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A M O S N AC H O U M
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the
Ryukyus
revealed An underwater city, a fountain of youth, a retreat
for the gods — these are the legends of the remote islands
of Japan. A rare trip there uncovers the truth.
S TORY BY T IM N EV IL L E
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O P P O S I T E , C L O C K W I S E F R O M T O P L E F T: J T B P H O T O / D R R . N E T;
DAV I D M C L A I N / AU R O R A ; S E A / A L A M Y; T H I S PAG E : A M O S N AC H O U M ;
for centuries people have made journeys like this one. poised
within easy sailing distance of Asia’s most rowdy ports, the Ryukyus have long
welcomed merchant ships that came to swap Siamese rice for Chinese porcelain
and goods flowing out of the Mongol trade routes to the west.
As a result of those crosscurrents, the once-independent Ryukyu kingdom
became a diverse mix of cultures. Chinese dragons still decorate Japanese-style
palaces. The drink of choice here, awamori, is made with Thai rice, which makes
it extremely potent. In a 20th-century twist, homes can look oddly American,
with blue siding, gables and porches.
By the 19th century the islands were firmly part of Japan. Today the Ryukyuans,
once fiercely suspicious, are so welcoming that it’s humbling. Young women sit at
our feet to check us in at hotels, and ticket agents line up on the tarmac to bow
goodbye to planes taking off. Back at a lively restaurant in Naha, I order a simple
bowl of tofu champuru, and the cooks, waiters, and dishwashers all thank me.
People begin to stir inside the cabin when the Queen’s engines calm to a
murmur. We glide past purple sea stacks plying the green water into Zamami,
an island in the Keramas. “Welcome, welcome!” says Hideyasu Mirahira when
we arrive at the Patio Hotel, a place he started as a diving outfit in 1974. He’s
bouncing around on wiry legs, tending to azalea hybrids, wispy sagari flowers
and birds of paradise that burst from his garden. His arms are braided with
muscle, his skin a rich caramel. People from this region of Japan enjoy the
longest lives on the planet: About 40 people per 100,000 live to be
The Ryukyus draw 100 years old. (In the U.S. it’s only 10 per 100,000.) I’m shocked
in the rare American
traveler with offerings to learn he’s nearly 70.
both above and below The accommodations, which include a western-style bed and metal
water, from the dives armoire, are simple but comfortable. About a dozen rooms frame a
to the waterfalls to the
people to the water patio that holds a traditional Okinawan boat built with bamboo dowels
buffalo rides. and a flat bow. Hideyasu’s grandfather used to paddle this for 12 hours
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DATAC R A F T / AG E F O T O
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to Naha to take salted fish to market. Inside the dining hall I find a snakeskin
OKINAWA
shamisen (a twangy three-string guitar) in the corner. It seems like everyone in the
Ryukyus can play this traditional instrument, especially late at night after a few JAPAN
rounds of Orion beer. In another cultural contrast, Emiko, Hideyasu’s wife, shows
ZAMAMI
us the fully automatic Italian espresso maker. She will serve us a breakfast in the
morning of miso soup and grilled fish-paste cakes.
“I hear you want to go diving,” Hideyasu says. He explains how we can see
RY U K Y U
a Japanese cannon destroyed in World War II, complete with coral-encrusted
ISLANDS
artillery shells scattered nearby. We opt to get our land legs first and rent a tiny
Daihatsu minivan for an island tour.
We roll along laneless streets, leaving the side door wide open. Kids with fish-
ing rods wave as we slip past concrete walls covered in moss. We pop into a small ISHIGAKI
restaurant over a school and slurp noodles while overlooking the bay where a few
YONAGUNI
humpacks from Alaska wandered in last year. Back in the car we ride up to the
K A R E N K AS M AU S K I / G E T T Y I M AG E S ; C H R I S W I L L S O N / A L A M Y
most stunning beaches we saw.
O P P O S I T E , C L O C K W I S E F R O M T O P L E F T: A M O S N AC H O U M ;
admiring flashing blue anemones that my companions eventually dispatch a woman Limestone cliffs frame gentle
from the beach to fetch me. “Your friends are ready,” she says, treading water. coves, some of which are so se-
A pox upon them. I bet no one ever told the gods to leave. cluded it’s an adventure scrambling
down cliffs to reach them. Particu-
larly impressive is the northern tip
but if i had known why i was being so unceremoniously dispatched of Agenashiku Island, about a mile
— to more completely explore the reef — I would have responded faster. The div- south of Zamami, for picnicking,
swimming and kayaking.
ing around Zamami comes in dazzling waves. The World War II cannon is stuck in
TASTE MAKING Be sure to
a coral canyon burgeoning with Moorish idols, jacks and a little orange firefish the try umi budo, a type of seaweed
Japanese call hatatate haze. But our next stop on the isolated western fringes of the that looks like miniature bunches
Ryukyus is what I’ve really been waiting for. We board a 737 back in Naha and wave of green grapes. Dipped in soy
sauce, it’s crunchy, refreshing and
goodbye to the baggage handlers bowing farewell. We’re skipping off to Yonaguni incredibly good for you (and prob-
Island, a rocky outpost about 315 miles southwest of Zamami. ably one of the reasons people
When the plane touches down, we can immediately see that Krosa, the typhoon live so long here).
that thwarted the ferries in Naha, was far fiercer here. It has (continued on page 104)
islands.com/ryukyu
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Z AC H S T OVA L L
enough of these horribly stinky yet ing that some gaijin, or foreigners, are gives us black lighters for gifts.
salty-delicious squid chips. We con- on the island. Snack Mami herself, an “Hey, live music!” I say as we wander
stantly feed yen into vending machines older lady with heavy makeup and one past another bar just two doors down.
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