Westwards

Mud à la mode

From hot spa to clammy mine shafts, we rediscover a little-known country.

(For more photos from Slovakia, click here)

 “Tsään Minuten, Nikht Rrräden!,” barks the gaunt woman in a white medical coat who brought us here, and obediently, we barely dare to whisper or move for the next ten minutes. Nearly all the staff in the Slovak spa of Pieštani speak German, for the benefit of those German and Austrian patients coming for a week or more to cure their rheumatism or arthritis. They have made up the majority of visitors since the thermal springs – which had been known since the 12^th century – were turned into a fashionable spa in the 19^th century. The dark volcanic mud scooped up from the river Váh was found to have healing qualities. Even Austrian Empress Elisabeth (Sissi) came here to take healthy mud baths.

A strong young man triumphantly breaking his crutch became the emblem of the whole town.
In the 1920s the popularity of the spa reached another peak, with European entertainment stars and Indian maharajas visiting, but WWII set an end to that and turned Pieštany into just another sanatorium. With the political opening of Eastern Europe, the health resort apparently regained some of its former splendour.  The tall Balnea Palace Hotel and the Irma Spa with its rotund bathing hall, plus some lesser resorts, vie for guests from abroad. Today, the institution displays a quirky mix of Soviet and K.u.K. retro-styles.

At the end of the mud bathing session, we are administered a strict twenty-minute rest, rolled into white linen sheets in a semi-darkened hall smelling of a great history and, yes, volcanic mud.

Thus strengthened, we take on Slovakia. In the next few days, we visit medieval castles and Renaissance marketplaces. In Vlkolinec we stroll through a wooden village that the industrial revolution would seem to have bypassed, were it not for the two Japanese cars parked in front of bonbon-coloured blockhouses. A tall house in Banska Bystrica, we learn, used to house the trading office of the rich Fugger family, where double-entry accounting was used for the first time ever. In Banska Štiavnica we visit the old silver mine that once made this mountainous area in one of the backwaters of Europe rich enough to build several pompous churches and administration palaces. Not to mention a huge plague column.

Hiking the Zugspitze

Hiking up to the top of the Zugspitze from the German side and back down to the Austrian side took us three days. At 2962 meters, the Zugspitze is Germany’s highest mountain.

(For more photos from Germany, click here: May/June 2007  May 2008  August/September 2008  October / November 2008  August 2009)

Day One

A string of coloured flags is fluttering across the Partnach stream. Hikers and mountain bikers step gingerly into the ice-cold water of the stream to cool their feet, or down huge glasses of beer and Apfelschorle (apple juice with mineral water) to cool their heads while a helicopter is delivering fresh supplies to the Angerhütte.

Sherpa Gyalzen has been working on the hut every summer since the 1990s and brought a touch of Nepal into the Bavarian Alps. This evening, the hut's manager plays the dulcimer for the guests. There is not much to do on a mountain hut except for music, beer and cards. Around 10 pm everybody retires to the dormitories. It was a fine sunny day and thus the hut is quite crowded, two people on each mattress.

Day Two

“It's not far now!” The cheerful elderly lady smiles encouragingly at every hiker walking up. “Downhill, I've been walking seven minutes now!” Indeed, ten minutes later, the Knorr Mountain Hut comes into view. After a short break we continue, still facing a few hours more of uphill walking. Beyond a field of gravel on one of the many rocky outcrops around us, we spot a modern building. “But where is the Zugspitze?” Natascha complains. “We should be able to see it by now.” The modern building turns out to be a large platform with the Munich House, Germany’s highest mountain hut, a few fast food cafeterias and summit souvenir shops, and a German as well as an Austrian ropeway station. Everybody seems to be busy on the cell phone, calling Mom and Dad and friends to tell them where they are right now.  Then, they have a beer and take the ropeway down.

