Evangelia Papoutsaki MA Leeds, PhD Cardiff, MRSNZ

I live on a small island — Waiheke, fewer than ten thousand people, forty minutes by ferry from the major urban centre of Auckland. Walking at Oneroa Beach every day has become my mental health routine, especially now, with the current state of global affairs. Grounding myself in the place that holds me has become essential — a desperate act of keeping above water, keeping at bay a depression seeping into my being, resulting from a sense of despair about our collective malais

Living on a small island teaches you about presence. About the weight of a glance, the meaning of a gesture, the value of a space that knows your name. It teaches you that being seen—truly seen—is not a luxury but a fundamental human need. And that the places where this happens, where we are witnessed and acknowledged, are precious beyond measure.

Sometimes the best academic impact happens not in journals, but in the places where the work truly matters.

Isn’t that what we all want? To be witnessed, quietly, completely. To know that for even a moment, we existed fully in someone else’s gaze.

While tourism is undeniably the lifeblood of the markets today, glimpses of the past linger in the smaller arcades, where echoes remain of a time when this was the main shopping district for locals—before shopping malls drew people away from central Naha for their daily needs. Still, I’m glad the markets have adapted and found a way forward.

Returning to Okinawa reminded me how deeply I love this place: its incredibly kind people, its light, its nature, and yes, even its climate. I’ll take the hot, steamy weather any day; my body thrives in it.

While exploring Ainu culture and Indigenous tourism, I was fortunate to meet remarkable people and gain access to communities and projects that demonstrated how the power of one can spark meaningful change.

...I traveled north to the Shiretoko UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site and National Park, where I entered an enchanted realm of lakes. The name "Shiretoko" comes from the Ainu words “sir etok”, meaning “the end of the earth.”