About twenty minutes away from me, there's a complex of health-related buildings. There's a gym, with a very nice indoor pool, and a room with exercise machines. There's a few treadmills, some bikes, and weight training machines. Use of the machines is $5 for one visit, or $30 for a month.
Outside, there's a track and a playground with the awesomest swingsets and jungle gyms ever. Man, I wish I were a kid sometimes. There's also something that tries very hard to be a golf course, even going so far as to call itself golf. The "course," however, is laid out like jumbo-sized mini-golf: players strike their ball down an uneven, fairway-ish plot of land, using clubs somewhere between a putter and a wedge. I would have been crestfallen, but I've already experienced misleading advertising regarding golf courses in Asia.
The main attraction, though, is the onsen, or hot springs. It's similar to a Turkish bath, a couple of which I visited in Budapest. Yes, you get naked, yes, the areas where you're naked are sex-segregated, and no, it's not that weird. Using the onsen costs about $5, and that gives you all-day access to the main so-hot-it's-steaming pool, the 15°C/60°F pool, the 37°C/100°F sauna, and the 48°C/120°F sauna.
I went there back in May with a couple of the other ALTs. Sure enough, I soon learned that it's only awkward if you make it that way: nobody else cares that everyone's nekkid, and at any rate, everyone carries a small modesty towel. There were a lot of Korean tourists there that day, and Aaron and I got some stares from them, but they were the same you-ain't-from-around-here looks we get even when we're not naked.
Just about the only awkward part was seeing some of my 10th-graders stroll in.
They of course weren't fazed by it, though there was a slight pause when we saw each other. Most of the time, when I pass students at school or in town, they eagerly greet me, sometimes in Japanese but usually in English. (Most of the girls wave, which may or may not be because I always give a dorky wave in return, usually making them giggle.) Anyhow, the instant I saw my students, my instinct was to give the usual "hello." However, all parties involved aren't usually naked. The situation felt a tad different, so I sort of missed a beat. What made it more amusing was that each of them was clearly going through the same dilemma. We settled on a curt nod.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Volleyball and taxes
Those two normally have nothing in common, but I did both this summer, and I can't remember enough about either to devote a full post to each. Besides, who wants to read just about my taxes?
Back in June, the teachers from all three high schools on Tsushima got together for a volleyball tournament. It was held at Toyotama, my small high school, and I was on the Tsushima High team, though I teach at both schools. I can't recall playing volleyball since middle school P.E., but it wasn't that big a deal. We played in the school gym, right at the end of the rainy season, so it was hot and muggy. During breaks, though, nobody else was drinking water. Instead, they had cold bottled tea for everyone. I tried the same kind my first week in Tsushima--the label is green, which from a distance can be mistaken for Mountain Dew's--and I think it's just awful. However, everybody drinks it, and apparently it hydrates them enough that they don't bother with just plain water. Anyway, the tournament was a lot of fun.
I also had to take care of taxes this summer. Being out of the country on April 15 gives you an automatic two-month extension, and filing a foreign residency form tacks on two more months, which means my taxes weren't due until August 15. The U.S. and Japan have a tax treaty that exempts me from paying Japanese income tax, and filing my taxes after having been out of the country for 330 days keeps my foreign-earned income from being taxable in the U.S. To qualify for that, though, I had to file the normal 1040 form instead of the EZ one. This was my first time doing my taxes on my own. Once I sat down with all the materials, though, it wasn't that bad.
Back in June, the teachers from all three high schools on Tsushima got together for a volleyball tournament. It was held at Toyotama, my small high school, and I was on the Tsushima High team, though I teach at both schools. I can't recall playing volleyball since middle school P.E., but it wasn't that big a deal. We played in the school gym, right at the end of the rainy season, so it was hot and muggy. During breaks, though, nobody else was drinking water. Instead, they had cold bottled tea for everyone. I tried the same kind my first week in Tsushima--the label is green, which from a distance can be mistaken for Mountain Dew's--and I think it's just awful. However, everybody drinks it, and apparently it hydrates them enough that they don't bother with just plain water. Anyway, the tournament was a lot of fun.
I also had to take care of taxes this summer. Being out of the country on April 15 gives you an automatic two-month extension, and filing a foreign residency form tacks on two more months, which means my taxes weren't due until August 15. The U.S. and Japan have a tax treaty that exempts me from paying Japanese income tax, and filing my taxes after having been out of the country for 330 days keeps my foreign-earned income from being taxable in the U.S. To qualify for that, though, I had to file the normal 1040 form instead of the EZ one. This was my first time doing my taxes on my own. Once I sat down with all the materials, though, it wasn't that bad.
Fire drills and intruder defense
Thanks to all the rain, and the schools' utter lack of powered ventilation, most of the walls and floors in school were damp for most of June. In fact, we went about half of the month with shallow puddles in the halls. The main thoroughfares would get an occasional toweling-down, but for the most part, everyone let it go. After all, what was the point? We averaged five-day stretches of nonstop rainfall, and about one sunny day a week. The resulting humidity meant that any moisture we mopped up would return in an hour.
The standing water in the hallways provided a steady source of amusement. The only thing funnier than watching people nearly wipe out was for those people to be teachers, most of whom affect a look of brusque disdain when interacting with students. Nobody was hurt and, as best as I can tell, very few people actually fell.
However, toward the end of June, we had a scheduled fire drill. When everyone was supposed to be walking briskly as they were evacuated to the gym, the dank halls stopped being as funny. Nobody got hurt, but there were several spills. I'm sure the biggest concern for the students was a bruised ego, as the entire student body was filing through the same two corridors.
