Naha ¨C My legs were burning. The ferry was clipping at high speed toward the island of Iriomote and the heat of the engine was turning the metal bench I was sitting on into a grill. Fumes were being whisked out of the open windows by sheer velocity, but lingered long enough to make my throat itch and eyes water. A young couple sitting a row over watched their screens unbothered, oblivious as we skimmed along the ocean surface.
Boarding the ferry at Ishigaki terminal that morning, I had a choice: sit above deck on benches near the luggage, or head down into the plush, air-conditioned hull. Most passengers chose the latter and were now comfortably sealed below ¡ª their heads two rows of silhouettes ¡ª I was seated above in a tin shack strapped to the top of a diesel engine.
Comfort wasn¡¯t a priority. I¡¯d come to Okinawa to travel by ferry during the height of the rainy season. We¡¯re taught to despise the rain when we travel. To see it as a negative. Rain, it¡¯s said, ruins a day, a trip, a wedding, a season. But if we travel to make memories ¡ª indelible memories in whatever form they come ¡ª rain can enhance a journey with mood and character.
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