You think you already know what your colleagues are like. Put them in that sea and you will meet them again.
The sea at Miyako is blue to the point of implausibility: look down and you can see your own shadow lying on sand several meters beneath you. The second you put the mask on and go face-down, every sound is switched off and only your own breathing is left. Everyone laughs getting onto a SUP board, because someone always goes in, and whoever goes in laughs loudest. After dark you go into a cave, the lamps go out, and the sound of the water knocks back and forth between the rock walls.
Back on land, the same beach becomes a different kind of room. A live version of Catan is laid out, and the person who never says a word in meetings starts trading resources, negotiating terms, forming alliances and then breaking them. Once the beach sports day is under way, the shell of job title falls off completely. On the last day everyone walks bent over along the waterline picking things up, and the bags grow heavier.
Halfway through, someone goes quiet of their own accord. The blue they have been swimming in for two days and the bag in their hand turn out to be the same thing.
From the water to the shore, from the pure play to this last part, one house holds all of it — the largest on the island. So a team never has to be split into groups and handed to several operators to be led separately; they stay together from morning to night, however many of them there are.
Back at the office, that blue becomes a password only they understand: that time on Miyako. In meetings afterwards they look at each other differently, because each of them has seen the others fall into the sea and climb out laughing.