Okinawa: A world away

Shokichi Kina: Okinawan musical legend and peace activist
Shisa, the playful guardians of Okinawa
Practical information for getting around Okinawa

Venturing to Okinawa from mainland Japan, I was instantly struck by its shabbiness--a small, cluttered airport, old dingy buses, and a lot of rundown-looking buildings. But it was this very lack of modernity and luster, punctuated by palm trees, which instantly endeared it to me.

Also gone were the stiff interpersonal encounters and manners I'm accustomed to with most Japanese people, but in its place a friendly "outwardliness" which I've come to expect from tropical island cultures.

Our first evening on the main island, we caught a bus northbound along the western coast, stopping off at Tiger Beach for the first night. It was the beginning of Golden Week, one of Japan's busiest holiday seasons, so we encountered a roadside "restaurant", a recently assembled tent-like structure featuring twinkling Christmas lights, "The Eagles Live" booming in the background, and a friendly staff trying to coordinate themselves for the influx of holiday visitors, though there were only two other guests there. The limited menu of hot dogs, biifusuteki (beefsteak), and french fries, read "Beach Boys" at the top, and we took a chance on ordering "taco rice". Anywhere else in Japan, "taco" would have indicated "octopus", but in Okinawa, it was the makings of a taco salad on top of white rice.

The "owner" introduced himself, saying that he was a cab driver by day, hoping this side business would take off for the holidays and beyond. His looks intrigued me: dark skin, rounded eyes, and full lips. I had never met anyone from Okinawa so I ventured, "You look Malaysian," to which he proudly responded "Thank you!" He was indeed Okinawan, but I immediately sensed that he was content not to be associated with Japan, but rather with the East Asian neighbors whose cultural impact on Okinawa was as influential, or moreso, than that of Japan.

Okinawa, prior to the 17th century, flourished as the independent Ryukyu Kingdom, developing a unique cultural heritage linked not only to Japanese, but also to Chinese, Taiwanese, Thai, and even Indonesian influences. Ultimately, the Japanese moved toward unification of all of Japan, including the Ryukyu island chain in their conquest. Ryukyuans were subsequently persecuted and oppressed, the foremost example in recent history being the World War II battles which took place there, and the ensuing occupation by the Americans. Okinawa and its people were considered dispensable, so they were willingly sacrificed during and after the war. Okinawa was not "returned" to Japan until 1972, and still the argument continues regarding the presence of the US military there.

Military references aside, it is instantly apparent that Okinawa's economy suffers disproportionately to the rest of Japan. But most Okinawans would probably add that Okinawa has always suffered in such disproportion. Nonetheless, a light-hearted sense of pride Okinawans take in their culture seems to fuel the survival instinct that has helped it to remain relatively intact, despite domination and persecution from Japan, not to mention the omnipresence of the US military. No matter, Okinawa radiates Okinawa-ness.

Before continuing up the coast, we spent a morning exploring the delights of Ryukyu Village, where you can observe the making of handicrafts and catch glimpses of traditional Okinawan life in a "natural" setting. A man explained the different plants used in the dying processes for making yarn for traditional woven goods. We watched as he soaked the green indigo plant until the water turned a rich, deep blue. Three obaa-chan (old ladies) sitting on floor cushions in a traditional Okinawan "home" insisted we sit and have jasmine tea and chunks of black sugar candy with them. We made small talk in Japanese until one of them started speaking English to us (older Japanese on the mainland are rarely able to speak English), explaining she had worked on US military bases as a nanny for families that came and went over the years. We skipped the snake and mongoose battle (probable outcome), and caught the Okinawan music show and karate (born in Okinawa) demonstration, and on the way out we were greeted by a full regalia of eisa dancers and musicians parading around the center of the village.

Continuing our journey north, we arrived in Hentona, where we checked in at the Kunigami Hotel, run by an ojisan (middle-aged man), Mr.Sakihama, and his wife. Hentona is a tiny village with little to do, but a seeming surplus of butcher shops.

We ate dinner at La Cabana, a tiny Japanese-Peruvian restaurant nestled on a corner just around from Hotel Kunigami. The menu featured Okinawan noodle and rice dishes, Spanish-style, and it turned out the family running the operation had returned to Okinawa from Peru just five years earlier. They were second-generation Japanese-Peruvians whose parents were originally from Okinawa. The wife graciously offered to drive us to Okuma Beach the next morning, and we accepted.

If you head to Okuma Beach, you have two options: staying at the Okuma Beach Resort Hotel which, for only \10,000/night per person offers deluxe accommodations facing a peaceful, white sand beach on the South China Sea. The hotel offers a number of "courses"; for example, if you want meals included you choose one course, or if you want parasailing or other water sports or rentals included, you choose a different course, and the price goes up.