Day Three

“Republic of Austria,” a metal sign behind the wire-fence declares. At the Gatterl, about 2000 meters high and opposite the Knorr Hut, the German-Austrian border is marked by a proper gate. Perhaps it's only to prevent the cows from changing sides. The rolling green mountain pastures on the southern side of the mountain range seem impressively Tyrolean to us. A couple of middle-aged Nordic Walkers walk briskly past a small pest chapel. Both have taken off their shirts, and she is walking in an XL-sized dark blue laced brassiere. A group of senior citizens push their rented mountain bikes uphill. The Austrian village of Ehrwald can’t be far away.

Brass band and beer at Lake Kochel

In Kochel, a small Bavarian town in the foothills of the Alps, the summer festival on Assumption Day is still a major event: in the church and at the lake.

(For more Germany photos, click here: May/June 2007  May 2008  August/September 2008  October / November 2008  August 2009)

“Oh Jesus Christ, please protect us from lightning, hail and storm.” The small church is hazy with incense and full of locals in their best dress: Women in dirndls and small black felt hats pinned to their carefully wound buns, and men in lederhosn und loden jackets. They hold pointed hats with feathers and flowers stuck in their hatbands, and some have brought old weapons. The flails, guns, halberds and morning stars commemorate a local revolt against Austrian rule in 1704. The women have brought bunches of flowers and herbs to be consecrated. “There should be more herbs in it,” a woman in full traditional costume admits. “I just took what I had ready to hand: rosemary, basil, valerian, chamomile, chives, …” With that, she sticks a small blue flower to Isa’s bicycle “It will protect you from traffic accidents!”

In the evening, everyone gathers at the lake for the local summer festival. An old man in full costume is stumbling away, having apparently gone through a few Mass (each is about 1 liter) of beer since the morning. Benches and a dancing stage are put up, a brass band in traditional costume plays, and young locals sell grilled fish, grilled pork’s neck and cakes baked by the Kochel housewives.

 “Do you know the area?” The bikers we meet on a gravelly forest path halfway up to the 1731 m high Herzogstand have lost their way. “We were looking for the path along the lake.” Luckily for them, we do know most of the paths in the area by now, having spent several days on various sectors of the sports climbing area around Kochel. Most of the climbing walls are situated deep in the mountainous forests above Lake Kochel, but the approach is worth it: Nice rough limestone with some easier vertical routes, much less slippery than we had expected in a popular climbing area, and with well-positioned bolts.

Chocolate, waffles and fries

Of course the museums, history and culture of Belgium were the focus of our stay in Bruges and Gent. But here’s the ever-present food:

For more sweet photos from Belgium, click here

“Wow, that’s it! Now we can talk!” The young family disappears into a chocolate shop. Bruges boasts well over 50 chocolate specialty shops, selling huge Belgian pralines and marzipan. In a week in Bruges, we ate our way through violet cream pralinés and marzipan balls. In the end, our favorites were the candied orange slices covered with dark chocolate.

In addition, nearly every café produces rich Belgian waffles made with yeast and lumps of half-molten sugar. Oh, sugar cubes, we comment, but the baker frowns: This is pearl sugar, he insists. The Waffles are sold with different toppings like cream, chocolate or warm cherry sauce.

Legend has it that the Belgians invented Potato Fries during a particularly harsh winter.  In one village the people liked to eat small fried fish, but as the river was covered with a thick layer of ice, they cut potatoes into a similar shape and size and fried them instead. 

We learn that the Belgian fries are double-fried and thus, believe it or not, contain less fat. “I recommend the ‘Sauce Toscana,’ a bit spicy, you will like it!” The man with the thinning grey hair leans confidentially over the greasy refrigerated counter, which holds an array of plastic buckets filled with mayonnaisy sauces. “By the way, my wife is also German,” he adds, somewhat randomly. We decide, as always, on the non-oily Piccalilli-Sauce, mustard pickles with a lot of vinegar. In Belgium, after all, it’s the sauce rather than the fries that let you gain weight.

