When I was young, I once bought a one-way ticket to Shanghai and made my way (mostly overland via bumpy trains and buses) to the South of India. It was gruellingly slow (about three months slow), yet I loved it.
The same journey could be ventured within a few hours by plane, but does tin-foiled, badly reheated food and another re-watching of ‘Fast and the Furious 18’ really give one the sense of travel?
When I was given the opportunity to travel to the Ogasawara Islands (which are technically still part of Tokyo city), it was given with a caveat of sorts; there is no airport. The only way to reach the island is via a 24-hour ferry that departs from Tokyo’s Takeshiba pier. Without hesitation, I immediately said, ‘Yes’.
We board the ferry at 11:00 am, and there’s a nagging question floating in my head, “will I get seasick?” (spoiler alert: I don’t)
I quickly get settled into my room. Book, laptop, water bottle. I place them all on the table next to the window as I run back out the door to the deck to witness our departure from Tokyo.
Two hours in and the signal on my phone is lost. Forcibly unplugged from the world, I retreat to the dining room where the tables are full of canned beers, bottles of sake and shochu and snacks aplenty purchased from the onboard canteen and vending machines. Somehow, even on the open seas, away from the mainland, things are convenient.
The time moves as it should and after multiple rounds of sleep, reading, resting, drinking and talking we’ve arrived in Chichijima, the main island of Ogasawara.
It doesn’t feel like Okinawa, my only other reference for ‘tropical islands of Japan’, but it certainly doesn’t feel like Tokyo, even though we technically never left the city. The town is quiet as we disembark, as expected given the population is just shy of 2,000 people. “It must be one of the lowest-density areas in all of Tokyo,” I think to myself. And sure enough, after some Googling, I discovered its density is 90 persons per square kilometre compared to the 6,158 persons per square kilometre of mainland Tokyo that I’m used to.
There are so many great experiences to be had on this island: snorkelling with tropical fishes, whale and dolphin watching, hiking, cleaning cute little turtles with toothbrushes (yes I did that), historical Pacific war tours, food and karaoke with the youthful locals, but having spent most of my word limit for this article on the amazing ferry journey, I have chosen to place focus on Minamijima; a truly unique gem of Ogasawara.
Minamijima is a tiny uninhabited island a short boat ride away from Chichijima. It’s a UNESCO Natural World Heritage site and is vigorously protected thanks to strict eco-tourism laws that prohibit the amount of daily visitors. It’s a largely untouched, unspoiled island, and being able to even set foot on it feels like a special privilege.
Having spent a large chunk of my 20s travelling, it’s rare that I become in awe of a place. It could be to do with my age and getting older, but the site of gaggles of tourists posing in front of monuments, usually littered with takeaway coffee cups and signs telling you what you can and cannot do has put me off a lot of ‘must-see travel destinations’. But here on Minamijima, there’s none of that; not a sign in sight, no pavement or discernible trail, just an island in immaculate condition, fiercely protected by those on the mainland.
The ferry that we arrived on leaves exactly four days later and takes exactly 24 hours to get back to Tokyo. We board, and I run to my room; book, laptop, water bottle.
I rush back to the deck on the starboard side, facing the pier as the locals slowly file in. I’m there to witness one of Ogasawara’s most distinct and endearing specialities: the send-off. It feels as if the whole town has come to the pier to wave us goodbye, as they all edge closer to the water, waving and yelling goodbye like an ensemble group does before the final curtain.
Everyone on the ferry is shouting and waving back as we inch closer to mainland Tokyo. Soon the farewell boats and cast of Ogasawara are out of sight and the sharp snaps of beer cans being opened can be heard from the canteen.