karakui

intheplayingfields:

A Pleasant Seat: The Ruins of Okinawan Gusuku.

DUNCAN
This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

—Macbeth, Act I, Scene 6

When I first moved to Okinawa, a mere speck of coral in a turquoise sea, I was enchanted to find that hundreds of years ago it was a castle-covered kingdom.  The lush semi-tropical landscape is peppered with these rocky ruins, called gusuku (城) on lonely outcrops overlooking the sea.  Once the home of Okinawan lords and bustling with activity, they now remain a silent witness to centuries past.

Most of these fortresses were built between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries.  Many of them are little more than legend now, their heavy stone walls long since carted off for some other purpose, and still more are mere eroded outlines in the jungle, nearly inaccessible.  However, a few are maintained and restored enough to keep watch over their respective corners of the island, reminders of a colorful time full of drama and betrayal.

When I first started discovering the gusuku for myself, I was not sure what to expect.  It was certainly not these stark and craggy walls of windswept rock, taking the full brunt of the midday sun.  However, there was something mysterious and otherworldly about them, just the same, as if they did not occupy the same spaces that the curious tourists passing through did.

Zakimi Castle (座喜味城) was built in the fifteenth century by Gosamaru, a legendary Okinawan warrior.  Some say the stones here were carried by a human chain from Yamada Castle, where Gosamaru was born, farther north.  Yamada Castle no longer exists, so perhaps the stories are true.  Despite the locals’ reticence to approach gusuku at night, Zakimi truly comes alive then with whispers of ghosts in the sighs of the trees and the gentle flapping of bats overhead in the purple twilight.

Across the island, Katsuren Castle (勝連城) is located high on an outcropping overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  It was built in the twelfth century and was most notably occupied by Gosamaru’s contemporary and rival Amawari.  Its lofty walls loom high above the surrounding area, its topmost enclosure buffeted by winds and only reached by a treacherous and extremely steep flight of stone steps.

Up to the far north, Nakijin Castle (今帰仁城) has a fine view of the East China Sea from its protected hilltop.  Its walls hide many treasures, including a former warhorse training area that is now home to butterflies and tiny flowers, more suitable for sun-dappled napping than the arts of war.

Gosamaru was given this castle by the first king of a unified Okinawa, Shō Hashi, who was based in the southern part of the island at Shuri Castle.  He stayed here briefly before building the first castle of his own at Zakimi.

The island is quite narrow where Nakagusuku Castle (中城城) stands, and one can see the magnificent expanse of both the Pacific Ocean and the East China Sea from the tops of its limestone walls. 

This gusuku was also built by Gosamaru so he could keep a closer eye on his Katsuren-based rival, Amawari, out of allegiance to the Okinawan king.  To complicate matters, Gosamaru’s daughter had married the current Okinawan King, Shō Taikyū, who was the seventh son of Shō Hashi: their daughter (Gosamaru’s granddaughter) was married to Amawari.

In 1458, Amawari slipped past Nakagusuku by boat and told Shō Taikyū that Gosamaru planned to revolt and take the kingdom for himself.  A spy sent to Nakagusuku reported that Gosamaru was amassing an army (to attack Katsuren and Amawari, not the king) but the misinformation was passed along.

In response, the king sent an army led by Amawari to attack Gosamaru at Nakagusuku.  Gosamaru was so loyal he refused to fight his king’s army and instead committed suicide with his own sword.  Shō Taikyū’s daughter (Amawari’s wife) realized the treachery and informed her father.  The treacherous Amawari was executed…which conveniently also removed both powerful lords from becoming any sort of threat to the Okinawan throne.

More than five hundred years later, the Kingdom of Okinawa is gone now, too, after conquest by mainland Japan and occupation by the United States after a brutal world war.  The stark walls of stone linger on, a reminder of what once was for the people who are now left to see, the curious adventurers enticed by what the walls once protected.

Perhaps the restless ghosts of these long-ago lords now wander among the quiet stones of their former dwellings, holding spectral moon-viewing parties with only the bats and night-birds and sighing winds for companions, under the velvety Okinawan night.

(Images, text & map by OTB; more haunted shots of Okinawa here.)