Attaché Dispatches No. 8

Welcome to Issue 8 of Attaché Dispatches. A globe-trotting one this time — we're island-hopping in Japan, eating our way across Los Angeles, and I'm getting something off my chest about travel insurance. (Missed a previous instalment? They're all archived and waiting here.)

In this Dispatch:

Three years ago today I sat alone in a small transit lounge somewhere in the bowels of Haneda Airport. I’d made my connection. Just. The last hour or so of my flight from London was spent nervously looking at my watch as the departure time of my next flight rapidly approached. But with the help of some ATC shortcuts, by the time we touched down things were looking up. If the travel gods smiled upon me during the final phases of the journey, I’d be ok. Feeling quietly optimistic, I turned the corner to the immigration hall, and stopped dead in my tracks. There in front of me was a murmuring wall of humanity. Hundreds of people in orderly lines snaking back on themselves over and over again. My shoulders sank. This would take hours — I was never going to make my connection. Looking around for a solution, I approached one of the passenger herders and tried to explain my predicament. She was having none of it. I tried again. No dice, fella, back of the line. With nothing to lose, I shrugged and tried yet again. At this point she was clearly sick of my particular brand of bullshit and ushered me over to a conspicuously empty immigration desk — perhaps reserved for diplomats or members of the clergy. I am, for the record, neither of those things. The immigration officer sighed, stamped my passport, and wordlessly waved me through.

Japan, like the US, has the frustrating quirk of making you collect your luggage at first point of entry and re-check it for your connecting flight. It can be quite the sticking point for tight transits. But feeling confident after my immigration shenanigans, I pranced to baggage claim and waited for my suitcase. And waited. And waited, watching the slim advantage I’d given myself quickly evaporate. It was only after about 30 minutes that I realised I had been gormlessly watching my own suitcase loop sedately around the belt over and over again. Just…staring at it. To this day, I have no idea what fuse in my brain had blown, but eventually I snapped out of it, cursed my own name, grabbed my suitcase and checked it for the next flight before finding my way to the ramp-level transit pen where I now waited, sweaty and exhausted.

A few minutes later a bus appeared exactly when the schedule said it would, and whisked me across busy taxiways, past sleeping Dreamliners, and through backstage luggage dungeons to Terminal 1. Greg, fresh from a week in Tokyo, was waiting in the departure hall. He thrust a cold bottle of Pocari Sweat into my hand with a look that said “you look like you need this.” I slumped down in a chair, gratefully gulped down the elixir, and stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the JAL 767 that we were due to board in 10 minutes.

Our destination was Naha — the capital of Okinawa Prefecture. I’d never been to Naha or Okinawa Island before but I’d been to Japan enough times that I felt I knew what to expect. Turns out I couldn’t have been further from the mark. It was Japan, sure, but it wasn’t like any side of Japan I’d ever experienced. And it certainly wasn’t the vision of tropical paradise I’d built up in my mind. Naha is a hard-working port city, with all the trappings thereof. It’s also home to a significant foreign military presence. I underestimated the scale of influence the US military has on Naha and Okinawa. It was an uncomfortable revelation to experience first-hand. There is a persistent, uneasy tension that hangs in the air from what is, essentially and bizarrely, a benevolent occupying force. You feel it everywhere. And there’s no escaping it. Foreign male between the ages of 18 and 60? People are going to make some assumptions about you. We were treated differently from anywhere else I’ve been to in Japan. There was suspicion, scepticism, and, very rarely, indignation. Once it was established we weren’t anything to do with the military, attitudes softened, and normal service resumed.

But in most cases it was easier for izakaya proprietors and restaurant owners to simply say "No Foreigners Allowed". And having read about the history behind that uneasy co-existence — one small island shouldering the overwhelming majority of the US military's presence in Japan — it was hard to disagree. The reasons aren't abstract: noise, accidents, and a history of crimes serious enough to put tens of thousands onto the streets in protest. When you can't separate the tourist from the serviceman at a glance, a blanket "no" is the simplest form of self-protection.