Japan’s introduction to Alpine tourism

Until the 19th century, only Shinto pilgrims visited the inhospitable mountains of central Japan. The British missionary Walter Weston was the first to appreciate the beauty of this region as a holiday destination, likening the mountains to the European Alps. Today thousands follow in his steps to re-enact Switzerland.

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

What a breathtaking sight: Mount Yarigatake, the Japanese Matterhorn! The British missionary Reverend Walter Weston spent a few years in Japan in the 1890s, climbing some of the highest peaks in the country during his holidays. The more triangularly shaped Jônendake he likened to the Weißfluh, and in 1896 he published his musings on Japanese Mountains as „Mountaineering and Explorations in the Japanese Alps.“ Thus the Japanese got their very own Alps – and eventually the urge to book five-day tours to the “Swiss Alps”, to see the real thing.

From Switzerland, they also adopted a penchant for cable cars and gondolas. The most famous route for crossing the mountain range of the Northern Alps involves no less than 7 different vehicles: Trolleybuses, cable cars and ropeways. In summer it is also possible to cover some of the distance on foot instead. Then, thousands tramp over the wooden planks prescribing a path through the moorland and admiring the Alpine flora..

June, however, is still winter at Murodô / Tateyama (2500m). The road for the trolleybus has only been opened in Mid-April, dug through a 20 m high covering of snow. From the plain of Murodô we look down on the local campsite: a few coloured tents on a lot of white. “Just follow the bulldozer tracks to reach the campground!,” the ski lift operator advises before swishing down the slope.

Only a handful of campers have carved shelters for their tents into the high snow mountains. “Last week we had winds of 80 km/h,” remarks Ashley, an Australian outdoor fan. Mary-Joe, a hardened French Himalaya climber, spends the night outdoors in her sleeping bag, just to save some packing time in the morning. And Daniel from Brazil, a part-timer at one of the hotels, practices high altitude running in his free time. He hopes for a career as a professional marathon runner.

Even Japan’s oldest mountain hut in Murodô, which has been turned into a museum, cannot yet be visited because the tiny wooden structure is still covered with snow. Originally it was built in 1726 for pilgrims set for the holy mountain of Tateyama. Today, Murodô consists of half a dozen “mountain huts,” huge buildings with double rooms and showers for the pilgrims on the “Tateyama Alpen Route.” Most stay only for a night, diligently taking photos of the Tateyama mountain, of the rare Japanese ptarmigan, which is less shy than anticipated, and of the volcanic activity in the “Valley of Hell” before heading to their next trolley bus.

A week later we meet a descendant of Reverent Weston’s local mountain guide, Kamonji Kamijô. The family is now operating a restaurant near Kamikôchi, in a different part of the Northern Alps. Reverend Weston presented his guide with a used Ice Axe which is still displayed proudly above the charcoal grill. With his book and his enthusiasm for the mountains he gave the whole region prosperity – thousands of camera-wielding tourists yearning for “local specialities” to try and then bring home as souvenirs make for better customers than the old pilgrims of late, who took on great discomfort to visit a shrine built on a 3000 m high mountain top.

“The Weston Festival? I don’t know exactly what happens there,” the employee at the Kamikôchi Tourist Information apologises. “After all, I always have to work in the information centre! But I heard that it is very nice.” We are just preparing for a two-day trek and want to know what we are going to miss. Apparently a few women sing a song about the mountaineering exploits of Reverend Weston near the memorial plaque put up in his honour. There is also a small procession in his memory, but without any costumes. Solemnly, the official adds: “Reverend Weston can’t take part unfortunately, because he is already dead.”

Prayer roofs and honourable silkworms

In the world heritage sites of Shirakawa and Gokayama, the remoteness of the past is still tangible.

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

„When I was a boy, my older cousins used to go to Shirakawa once or twice a year. It was shortly after the war and I had been sent to live in Takayama with relatives as our family house in Osaka was bombed”, the old man wearing thick glasses and a beige cloth hat explains. “The older boys wouldn’t take me because I was a child, and they said the journey over the three mountain passes would be too arduous for my short legs.”

