
On most of Okinawa you drink awamori at your own pace. On Miyako there is a system, it has a name, and once it starts it does not naturally stop.
The otori (オトーリ) works like this: the “parent” of the round stands, makes a short speech, drinks a small cup of diluted awamori, then pours the same cup for every person in the circle in turn. When the circle closes, the parent names a successor, and the new parent repeats it. The mathematics is the point — with six people, one full rotation is six cups each, and rotations are plural.
Its origin is usually told as scarcity: sharing one scarce bottle fairly around a table of farmers. Whatever the truth, it survives as social glue — a structure in which everyone speaks, everyone is toasted, and no one drinks alone.
A cruise passenger is unlikely to be conscripted at lunch — otori is an evening institution. But if you find yourself in one: the cup is small, dilution is normal and nobody minds it weak; you may touch the cup to your lips and pass with a smile and a “kanpai”; and the only real rule is to give the little speech when your turn comes. Two sentences and a thank-you to the table is a perfectly good speech.
The island’s distilleries — Tarakawa and Kikunotsuyu among them — sell the same awamori by the bottle, which is the take-home version of the ritual and asks nothing of your liver at all.
Almost certainly not on a port day — otori is an evening ritual among friends and colleagues. If you are invited, it is genuine hospitality: the cup is small, weak mixing is normal, and a two-sentence thank-you speech fulfils your whole obligation.
Yes — touch the cup to your lips or simply toast with tea, and no reasonable table will mind. The ritual is about the circle and the speeches, not the volume drunk.

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