Good morning,
We’re in the midst of a strange weather phenomenon in Tokyo. In a country with an exceptionally rich menu of weather events, one that has shown me the limits of my meteorological vocabulary and shaken my 40-year understanding of what good weather actually means, this feels like the strangest yet: a cool breeze in the middle of July. Mild by nature and even ordinary for some regions, but one reportedly not observed in Tokyo during summer since 1921.1 I’ll forever remember this day, air conditioners off, windows open, curtains dancing in the breeze, as one of my fondest summer memories in Tokyo.
My dramatic reaction to this rare spell of cool Tokyo weather, which might actually come across as not enthusiastic enough to anyone who had the great misfortune of spending a summer day in Tokyo, undoubtedly also has something to do with where I was last weekend: the Kerama Islands of Okinawa.
The group of four inhabited islands, Tokashiki, Zamami, Aka, and Geruma, along with the many uninhabited islets scattered in between, introduced me to a kind of heat so intense that I lost all faith in Uniqlo’s Airism line after just a brief walk to the beach, and to a sun so sharp that I ended up with a not-so-minor lobster leg situation after only an hour of kayaking, even with SPF 50.2 3
And yet, despite the hazards, it was also the kind of heat you easily forgive Okinawa for, with a level of grace never extended to Tokyo for its brutal summers, thanks to the city`s simple but unforgivable failure of not being surrounded by waters so otherworldly that a new word was needed to describe them.
Turquoise blue, baby blue, crystal blue, aqua blue, indigo - none of these were apparently enough to capture the unique vividness of the waters surrounding the Kerama Islands, so they coined a new term: “Kerama Blue”. A term that may at first sound like a promotional trick, and not even a particularly imaginative one, until you actually experience those waters. The kind of waters that leave you with a shamefully hedonistic dilemma: which is more satisfying, diving into them, or watching them from high above?
On a blue-sky day, the scenery on Tokashiki,4 with its perfectly balanced color palette and just the right contrast between the ocean and the lush hills that surround it, feels like something out of an anime, dreamed up by an artist almost mocking us with a glimpse of a perfect island world that could never exist. Or it’s like the opening shot of a disaster movie, where the scenery is so deceptively picture-perfect that, even though you know something terrible is about to happen (and that is the whole point of the movie), you still wish the film would linger just a little longer in that flawless world, or better yet, be all about it.
Yet there’s something even greater about the Kerama Islands than the perfect scenery or those gorgeous waters that could easily give the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, or even the Andaman Sea a run for their money: the simple fact that the islands themselves don’t seem to care about their own greatness, at least not from a typical tourism perspective. There’s something convincingly unpretentious about the Keramas, which I would describe as the least “summer resort-y” summer resort I’ve ever been to.
It’s not the kind of island destination that works relentlessly to deliver our long-earned, deeply desired summer break, with all the pre-defined expectations that come with it. The Keramas, particularly Tokashiki, give you some of the world’s best waters,5 but other than that, you are pretty much on your own.
It’s quite unlike your typical summer town, where so much is thrown at you, chill-out music, beachside or even in-the-water service, countless eateries, colorful decorative choices that have little to do with the place itself, that you almost feel obliged to feel explosively joyful in that way unique to summer, so soon after the hopeful renewal we’re all expected to embrace in spring.
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