000 bulbs, and the scale left us amazed!
This hilly area of about 3.2 square kilometers becomes a place of irresistible, camera-clicking beauty after dark. The stunning illumination is beloved by visitors and, thanks to its unique appeal, earned certification in 2024 as a Japan Night View Heritage Site in the Lighting Nightscape category. In the same year it also took fourth place in the Entertainment category at the International Lighting Design Awards.
Facing such a striking winter nightscape, I assumed the entrance fee would be steep. To my surprise, this spectacular winter event is very affordable: children under 15 enter free, adult tickets cost just 450 yen, plus a 300 yen parking fee. Such great value made us exclaim with delight! The lights dominate your view no matter where you walk, so it’s no wonder they have been a winter fixture in Kagawa for twenty years.
I’m so grateful to my friend for making it possible to experience this unforgettable show. The displays at Mannou Park may not be as varied or complex as those in big cities, but their ability to seize your attention and immerse you in a vast, romantic sea of lights makes the park an excellent winter destination worth a special trip.
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As soon as winter arrives, a box of tangerines always appears in a corner of the living room. That five-kilogram box is usually eaten down to the last fruit by my family in less than a week.
Datun Mountain in my hometown of Beitou District produces plenty of ponkan. Though the skin is thicker, the flesh is full and the sweet-tart balance makes them an essential offering during Lunar New Year rites.
By contrast, Japanese mikan are small and charming, especially the SS size that you can pop into your mouth whole. I often realize, to my surprise, that I’ve already eaten more than ten.
But my favorite is Obara Beniwase from Kagawa Prefecture. Its flavor closely resembles Beitou’s ponkan, with a perfectly balanced sweet and tartness that never grows tiresome.
Both the peel and flesh of Obara Beniwase are deeper and redder than those of ordinary tangerines, and it is said to be the most vividly red citrus in Japan. The top grade is called Sanuki Beni, with sweetness over 12.5, followed by the excellent Kintoki Beni, with sweetness above 11.5.
Sakaide City in Kagawa Prefecture is the main growing area for Obara Beniwase. Once, when I visited Shiramineji Temple, the 81st site on the Shikoku Pilgrimage, I stopped at an orchard at the foot of the mountain to pick tangerines. Looking at those glossy red-orange fruits in the sunlight awakened my appetite, and I ate several dozen at once, then brought home a large bag to enjoy slowly.
Perhaps because of all that, the box of tangerines that inevitably appears in a corner of my home each winter is more than a seasonal symbol; it is a small warmth in my heart that bridges Taiwan and Japan and ties together memories and flavor.
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Today I had the fortune to follow in the footsteps of local elders, experiencing a deep Shikoku ohenro pilgrimage by bus and on foot. We walked along several ancient ohenro paths from No. 86 Shido-ji Temple all the way to the final stop, No. 88 Okoji Temple.
On this journey through time, the elder recounted, as if naming familiar treasures, the origins and stories behind the guideposts and ohenro graves. His vivid explanations seemed to make the long years layered on these old roads reappear before our eyes, turning the pilgrimage into more than just walking.
In the past, when I hiked up the mountain, I used to take the path in front of the Ohenro Koryu Salon. This time, however, the elder first led us onto a little-known ancient trail that runs along the mountainside past the salon. Because few pilgrims use that old path, the ohenro graves along it have been preserved intact, serving as precious witnesses to history.
Next, we turned to another ohenro route that winds by the river near a settlement. This stretch shows the clearest traces of changing times— as the settlement grew and new roads were built, some of the directional stone markers were relocated, leaving their inscriptions pointing inexplicably elsewhere. The elder’s on-site explanations linked all those originally puzzling “misplaced” changes together at once, allowing us to keenly feel both the fascination and the frustrations of history.
Perhaps because of road construction and environmental changes, some of the ohenro graves that once lay scattered along the roadside and slopes were moved and gathered into one place.
This ohenro journey was not only a physical walk but also a deep conversation of the heart with history.
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Today I returned to Shōdoshima and visited Kankakei, famous for its magnificent scenery.
After taking the ropeway to the summit station, I walked toward the observation deck that overlooks the Seto Inland Sea. The maple leaves had mostly withered and begun to fall there, but the real surprise came on the hike down the mountain. Along that winding trail, both sides still displayed layers of brilliantly red maple trees, letting you fully immerse yourself in the autumnal beauty.
On the way down, we came across a signature piece from the 2022 art festival — the "Sphere of the Sky." Against the clear blue sky, the delicately perforated sphere stood out and blended perfectly with the surrounding nature, exuding remarkable artistic flair.
On the return trip, we paused briefly at Shodoshima Olive Park. I ordered a coffee and watched the Seto Inland Sea sparkle in the distance, enjoying a moment of idle reflection. At that moment, a small detail caught my eye: the mailbox there was painted a fresh olive green. Framed by the sea and sky, that unique color popped, adding a distinct, refreshing touch to the trip.
I hadn’t expected that visiting Shōdoshima again would not only let me relive past joys but also bring these unexpected delights and beauties, leaving many new and lasting memories.
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The Setouchi Triennale had already ended in early November, but my first visit to the western islands of Awashima, Ibukijima, and Hondo Island still felt refreshingly new.
Of the three islands, Ibukijima left the deepest impression on me.
Ibukijima is best known for the tiny dried fish that form the soul of Sanuki udon broth. However, more moving than any local specialty are the artworks displayed in the island’s unique Idebeya (communal birthing house) ruins—most notably Tree of Ibuki.
The Idebeya once served a function somewhat like Taiwan’s postpartum care centers. It is said that when a woman went into labor and the men of the household were out fishing, no one could stay home to care for her. So the community set up a space where expectant mothers could gather safely and focus on welcoming new life.
The theme of Tree of Ibuki symbolizes a mother’s womb and a rebirth, a shedding of the old self. The idea is profound, and standing inside the installation, looking out through kaleidoscopic mirrors, the layered views are intoxicating, as if you have entered another soft, tranquil world.
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