Your other option is to stay in Hentona for only \5,250/night per person, including breakfast. You can make your way to the beach by taxi, or for the heartier, on foot. If you prefer cheap, and getting to know the locals, then opting for minshuku (Japanese "homestay") is the best way to go. By the time we left Hotel Kunigami, Mr. and Mrs. Sakihama had become like our Okinawan "parents".

We felt we had the best of both worlds, as we spent our days at Okuma Beach and sampled the takoyaki (a doughy Octopus snack covered in sweet brown sauce) at the Okuma Beach Resort Hotel beach stand. When we were ready to go back to Hentona, the hotel concierge called us a taxi, though I'm not sure he knew we weren't guests of his hotel.

At breakfast one morning, Mr. Kasihama modestly boasted of famous things from Okinawa: the shisa, a mythical lion-dog which adorns rooftops and gateways throughout the Ryukyu Islands, the jamisen, a three-stringed wooden instrument with the twang of a banjo, Okinawan textiles and pottery, as well as satsumaiimo.

Sweet potatoes?

"You know satsumaiimo?" Mr. Sakihama asked, regarding one of Japan's delicacies. "Well actually, they were originally brought to Okinawa from China years ago. We cultivated and harvested them here, but then the Japanese came down from Kyushu and 'stole' them, took them back to Kagoshima and started growing them there. Now they're called 'Kagoshima satsumaiimo', famous all over Japan." He chuckled and shook his head, waiting to see whose side I was on, as it were, but I understood the sense of "loss" on the part of Okinawa. In Japan, every place seems to be "famous for" something, whether it's hot springs, or rice or sake or sweet bean cakes; there's always a claim to fame. Okinawa had lost one of its many rightful claims.

He continued to explain that a lot of Okinawan young people aren't concerned about their heritage, and many of them leave the islands, looking for work and education in big cities on the mainland. Opportunities are limited in Okinawa, and a lot of its "children" never come home.

Our last morning in Hentona I woke up at 6:00 and went down to the hotel lobby. Mrs. Kasihama was sitting outside reading the newspaper when suddenly at 6:30 a high-pitched melody and greeting sounded on loudspeakers throughout the village. It was the Hentona "morning wake-up alarm", she explained, and laughed as her dogs howled along with it.

I later ventured out to the Kunigami Forest park, a brisk 30-minute uphill hike rewarded by intermittent views of nearby islands and surrounding mountains. When I reached the top I found an entire population of campers, tents and tables set up, children and parents playing games and sports, and barbecues smoking. A large fortress-like structure offered the highest point to take in the surrounding vista.

Sweaty and tired from the hike up, I was picked up by a little old man who drove me back down to the hotel where I stopped to chat again with Mr. Sakihama. He was curious about my tattoos, wanting to understand why some foreigners decorated themselves in this way. In Japan, tattoos are associated with yakuza, the Japanese mafia, and often people with tattoos are forbidden from entering certain establishments, such as onsen (hot springs).

"You know," Mr.Sakihama leaned over the counter and said in a low voice, "if you ever see a really old Okinawan woman, 90 years or older, you don't see them much anymore...but if you do, look closely at their hands. A lot of them were tattooed with numbers and designs by Japanese men who came to Okinawa and claimed them as wives to be taken back to Japan. They were 'branded' so they wouldn't run away." There was a certain sadness in his voice.

Later that day, he helped us carry our bags to the bus stop down the street, where we said our goodbyes and headed back to Naha to spend our last night. On the bus ride back we could see the sea rising as the pouring, gusty rain splattered against the bus windows. A tsunami warning had been issued after an earthquake in Iomote-jima earlier that morning.

I watched out the window as we passed back by Minshuku Nakamura-so in Tiger Beach. Mrs. Nakamura had welcomed us our first evening in Okinawa and encouraged us to enjoy the beach in front of her place. She laughed in surprise that my mother liked natto (a pungent mixture of fermented soybeans), and she told us we looked like sisters. I remembered the weathered face of the old lady who lived next door who greeted us on the path by the beach and told us she had lost all her teeth because she told too many jokes.

"Ask the bus driver what those poles in the water are for," my mother nudged me as we inched along the coastal road.

"They're for growing seaweed," he said in English, glancing at us in his rearview mirror. The woman next to me got off at the next stop and asked the bus driver to make sure we knew where to get off. Almost to Naha, we rolled by the fading, old-timey roadside A&W root beer stand (the only one I'd ever seen in my life was somewhere near Kearney, Nebraska), planted next to noodle shops and signboards in Japanese.

It was these constant encounters with this bizarre blend of old and new, Japanese and American--coupled with the spirit and historical memory emanating from every Okinawan we met--attesting that Okinawa was indeed a world away from Japan.

This is a work in progress...

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