Before the modern road was built, the villages of Shirakawa and Gokayama could only be reached on foot. In winter icy Siberian winds bring meters of snow and frosty temperatures. Of old, the inhabitants of these villages in Japan’s mountainous interior have adapted their houses to such harsh conditions. Doors on the first floor leading outside can be used in severe winters when the ground floor is snowed up. Steep roofs pointing towards heaven let the thick snow cover slide down to the ground. Their name, Gasshô roof, recalls  the folded hands of prayer.

“The roofs are built only with reed and wooden beams, without using a single nail,” Nagase-san explains, showing us around in her family’s 250 year old house. In former times the whole village helped to renew the enormous reed cover of the roofs in turns. But today only about 20 families still have houses with the traditional roofs, not enough to keep the old system alive. “So we issued a call for volunteers and about 500 people from all over Japan offered their help. We could only accept the ones who had at least some experience, because otherwise the work on the high roofs is too dangerous.” We have reached the attic by now, and Nagase-san shows us one of the ropes that hold the beams in place. It has already become loose. The volunteers from warmer parts of Japan were apparently not so familiar with the prayer-style roofs.

Until WWII the villagers of Shirakawa and Gokayama used to grow silkworms on the upper floors to produce silk. Like everyone in the villages telling us about the silkworms, Nagase-san calls them “o-kaiko-san”: the honourable silkworms. They have disappeared now together with their favourite food, mulberry leaves, because during the war everyone had to cut off the mulberry trees in order to plant rice.

The honourable silkworms also brought a supplementary income to the inhabitants of the village of Suganuma, a part of Gokayama. Unlike the not very distant Shirakawa, the village belonged to the old Kaga prefecture. Kaga’s rulers, the Maeda clan, were keen to hold their own against the central government in Edo and did their best to keep a strong independent army. Originally, it was the Maeda clan who instructed the villagers to raise silkworms: their faeces were an important ingredient in the production of gunpowder. Thus, the locals could pay their taxes in gunpowder rather than the customary but scarce rice. Although this was an open secret to the Tokugawa Shoguns in Edo – today’s Tokyo – they were unable to intervene due to the isolation of the area.

The villages of Shirakawa and Gokayama have been listed as World Heritage sites in 1995, and since then the number of visitors has been constantly growing. Even the boy from Takayama, now 73 and living in Tokyo, has finally made it to his childhood dream destination. “Actually, I think now that my cousins took the strenuous hike over the mountains in order to drink alcohol, because these villages were after the war one of the few places that were allowed to brew sake for a traditional festival. That must have been the real reason why they would not take me!”

Hiking the Nakasendo

In the Edo Period, the Nakasendô (“the way through the mountains”) was one of the main roads connecting Tokyo – then known as Edo – with the provinces. Traders and craftsmen as well as local rulers had to travel along these mountain paths. Near Magome northeast of Nagoya, the mountains and forests are particularly dense, and civilisation seems to be particularly far away.

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

Here, time has stopped. Or else it has been turned back. The houses are built from wood, and no electric wires and satellite dishes are to be seen. A postman in indigo-dyed uniform and with a round straw hat, cloth shoes and a wooden box slung over his shoulder is delivering letters. The steep stone path continues up over the pass, but the locals don’t go there – nor do they know about bus timetables or accommodation beyond the mountain pass. It is the neighbouring prefecture and therefore very distant. In one of the small shops we talk to a wrinkled old woman who gives us a jar of Fuki-Miso as a present. Fuki, she explains, is a bitter spiky flower that grows in early spring in the deep forests. She has been out to collect it herself and mixed it with miso paste to sell to the tourists.

