Anonymous

21 Nov 2025

Field Notes
Field Trip #02: Seto Inland Sea


“Konnichiwa!” a group of students said loudly as we walked past each other on Takamishima Island. It happened again and again during the week I visited the autumn session of the Setouchi Triennale.

In all my visits to Japan, this was the first time I experienced passersby greeting one another so often. The Japanese are known to be polite and courteous, but speaking to strangers isn’t common in big cities like Tokyo or Osaka.


I stayed in Marugame, a small city in Kagawa Prefecture, which has the nearest port with ferries to the islands of the Seto Inland Sea. Life here is quite different from the big cities. There are few cars. Most get around on bicycles or buses, and they greet each other as they cross paths, especially on the islands, which rarely see visitors or travellers.

Despite what's been said online, there were no signs turning away non-locals or any passive-aggressive behaviour towards visitors. The people I met were genuinely surprised to see a traveller exploring their town and islands.

 _ During the week I was there, I could count on one hand the number of tourists I saw each day. Most of the people I did see were students cycling to and from school, and a handful of locals, young and old, boarding ferries to visit the artworks on the islands. There were few people and even fewer shops. It seemed like most locals either cooked at home and didn’t eat out, or travelled there just for work before returning to the suburbs. The shopping street, a 100-metre walk lined with small shops, was more than half empty. The ones still open were decorated with old signages and ornaments that looked like they’d been there since the 80s. Shops opened and closed early. After 6pm, the city became completely quiet, and you could go an entire evening without seeing anyone.
_Cycling paths connect the city with other small towns in Kagawa. On the few occasions I took a train, most of the passengers were elderly people and students. Instead of tapping in and out with a card, they carried concession passes, showing them to the station staff when entering and exiting. Train fares can sometimes cost as much as a meal, so it makes sense that the prefecture provides a concession card for locals. Most people travelled alone on the trains, some absorbed in their phones, others reading, and the rest sitting quietly without distractions.

The few adults I saw were mostly travelling to Takamatsu, a bigger and busier city with malls, international brands, and shops that stayed open late. It’s also where you’ll find the main ferry port, an international airport, offices, salarymen, and tourists.


Setouchi Triennale

This was my third visit to the Seto Inland Sea for the Setouchi Triennale, after coming in 2019 and again earlier this year in April for the spring session. The art festival spreads over more than 250 artworks across 17 islands and coastal areas. It runs for about three months, split into spring, summer, and autumn sessions. During the autumn session, the islands on the western side of the sea are open.

The Triennale was created to bring visitors to the islands of the Seto Inland Sea, where many young people had left for the cities in search of better job opportunities. Aside from the more well-known islands like Naoshima and Teshima, which are open year-round, the lesser-known islands are filled with art once every three years, turning them into a temporary network of galleries. Abandoned buildings are repurposed as exhibition spaces. Blue flags with the event branding mark ports and streets, showing where art can be found. The Triennale gives people a reason to explore the islands, streets, and alleys, while bringing much-needed tourism and income to the shrinking and aging local population.
Life on the islands

There are few places where you can see Japan’s ageing population as clearly as on these islands. Honjima has around 400 residents, while smaller ones like Takamishima have fewer than 30. Most people have lived there for decades and rarely travel to the mainland, only going once or twice a week when the ferry runs, to pick up groceries or run small errands. Across the four islands open during the autumn session, most people stayed indoors, and the few you met were often running small pop-up shops opened just for the Triennale, selling homemade food, drinks, or desserts to visitors.


My first visit in 2019 had a deep effect on me. I remember arriving on an island and seeing an old lady standing outside of her house with onigiri she had made laid out neatly on a makeshift table she had set up. I bought one from her, and she smiled and bowed again and again, as if to say thank you for being here. It was a small purchase, but it seemed to give her more than income. It gave her a little company and a sense of purpose for the day.

It reminded me that how and where we spend our time, attention, and money can make a difference to other people. It isn’t just about what food I want to eat, which restaurant I want to visit, or which shirts, shoes, or bags I want to buy. It became about who needs support to keep their business alive. So now, whenever I see a quiet or half-empty shop that might need a little business, I make a point to step inside.
_
The Triennale also creates temporary jobs for locals. Instead of machines, elderly residents run the ferry ticket booths. To buy a ticket to the next island, you hand over the exact change, and they place it into a small handmade envelope, write the amount and number of tickets sold on the front, then give you the stub. You could easily buy a ticket from a machine, but buying it from a person creates small moments of connection between visitors and locals. You can ask questions and learn about the place firsthand. It might seem like an old-fashioned way to sell tickets, but doing things the analog way isn’t about rejecting technology; it’s about keeping space for human interaction.

Having travelled here from Shanghai, some things might feel a little less convenient. There are no power banks for rent, few bike-sharing services, and no single app to book trains, buses, or ferries. The islands remain very much a cash-based society. But that seems to be the point.


Japan is often described as a place where people value privacy and doing things on their own. These small “inefficiencies”, like buying a ticket from a person instead of a machine, might feel like friction or outdated today, but they also create moments of human connection. They remind us that even in a world built for efficiency, we are part of an interconnected world.

Japanese hospitality is careful and considered, attentive to both big and small details. It shows in how the Triennale is organised: complimentary shuttle buses to and from the ferry port, wayfinding signs that are unobtrusive but clear when needed, tents for shelter, clean public bathrooms, and staff waving flags as the ferry departs. Every touchpoint has been thought through, creating an experience that feels seamless without drawing attention to itself.

_Peak Experience

Visiting the Triennale felt like a peak experience.
Travelling to see how locals live, to support small businesses, experiencing art housed in unused and unexpected spaces, and to discover lesser-known sides of the country instead of checking off places from a list. 

On the ferry back from the last island, looking out over the Seto Inland Sea, I couldn’t help but wonder what happens when there are no events. How will the islanders cope with rising sea levels or harsh winters? How many of the people, places, and shops will still be around in three years when the Triennale returns?

As record numbers of tourists flock to Japan’s popular cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto, the Triennale stands as one of several efforts to revitalise lesser-known regions. The Biwako Biennale in Shiga and the Aichi Triennale in Nagoya share a similar goal. I’ll be writing about those next.

Travel is a way to learn from and about the world. Field Trips is a new series of notes about the people and places we meet along the way.
—
Felix Ng
Co-founder, Anonymous
@felix.anonymous

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