Four Go Mad In Okinawa - Part Two

The next morning began with a vigorous stroll up to the first observation platform overlooking Zamami’s south-western bay designed for the purpose of whale-spotting. No whales at this time of year, mind. Intending to make the most of the blazing sunshine we were lucky enough to have been blessed with (even though I could feel it frying my pasty Caucasian skin from one minute to the next), we then opted for an afternoon by the beach.

This was an extremely good move. With snorkel kits and flippers hired from one of the several beachfront vendors, all four of us took to the gloriously clear waters for a close up look at some fish. There was some pretty amazing stuff to see down there, once my smoker’s lungs became acclimatised to the idea of breathing underwater and stopped hyperventilating of their own volition. Once they did, I was free to enjoy a cornucopia of aquatic attractions, even that pulsating stuff attached to coral that appears to be breathing, and in its own way probably is. The only slight downside was the frequency with which one would find oneself colliding underwater with someone else, both of you too busy gawping at that bloody big trout thing with the shimmering skin to see where you were going.

Sean and myself then went for a bit of a wander to case out some of the deserted beaches just out of sight of the main area. After potentially risking life and limb scaling the huge deposits of black rock and minerals that separated one beach from another, we found ourselves at one virtually resembling a lunar landscape, albeit a very sunny one.

After we returned, I got my first go on a banana boat with Mark and Melissa (great until you fall off, which only happened three times, to my surprise), soak my sun-ravaged skin in some cooling shade and tuck into a supremely dodgy ‘curry rice’. A hike back to town found us doing the rounds of three izakayas for some refreshing Orions, bracing awamoris and conscious avoidance of an Okinawan vegetable speciality going by the name of Goya. For all I know, it might be the main reason behind Okinawa’s extremely high life-expectancy rate but that doesn’t stop it being rather unpleasant. Thin, green, knobbly and bitter as hell, readers of Roald Dahl’s ‘The BFG’ are encouraged to call to mind the ‘snozzcumber’. Goya can be served in a number of ways, as part of a wide variety of dishes, all of them inedible.

Anyway, our final port of call was my bathroom refuge from the previous night, where Mark and Sean regaled our group and the business outing that were the only other patrons there with a particularly raucous karaoke workout. The latter lost points, however, for violently singing ‘I Will Survive’.

So, to Friday (if you’re still with me by this point, I truly salute you), and a very active day, all told. It began with us all kayaking out to one of the smaller islands off Zamami where we initially carried out an investigation of the deserted beaches for any signs of life, finding only a large number of hermit crabs clustered in a cave and a boat party from the mainland gathered beneath parasols.

From here, we paddled around a bit to a small cove, allowing access to a lighthouse we’d spotted on our walks at night. A 10-minute hike found us outside an imposing locked blast door, seemingly designed to withstand nuclear attack, attached to a tiny structure with a light at the top of it. The ones in Cornwall (like what Portland Bill had) are much better, if you ask me. Anyway, after lunch in the limited shade of this thing it was back to the boats and back to the mainland for a bit of a rest.

With Mark and Melissa looking to get in some more quality snorkelling time (I’d have gladly gone too, were it not for my dangerously pink shoulders and shins), Sean and myself kicked back at the campsite. Following a shower in the site’s toilet block, I had the dubious pleasure of encountering my first Japanese Hunting Spider on my way out – these are supposedly harmless and utterly terrified of humans (great hunter, eh?) but that didn’t stop this bastard from being absolutely F%)@&ING HUGE and scaring the life out of me. It was clinging to the wall above the sink, brown and about twice the size of a human hand, before it suddenly zipped away, up and into one of the toilet cubicles that had been mysteriously sealed with gaffer tape. Maybe that’s where its nest was. I shudder to think. Unfortunately, my camera wasn’t on me, therefore I can’t share this nightmarish vision with you all. You can relax then, and get a good night’s sleep tonight. Me? It haunts my dreams, whuhuhha…

Anyway, driven mad by the campsite’s population of flies (See? Where are the damn spiders when you actually need them?), Sean and I opted to move to the ‘whaling platform’, to chill for a while, before taking a bit of a walk to the northern side for a good view of the sunset. After a bit of a read and a snooze at the first place, we commenced hiking for a good hour or so at least, before finding the place we were after, high above the town and just off the island’s perimeter road. Briefly saying hello to a travelling party from Osaka and their two dogs who rudely didn’t offer us a lift back (the party, not the dogs, though I suspect they might have been in charge), we found our spot, got snap-happy (up there’s the best of my rather patchy lot) and trudged back as night began to fall.

With dinner at a restaurant (yaki soba for me, definitely no bloody Goya) and a couple of beers on the beach by the campsite, we were ready to turn in, ahead of our move to Naha the following day.