“Hen hao!” “Zhege ma?” Suddenly a group of Taiwanese tour group is swarming the one narrow road leading through the village. They fill all the souvenir shops, eat Goheimochi, the flat rice cakes covered with a delicious sesame-walnut paste, and constantly bump into each other taking photos with their mobile phones.

Behind Magome the bus tourists peter out. The path now leads through freshly planted rice paddies and bamboo groves. Three day hikers from Nagoya point out a dôsôjin stone, a votive tablet dedicated to the god of journeys. Just before the post station of Ochiai the old stone pavement has been restored and the winding trail leads through a shady green forest that feels cool even on a sunny day like this one. Soon we pass a traditional teahouse.  A man with long grey ponytail and several rounds of Buddhist prayer beads around his neck is adjusting something at the little Shinto shrine in the garden. “My, isn’t it getting hot,” he opens a conversation, only to state a few sentences later: “What I like about Japan is that the religions don’t fight here.” We agree and resume our path.

In the days when the Nakasendô was one of the major roads connecting the distant provinces with the capital, the teahouses and inns were divided by rank: Some would only serve the high-ranking Daimyo and other travelling dignitaries, while others catered for the common people.  Most of these establishments had to close in the 20^th century when a railroad was built serving the area.

“It is forbidden to sell drugs or counterfeit money,“ announces a wooden sign high above our heads, while another one explains the details of payment for the stable boys. The announcement boards, which were built to symbolize the government’s high authority, have been re-erected in recent years for the benefit of tourists eager to discover the Edo Period.

“It is only in the past 10 or 15 years that people have started to hike the Nakasendô for entertainment,” explains Ogiso-san. He is 70 and has recently moved back to Ôkute. His family has owned the house in the small Nakasendô post station for over 300 years. Ogiso-san leads us to the village elder, as we are looking for a place to pitch our tent for the night. The local elementary school has been closed down 5 years ago, for lack of children, and we get the permission to stay on the disused athletic field. In the evening Ogiso-san shows up with beer and potato salad and it turns out he and Isa went to the same university in Tokyo.

The next morning we take the school bus down into the valley to the train station, where we board a train for Nagoya and return to present-day Japan.

Fashionable Pets

Dressed-up Ninja Dog at the Mifune Matsuri in Kyoto

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

„Lucky charms for animals sell very well recently. More people think of their pets as family members,” explains the Shinto priest at the Nogi Shrine. With his old-fashioned glasses and an unfavourable haircut he looks rather like a middle-aged businessman. We have just noticed the orange and light blue small cloth packages for dogs and cats, with the written lucky charm inside, among the usual talismans against evil, or for safe journeys or easy childbirth. The Nogi Shrine is dedicated to an unusual god, the victorious General Mareisuke Nogi, who in 1912, together with his wife, committed seppuku, ritual suicide, out of loyalty when the Meiji emperor died.

The next day we eye the Japanese family sitting opposite us in the subway. He has very spiky hair and black-rimmed glasses, she is wearing a fancy petticoat, and both appear to be very young. Suddenly we realize that the small buggy holds a Yorkshire terrier rather than a toddler. By now we are more alert to the status of pets. We notice the many cat cafes in Tokyo: Coffee Shops where customers can cuddle a sedated Angora cat while sipping a Cafe Latte. Ever more people are walking proudly through the city with their dressed up dogs. A hotel in Kaga Onsen advertises shared facilities for dog and owner - from the room to the hot spa.  

Curious, we venture into the dog accessory store in the Apia Shopping Mall. The display of dogs’ outfits has caught our eye. Current dog fashion has moved far beyond the holder’s worn out T-Shirts. The modern pet owner chooses from a wide selection of sweaters, jeans, sportswear and even leather jackets for his darling. For the she-dog there is lovely lingerie on sale. All this comes for a price, of course – about the same as that for children’s clothes. Leaving the shop we pass a showcase filled with delectable cream tarts and fancy cakes. “These delicacies are low-sugar and low-fat, therefore safe to eat for pets. Why not enjoy a piece of cake together with your pet on children’s day?” a sign suggests.  The current trend of people treating their pets to cream pie, weekend outings and fancy clothes might be new, but of course people have always loved their pets. At the shrine we learn that General Nogi loved his horses so much that he built them a modern stable first thing after buying the premises. Only then he started with a simple house for his family. In the end, however, he didn’t include his horses as far into the family to let them join the loyalty suicide.

