Friday, 5 September 2014

On Okinawan time

Okinawa tastes of ice cold 'Orion B', of satiating Awamori roku, of prickly goya cucumber, of juicy green skiikwaasaa, of sweet purple benimo. The soundtrack to everywhere is a captivating Sanshin, the beat of a drum, the melodic chant of locals.   

 Snaking a line from Naha to Nago, past the long U.S bases we see shisa lion-dragons, we feast on miniature tacos, we visit ingenious kilns and pottery workshops.

Nago is early Obon. Nago is Eisa dances at dusk. It's waking from a tatami hut and padding to a cove for a pre-breakfast swim. Nago is the generosity of new friends, of secret snorkelling spots, of burning sun and shady tropical trees and the cooling taste of love.

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