by Sarah Bijlsma
When I ask urban migrants on Miyakojima about the differences between the island and mainland Japan, I often hear that everyone on Miyakojima owns a car. There are no trains, and busses rarely run, so people rely on their own vehicles. This particular feature of daily life is said to be the main reason for the existence of ‘Okinawa time’ (uchinaa taimu). According to migrants, time flows differently on Miyakojima because people’s lives are not dictated by the strict timetable of the railroad companies. In a blog post, someone describes the situation in Tokyo, “Even at parties, people drink while keeping track of the time, because they are constrained by the last train,” to say that people in the capital can never fully relax [1]. I will share some insights about how I experienced ‘Okinawa time’ when I spent two months on Miyakojima last year. The way people get around on the island seems to affect their perceptions of this particular time, and it definitely affected me, as I don’t have a driver’s license and couldn’t get around by car, which was quite a challenge. Nevertheless, I found other ways to move around and experience “island time.”
Biking through the sugarcane fields while aiming to protect myself against the sun
Copyright © Sarah Bijlsma 2022
One of the first things I did upon arrival was paying a visit to the newly opened Don Quichote store, where I bought a bicycle. In the one-hundred-yen store I found a plastic basket, which I attached to the back of the bike with black tie-rips and immediately filled with six bottles of mineral water, because it was in the middle of summer and incredibly hot. With that in mind, it might not be surprising that I was usually the only one biking out on the streets. It must have been a funny picture; a tall blond woman, heavily pregnant, wearing a big hat against the strong sun on bicycle that was too small. Sometimes I was really hindered by the absence of a car. For example, the day I rode my bike to one of my informants’ homes, but misjudged the distance and arrived after nearly two hours completely dehydrated and sunburned. Or the time I couldn’t participate in a beach cleanup because I couldn’t bike to the location. But I also noticed that the people I met appreciated my efforts, and I often heard that someone had seen me biking. So biking proved to be a good starting point for a conversation about cultural differences and environmental attitudes in daily life.
Moving apartments by bike amidst a typhoon
Copyright © Sarah Bijlsma 2022
Twice a day, a bus went from my apartment in the south to the city hall in the more built-up area. One day I took it to go to Ikema-jima, a small island in the north of Miyako connected by a long bridge. I sat in the very back of the bus. Three elderly locals sat in front, with a young, fashionable couple in between, talking in Kantō dialect. When we arrived at the Ikema Bridge, the boy and girl got up from their seats and started taking pictures of the bright blue sea. They shouted repeatedly, “kirei!” (beautiful) and “sugei!” (amazing) in their excitement until the bus left the bridge at the other side. I was surprised by their strong reaction, especially since the people in front of the bus did not even bother to look outside. It was one of many occasions when I could observe how differently people treat nature. I wonder what the locals would think of the three misfits in the back seat? Did they share their excitement about the blue water? Were they proud of their environment or did they wonder why tourists were always interested only in the sea?
The bridge that connects Miyako with Ikema-jima
Copyright © Sarah Bijlsma 2022
In addition to my bycicle and occasional bus rides, I was often able to ride with my research participants. Sometimes I also got rides from locals. One day, when I missed the afternoon bus, a man who worked for an advertising company offered to give me a ride home. He had been born on Miyako, but had lived in Tokyo between the ages of 19 and 29. He told me that Miyakojima had changed a lot since he had come back 15 years ago. Back then, there wasn’t a single beach umbrella on Yonehama Beach – now it’s full of people and stalls. Like many locals I spoke with in those months, he believes tourism is a good opportunity for economic growth in Miyako. He was also quite positive about Japanese migrants, but told me that locals and migrants live very separate lives. “You know what’s funny?” he said to me. “A lot of people get tired of Tokyo and then decide to move all the way here. But now they just hang out with people from Tokyo.”
In a small airplane to Tarama-jima
Copyright © Sarah Bijlsma 2022
Before I came to Miyakojima, I often heard that you absolutely needed a car to move around. While it wasn’t always easy to get around without a driver’s license, it mostly meant that getting around became an important part of my fieldwork. Riding my bike through the sugar cane fields, riding along with the people, and even once taking a small plane to a remote island all deepened my understanding of how the slowness of daily life is experienced on Miyako.