Fortunately the reach of this tension is finite. It seems unable to leave land and cross the waters surrounding Okinawa. And as soon as you leave Naha for one of the many islands in the archipelago, you can feel the friction and the heat start to wane almost immediately. We chose the Kerama Islands, 25 miles west of Naha. Of its 28 islands, only four are inhabited - the Kerama archipelago is the paradise Okinawa promises. Long stretches of sandy white beaches that would not feel out of place in the South Pacific. Small villages with a bucolic, laid-back way of life. And warm, cerulean waters teeming with life. It made for an unforgettable day’s filming.

I think our Okinawa episode flew under the radar a little bit. But I believe it’s one of our best. Our “documentary” episodes are much harder to make than the Guide format (Transport/Food/Money) because there’s no real structure to work from. With the Guide format we know we need to fill those three content buckets — both with words and visuals. But with the documentary episodes, we’re just along for the ride. Whatever happens, happens. We come back with gigabytes (sometimes terabytes) of footage from which we have to craft a narrative. I’ve never been a fan of the vlog-style “and then we did this, and then we did that, now we’re doing this” format of travel videos, unless the journey is out of the ordinary. And I like to think that as hard as the Okinawa shoot was, we managed to capture a place that is surprisingly complicated and nuanced — not to mention geographically gargantuan. If you haven’t seen it, recently or at all, I’d encourage you to check it out. I’d love your thoughts.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge our friend Joseph Tame. Joseph has been with us on all eight of our Japan shoots. Producer, translator, fixer, and drone pilot — we would be, quite literally, lost without him. Joseph runs Wild Tame, a fantastic creative agency in Tokyo.

We are extremely fortunate to have a guest editor for our food section in this issue. None other than the Greg Barnes — filmmaker extraordinaire, the creative engine behind Attaché, and all around top guy. Perhaps just as importantly, Greg is a fellow travel food enthusiast. He was recently in Los Angeles with his wife, Frances, and was decent enough to send us a dispatch for Dispatches. Take it away, Greg…

Everywhere Greg ate - When we booked our L.A. trip, it was very much with a focus on food, and, being disciples of Eric Wareheim, we were excitedly venturing onto his turf - quite literally following his breadcrumb trail. Weeks before departure, we'd diligently reserved some of the city's most exciting tables, but also left room to roam. Here are some notes.

A million thanks to Greg and Frances for these top LA scran tips. I look forward to sampling each and every one of them in due course.

Travel Insurance Rant - I am flabbergasted that people still think travel insurance is optional. It’s not. I can’t overemphasise this. The last thing you want is to miss a flight, have a valuable item stolen, or get sick or injured when you’re overseas. You’ll be mired in unfamiliar processes, uninterested local authorities, and unwelcome stress — and that’s if it goes well. This is even more important if you’re travelling to the US. Do not, under any circumstances, travel to the US without travel insurance. The health care system in the US is not like what most of us are used to. They will issue you a bill for your care and it will be tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yes, you can sometimes negotiate it down but it’s still going to be way, way more than an annual multi-trip insurance premium. Don’t risk it - pay the few extra bucks.

Also, be sure to actually read the documentation for your insurance. Understand what’s covered and, crucially, what’s not covered. Know the coverage limits, especially when it comes to lost luggage and medical care. They can both be surprisingly low. Find out if there are countries or regions that your insurance doesn’t cover. Same with activities — often things like scuba diving, skiing, sailing. Hell, run it through ChatGPT or some other awful AI bot and ask it to flag any potential issues. Be sure to give it as much info about you and your family (ages, types of travel, pre-existing medical conditions, etc) so it doesn’t barf out some hallucinated drivel.

But in all seriousness, in this day and age, travel insurance is a boring necessity for any kind of trip. Please, please don’t travel without it.

Work continues both on Counter Culture and on several new Attaché episodes. Counter Culture is an interesting beast as we try and work out the various formats and platforms on which the show will appear. The streaming and content landscapes have changed dramatically in the last 12 months, and rather than chase trends, we’re trying to set both shows up for long-term success, which is taking a lot of behind-the-scenes work, but I think will ultimately be worth it. Stay tuned!

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Until next time…