LONG LIFE AND HAPPINESS IN JAPAN'S SUNSHINE ISLES
Okinawa is part of Japan, says Teresa Machan, but with the best bits of other Asian neighbours added
in
We were halfway to Coconut Moon, a beach bar owned by Kiyomasa Higa, Japan's godfather of rock,
when the taxi radio crackled into action. Coconut Moon was shut, having conceded defeat to Typhoon
Lupit. The locals had been praying for rain and they'd got it. Lupit, the first typhoon of the year, arrived
in Okinawa about two hours after we did. But while typhoons have scant regard for tourists, our driver
had it sussed. "You want awamori [a rice-based spirit]? Dancing?" After three days of lashing rain and
cancelled flights and ferries our bedraggled crowd was up for anything. And that's how we ended up in
Nakayuki (Little Break), an inconspicuous bar in the village of Onna, taking turns on a traditional threestringed guitar, eating dragon fruit, necking guava juice laced with awamori and "pushing the happiness"
until 3am. Sharing the love with locals has never been so much fun. Welcome to Japan's sub-tropical
alter ego. An island archipelago flung 1,000km across the Pacific, Okinawa is Japan, but not as we know
it. Even the Japanese regard Okinawa as exotically foreign, and until its annexation to mainland Japan as
Okinawa Prefecture in 1879, it was exactly that. The Ryukyu Kingdom was for centuries a self-governing
tributary state to China, before being invaded by the mainland Satsuma clan at the start of the 17th
century. The capital Naha, midway down the island chain on the main island, is closer to the tip of the
Philippines than it is to Tokyo and on a clear day, from the southernmost island, Yonaguni, it's possible
to see Taiwan, 111km away. If you're looking for quintessential Japan you won't find it here, but
Okinawa's bizarre mish-mash of influences makes an interesting ride. Among its biggest draws are the
people. A happy, welcoming if endearingly bonkers lot, the dark-skinned Okinawans are an origindefying blend of South Pacific-meets-North Asia, with a dash of the Inuit for good measure. The rare
fusion of influences also permeates music, culture and dialect. Traditional music in Okinawa has
overtones of gamelan from Indonesia. Its stir-fries are comfortingly familiar. Chinese "lucky" cats litter
the streets, and Japan's clean architectural lines are hijacked by curlicued eves that infiltrate the roofs of
temples, castles and traditional houses. Where mainland Japan is conservative, Okinawa is carefree and
progressive. Tokyo's "salaryman" suits are replaced by kariyushi wear (the local version of the Hawaiian
shirt). These days Okinawa is regarded as a quirky, relatively hip outpost of Japan. Cult-obsessed
Japanese teenagers follow its underground music scene, and the annual Peaceful Love Festival draws
fans from across Asia. Inspired in part by the popular Japanese soap Churasan, set on one of its sundrenched islands, six million other Japanese tourists come to fling a Hello Kitty beach towel across one
of its hundreds of snow-white beaches, or to snorkel, dive and kayak around coral-fringed islands. A trip
to one of these islands (around 50 out of 160 are populated) is rewarded with a rare glimpse into a
sunny rural idyll. The shallow channel separating Iriomote and Yufujima is crossed by buffalo cart.
Ishigaki and its offshoot islands are home to a rare breed of beef cattle, ranked up there with Kobe. On
Kuroshima there are more cows than people. Miyakojima claims to have the best sea salt in the world –
with 18 minerals, it's listed in the Guinness Book of Records. Whales migrate to the stunning Kerama
Islands, 30km west of Naha, while croissant-shaped Minna, looped by snow-white sand, is a two-mile
kayak paddle or a 15-minute ferry ride away. Other islands, like far-flung Miyako, explored by 30,000
divers a year, are best reached via a short flight. Okinawan cuisine is among the healthiest in the world,
but a shaving of familiar pink stuff may find its way into your stir-fry. US forces, who fought in the Battle
of Okinawa of 1945, linger on in controversially spacious bases scattered across the islands and in their
sole culinary legacy – Spam. For all that Okinawa has borrowed from its neighbours, it has given the
world a whole lot more – not least a model for longevity, and one of its most popular forms of martial
art. This, after all, is the birthplace of Mr Miyagi, of Karate Kid fame. In Naha I paid a visit to Bunbukandojo, one of the numerous dojo (karate gyms) open to tourists. In the front yard I found the pint-sized,
grey-bearded sensei Nakamoto Masahiro – a 10th-level black belt master, author of numerous books
and one of the most revered karate sensei in the world – up a ladder, plucking bananas. There is only so
much fruit one can consume in the name of politeness – even in Japan. Five bananas down the line, I
was saved by the rain. Mr Nakamoto's protege ushered me into the drill hall, where he proceeded to
demonstrate "the alphabet of karate moves". My favourite, the knife chop, would go down a treat on
the mean streets of Tooting. Now and then Mr Nakamoto would tilt an elbow, or tweak a finger end, but
the best was yet to come with the 71-year-old's demonstration of kobudo, a quick-fire, terrifyingly
impressive martial art that uses weapons. In a small, one-room museum above the dojo that he has
dedicated to the preservation of kobudo, Mr Nakamoto expounded on the ancient art. During the
Ryukyu era, weapons were banned which gave birth to karate, which means "empty hands". The ancient
combative art of kobudo is regarded as the precursor to karate and uses everyday implements such as
hoes, oars and the tonfa – the wooden millstone handle that is the ancestor of the western truncheon.
Next time you come under attack on a farm, try the horseshoe technique – doof, right between the
eyes. On second thoughts, maybe not. Martial arts, climate, diet, and spirituality are all thought to
contribute towards Okinawa's freakish longevity statistics. Locals enjoy the highest life expectancy on
the planet, and is home to a remarkable number of centenarians. It pays to be adventurous with the
area's largely plant-based diet. Within 48 hours I had eaten pig's face (it's everything but the squeak
here), had a raw fish blow-torched at my table, wolfed down kilos of silky-smooth tofu (I hate tofu),
licked 15 types of salt and grown addicted to a certain salty ice-cream. An ubiquitous purple tuber called
imo goes down a treat in doughnut form, but the best place to sample Okinawa's bitter, bioflavonoidrich vegetables is at a small restaurant called Emi no Mise in the village of Ogimi, known for obvious
reasons as the "centenarian village". I didn't question the 15-dish seasonal longevity menu. I just ate it:
pond herring stewed with salt, seaweed tofu (reddish seaweed, carrot and skin of pig's face), handama
(a slimy, iron-packed green-and-purple vegetable) and chilled shikuwasa noodle, made with stringy,
crunchy seaweed, aloe vera and the juice of shikuwasa (a sort of citrus fruit). Washed down with locally
grown hibiscus tea, it was not bad for a tenner. The morning after the awamori love sharing, Lupit was
gone, leaving blue sky, a replenished water table and some foul hangovers in its wake. I didn't snorkel,
dive, hike or sea kayak around any of Okinawa's other 159 islands, but I did get an eyeful of them on the
flight back to Tokyo. The chances of coming home disappointed are, I reckon, pretty slim.