 

The German Connection

The original-sized  Marksburg is the main attraction of the German Culture Village on Miyakojima, Japan

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

“Where are you from? Oh, from Germany?  - Ich habe Deutsch gelernt!“ , the bus driver blurts out when we enter the rare local bus to the village of Ueno. The grey-haired man with the friendly smile definitely does not have many opportunities to practice his language skills on the Okinawan Island of Miyakojima, about 1000 km south of mainland Japan. About an hour later he drops us near the Ueno German Culture Village, where we find ourselves in front of a huge grey stone slab at the roadside. „Gerhard-Schroeder-Staße“ is engraved in huge white sanserif letters, commemorating the visit of the former German chancellor on the occasion of the G8 summit in Okinawa. Crossed German and Japanese flags are depicted underneath. The Gerhard Schroeder Road runs all the way from Miyakojima’s small airport to the German Culture Village.  We trot along the sugar cane fields and around a knoll, when suddenly a European-style mediaeval fortress complete with tower and battlements appears before the glittering blue ocean. The original-sized German Marksburg is the main attraction of the Germany-themed park. 

“No, I have never been to Germany. But I would pretty much like to go…” Ota-san, the park’s manager, answers our questions over a cup of coffee in the museum shop on the castle’s ground floor.  The culture park opened in 1997 aiming to enhance German-Japanese relations in general. „The concept we had in mind was fraternity” Ota-san states somewhat pompously. The ties between Germany and Ueno go back a long time: In a storm in 1873 the German merchant ship Robertson, sailing from Fuzhou to Australia, shipwrecked off the coast of Miyakojima. The Ueno inhabitants rescued the stranded sailors and gave them shelter and food until they were able to return to China and finally to Germany. In 1937, Japan’s Ministry of Education introduced this story of altruistic help in the national elementary schoolbooks, and the people of Miyakojima earned some modest fame nationwide.

Today Hänsel and Gretel, the local goose couple, waddle lazily between the half-timbered houses. On a Wednesday outside the main tourist season, the Ueno German Culture Village is deserted. One of the park’s tour guides, Iwasa-san, shows us around the exhibition rooms in the castle. She is proudly wearing a burgundy-coloured dirndl designed by the Japanese staff. In the Medieval room a Roman legionnaire has mysteriously joined the armoured knights. Plastic samples of sausages, Sauerkraut and square white bread are intended to inform the Japanese visitors about German eating culture, and a wedding chapel in distinctly Japanese taste awaits happy couples. Finally we march over the courtyard to the backdrop of a Bavarian brass orchestra from the sound system to the other exhibition building. The “Children’s House” combines a shop with a huge collection of Diddle Mouse merchandises, a Märklin train model, a small library of children’s books in various languages, and two slabs of the original Berlin wall together with some explanation on the divided Germany and grizzly photos of soldiers and barbed wire. “Japanese visitors also think this is an odd mix,” Iwasa-san admits without even trying to suggest a concept behind the jumble of vague “German-ness” in the park.

Back in the small capital of Miyakojima we visit the "Philanthropy Monument,” a stele that German Emperor Wilhelm I sent in 1876 to be set up here. “We, Wilhelm, by the grace of god German Emperor…,” he expresses his gratitude for the rescue of his subjects, starting Miyakojima’s German boom. A family from Chiba, a small town near Tokyo, is less impressed. “We have a German village in Chiba, too. I think it’s more authentic!“ We will consider Chiba for a day out from Tokyo.

