Sado: The Art of Experiential Learning
- Camille Kate Ancheta
- Dec 20, 2025
- 6 min read
Last August 3rd to 7th, I joined the Meaningful Life class trip to the remote island of Sado. Located off the coast of Niigata, Sado Island is renowned for being home to numerous bird species, including the crested ibis. Moreover, it’s also known for its Edo-period gold and silver mines and tub boats. However, for our fieldwork, we went further north of the island to the small coastal village of Kitaushima.
Sado Island Through My Own Lens
Traveling to Kitaushima took around six hours from Tokyo. First, we took the two-hour bullet train to Niigata. Then another two-hour ferry to Sado Island, followed by another two-hour bus ride to Onogame, a turtle-shaped monolithic rock. Finally, when we got off the bus, we walked for about thirty minutes to our lodge. As someone who was not used to traveling this long, it was indeed a tiring experience. One would expect that after almost six hours of travel time, walking around the hills in the pitch dark would be torture. However, this was not the case, as this thirty-minute hike became one of my cherished moments from this trip.
It was past seven in the evening when we started heading downhill. While walking, Professor William asked us to quiet down and listen to the sounds around us. I was not wearing any contact lenses during this time; hence, I could not visually distinguish my surroundings well. However, due to this, my sense of hearing became more sensitive to the noise surrounding us. I was able to hear overlapping noises made by insects. Professor Williams informed us that Sado was one place where a symphony created by different kinds of insects can still be heard, an encounter with biodiversity. Sadly, such places have increasingly been rare to find. Apart from the insects, I was able to hear the soft waves crashing onto the distant shoreline and the rattling of the grasses as they swayed in the wind. Although I was unable to see the stars twinkling above me clearly, I was glad I could utilize my other senses, apart from my eyes, something that resonates with Tsing’s idea of “The Art of Noticing” in her book The Mushroom at the End of the World.
Our first day on the island was greeted with great weather. Once the light showed the landscape we were in, it was clear that we were indeed far from the busy Tokyo streets. While the village was accessible by bus or car, it felt so remote that one could walk in the middle of the road without fear, as barely any cars passed by. Just a few flights of stairs led to a rocky beach; there I saw sea lice for the first time. Funny little creatures, they would scramble away quickly once you got near them. Observing, I couldn’t help but wonder whether life at Kitaushima was moving at a slow pace or at its own pace.
Life in Kitaushima: Lessons from Kitamura-san
We stayed at an inn right next to the sea and at the foot of a hill, a true embodiment of a Satoyama landscape. The inn was managed by Kitamura-san, whose family was one of the few that had lived in the village for generations. During our stay, we had the opportunity to taste local delicacies, including seaweeds such as iwa-nori, igoneri, and sazae, as well as turbine shells caught and cooked by Kitamura-san. I was always looking forward to breakfast every morning. Each spoonful felt oddly comforting, as if I were having my favorite meal, even though it was my first time having it.
On our second day, we had the chance to interview our host, Kitamura-san, about his life in Kitaushima. He told us that when he was young, there used to be over a hundred people living in the village. In the 60s, the road from Onogame to the village was built; Kitamura-san was one of the students who helped build the road. Today, the school he used to attend no longer exists, as the number of children has decreased and many have moved to the mainland. Other schools on the island rely on exchange students to fill their schools. However, this too has lessened nowadays.
The aging population of the village is one of the challenges places like Kitaushima face. We saw glimpses of this during our tour around the village when Professor Williams pointed out an abandoned garden, which, a few years ago, he said was still being taken care of by an older woman living there; now, no trace of the garden can be seen. Moreover, being elderly in a remote place poses many challenges. For instance, Kitamura-san struggles with a bad leg, making simple movements like climbing stairs difficult. Hearing about these issues made me wonder even more about how people like Kitamura-san continue living in the village. The answer came to me when Professor Williams told us that Kitamura-san was the only son in his family; however, he does not have an heir to inherit his properties and farm. Despite this, he has not panicked nor felt scrambled to do anything to change his situation. Instead, he lets life take its natural course. I think this mindset offers an interesting contrast to the social expectation of achieving as many milestones as possible before a certain age. Kitamura-san’s mindset reminds us that life has a way of unfolding on its own, and sometimes the best way to deal with it is to accept it rather than resist. Oddly enough, it's similar to swimming in the sea. Resisting the waves makes it more difficult for the swimmer; however, following their flow and rhythm makes swimming easier.
Speaking with Kitamura-san also changed some of my previous assumptions about living on a remote island. Previously, I thought people who lived in places like Kitaushima had little choice. They stayed there because their circumstances forced them to. However, this was not always the case. For example, although he now lives on the island, Kitamura-san used to work in Nihombashi, Tokyo. That’s where he learned how to cook different dishes. Moreover, I was able to personally speak to Kitamura-san during lunchtime on our first day. He told me stories of his travels outside of Japan to places like Bali and the United States. I realized that maybe living in a remote place isn’t always a matter of being forced by circumstance, but it can also be a personal choice. Perhaps through reasons such as wanting a slower life, a lower cost of living, or maybe even the idea that no matter where you are in the world, it will always be the place you call home.
Legends and Arts: The Japanese Folktale of Urashima-Taro
One of the reasons we came to Sado Island was to conduct a play as our final project. The chosen play was a Japanese folktale called Urashima-Taro. The story of Urashima-Taro perfectly matches our setting. Not far from our lodge was the Onogame; this was where we were dropped off by the bus on our first night. Onogame is a huge turtle-shaped rock that was pushed up. On top of the Onogame is a shrine that was dedicated to the dragon god, Ryuji, who was also one of the characters in our play. It was said that he protects the sailors and ensures safe voyages. On our third day the whole class even decided to climb up it; however, I was not able to reach the top as it was quite steep. Despite this, observing from below, one can really feel small compared to the sheer size of the Onogame.
One of the things that also piqued my curiosity when we came to Sado was how deeply connected the people were to nature. For example, Kitaushima is also known for being one of the three places in Japan where a traditional way of planting rice in a circle is done. This way of planting has also been an intangible cultural symbol. Although the common belief of this practice was that it was done to honor deities, some, like Kitamura-san, also think otherwise. For Kitamura-san, our host, although he does not believe in God in the Western sense, he believes that god, resides in nature. Hence, nature should be respected. Respecting nature was a central theme of our play. Urashima Taro serves as a cautionary tale to humanity, reminding us to consider nature as a living entity capable of bringing both wrath and fortune.
Coming to Sado Island, I didn’t build high expectations for what I would learn. I think this was a great thing, as it made me say yes more to a lot of firsts during the trip. For instance, I was able to slightly overcome my fear of heights when we had to cross a steep ledge in order to see one of the hidden swimming holes. Another was learning how to float in the sea. As someone who was always hesitant about trying new things, I felt so proud that I was able to do so despite being scared. Being in nature indeed felt like my inner child came out, and I was able to play, something I hadn’t been able to do growing up sheltered in a suburban neighborhood.
This whole trip was different from our previous trip to Kyoto in a good way. We didn’t have any experts to tell us how things work scientifically. Instead, we were able to draw on our own observations and listen to stories of people who live in the place. Something that Kitamura-san also mentioned was how one learns how to sustain oneself in a place like Kitaushima. In a way, I think this was the essence of doing fieldwork: experiential learning.
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