Growing old on bitter gourd and sugar cane

(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006,  2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009,  May 2009, June 2009)

“You really have to try the goya juice”, Fusa urges. “It is good for your health.” Aware that people on the Okinawa Islands in Southern Japan enjoy the highest life expectancy in the world, we jump at the opportunity and order the recommended drink. It turns out to be a screaming green liquid, topped with two mint leaves, that tastes very bitter. Goya, a vegetable looking a bit like a shrivelled cucumber, is used in many regional dishes: The famous Goya Champuru is a stir fry made of eggs, tofu, vegetables and the bitter goya, which adds a pleasant tangy taste. Researchers have confirmed the high life expectancy on Okinawa to be a result of the healthy local diet: Rice, lots of vegetables and seaweeds, fish and boiled pork dishes.

Beyond the village of Inoda, the bus passes only three times a day. Next to the bus stop we are watching an elderly couple cutting sugarcane on the fields when a white compact van stops beside us and a diminutive woman of at least 75 gets out to rearrange heaps of plastic bags, wrapping material and gardening tools that fill the back of the car. “I have some field work to do, otherwise I would drive you to Cape Hirobo,” she munches. “Have a lump of cane sugar with mint – very good against a sore throat. I always buy it at the small shop over there.” Although we don’t have a sore throat the candy is quite tasty.

Originally introduced via China from India, today sugarcane is one of the leading agricultural products of the islands.  Most of the harvest is shipped to mainland Japan, where it will be processed to refined white sugar, but some of the tall ripe sticks are processed here and turned into a sweet dark molasse known as kokutô, or “black sugar”. Supplemented by fruit syrups, salt, chilli, sesame, or several other ingredients it is consumed as a popular snack by the islanders, while tourists buy it as a souvenir.

The next day, a woman originally from Osaka stops for us. She has moved to Okinawa after retirement for its beautiful nature, the pleasant climate and the generally relaxed atmosphere. “I’m on my way to pick mozuku algae fresh from the sea, because I’m going to visit friends in Osaka, and they all love it.” Most of the locals, she says, don’t collect mozuku anymore, but nonetheless it is a popular food item on the menus, along with umibudô. The “sea grapes” are cultivated in huge tanks and give a funny sensation to a dish as the pinhead-sized juicy berries of this algae type pop up when chewed on.  

A few days later we relocate to Iriomote, the largest island of the Yaeyama group in Southern Okinawa, where the buses are just as rare. Most of the island is mountainous and covered in forest and mangrove wilderness that is home to the endemic Iriomote Wildcat. Although we have a bought a free pass for the bus, we end up hitchhiking again most of the time.

 “No, I’ve been working here for five years now, but never seen a wildcat,” Wada san shrugs. The diving instructor from Tokyo points to a road-side warning sign depicting the small Iriomote Cat. “But it seems there are a lot of accidents.” The local administration has even introduced rattling road bumpers to deter the shy protected cats from dashing onto the road.  At the same time the road is being widened and straightened for increased traffic as more tourists visit the island, followed by more development, and thus creating jobs that also draw more long-term residents. Naturally, the inhabitants are torn between economic relief over new job prospects – Okinawa being not only Japan’s healthiest region, but also one of the poorest – and concern for the abundant nature of their island which they know is their biggest asset. “All this new development is destroying the natural habitat of the island’s wildlife,” Kenichi complains. As a guide, he needs both the tourists and the animals.

Eventually we did find a few people who had actually seen the wildcat. Taira-san, a local boat man, has been working on the Urauchi River for decades. “I’ve seen them running on the street, but also swimming in the river. They are not very good swimmers, but they like prawns, you know. Recently, you rarely see them anymore.”

In two weeks on the Yaeyama Islands we enjoyed talking to the friendly locals and tasted our way through the range of local food and drink: Freshly made soft Island Tofu, thick wheat noodles, shîkuasa juice (made from a variety of sour oranges) and Ishigaki beer, brewed according to German recipes. We will have to come back to explore more of the smaller islands.