A week or two later, all the students were gathered for an assembly. I think it was for a speech from representatives of a nearby university. Whatever the reason, all the teachers were left with no students to worry about for an hour or two. Of course, the administration capitalized on this. We all filed into the smaller of the school's two gyms, and were met by the chief of police.
He was there to teach us now to respond to intruders at school. I couldn't catch a lot of his speech, though I think the beginning was about how to approach visitors to the school, what to keep an eye out for, etc. He then took volunteers for a demonstration. The head teacher chose two of us, and one was designated the intruder. The other teacher was to approach the intruder, greet them, and try to bar his entry. Predictably, the intruder ran right past the teacher.
The chief then made the scenario more realistic: he set up sidelines, simulating a narrow school corridor. Running the scenario again, the teacher had an easier time stopping the intruder. They scuffled for a few seconds (the chief had instructed the intruder to do get past the teacher), and he once again got through. The chief then taught us some basic hand-to-hand techniques for subduing intruders.
He then gave us a demonstration of the weapon we're supposed to use for handling intruders: a seven-foot-long aluminum bar with a U-shaped fork at the end. The idea is to get the intruder within the fork and pin him to a wall or the ground. The weapons also work beautifully when used together. Apart from the simple advantage of surrounding them, the chief demonstrated us how one bar pushing from behind at the knees while one pushes at the chest from the front will easily force someone to the ground. It was all beautifully simple physics.
He then had us participate in a few more demonstrations, each time making it more realistic: adding teachers, having them start with the weapons, making them run to a closet to retrieve the weapons after recognizing the intruder, adding props (desks, chairs) to the corridor, etc. He used the same teacher--the band conductor--as the intruder the whole time, and by the end of it, Nagao-sensei was really getting into it. He was leaping over desks, hurling chairs in the path of approaching teachers, and struggling valiantly with the weapons.
Since I'm retarded and broke my camera, I don't have pictures of any of this. Sigh...
The standing water in the hallways provided a steady source of amusement. The only thing funnier than watching people nearly wipe out was for those people to be teachers, most of whom affect a look of brusque disdain when interacting with students. Nobody was hurt and, as best as I can tell, very few people actually fell.
However, toward the end of June, we had a scheduled fire drill. When everyone was supposed to be walking briskly as they were evacuated to the gym, the dank halls stopped being as funny. Nobody got hurt, but there were several spills. I'm sure the biggest concern for the students was a bruised ego, as the entire student body was filing through the same two corridors.
A week or two later, all the students were gathered for an assembly. I think it was for a speech from representatives of a nearby university. Whatever the reason, all the teachers were left with no students to worry about for an hour or two. Of course, the administration capitalized on this. We all filed into the smaller of the school's two gyms, and were met by the chief of police.
He was there to teach us now to respond to intruders at school. I couldn't catch a lot of his speech, though I think the beginning was about how to approach visitors to the school, what to keep an eye out for, etc. He then took volunteers for a demonstration. The head teacher chose two of us, and one was designated the intruder. The other teacher was to approach the intruder, greet them, and try to bar his entry. Predictably, the intruder ran right past the teacher.
The chief then made the scenario more realistic: he set up sidelines, simulating a narrow school corridor. Running the scenario again, the teacher had an easier time stopping the intruder. They scuffled for a few seconds (the chief had instructed the intruder to do get past the teacher), and he once again got through. The chief then taught us some basic hand-to-hand techniques for subduing intruders.
He then gave us a demonstration of the weapon we're supposed to use for handling intruders: a seven-foot-long aluminum bar with a U-shaped fork at the end. The idea is to get the intruder within the fork and pin him to a wall or the ground. The weapons also work beautifully when used together. Apart from the simple advantage of surrounding them, the chief demonstrated us how one bar pushing from behind at the knees while one pushes at the chest from the front will easily force someone to the ground. It was all beautifully simple physics.
He then had us participate in a few more demonstrations, each time making it more realistic: adding teachers, having them start with the weapons, making them run to a closet to retrieve the weapons after recognizing the intruder, adding props (desks, chairs) to the corridor, etc. He used the same teacher--the band conductor--as the intruder the whole time, and by the end of it, Nagao-sensei was really getting into it. He was leaping over desks, hurling chairs in the path of approaching teachers, and struggling valiantly with the weapons.
Since I'm retarded and broke my camera, I don't have pictures of any of this. Sigh...
Friday, June 27, 2008
Funeral
In April, we got a new principal at my main high school. He used to be an English teacher, and this is his first year as a principal. Those two facts combine to make him a great guy to talk to. (The last principal had a carefully crafted an image as a standoffish disciplinarian, so the new guy was all the more refreshing.) He's originally from Tsushima, and his family lived in the middle of the island, near my small high school.
Near the end of June, his mother died. The funeral was announced, and was attended by all the faculty members who weren't away on business or vacation. Wikipedia has an article about funerals, and it describes this one pretty well.
The chorus conductor (who also conducts Chorus D) gave me a ride. The rainy season was drawing to a close, and the sky was overcast. It was actually a beautiful day, with the darkness of the sky making the mountains and forests look even more lush than usual. The funeral was held at the family home. There were close to a hundred people present: family and friends, around thirty Tsushima High teachers, and various other colleagues of the principal. Principals from several schools on the island attended, as well as some from Nagasaki.
As people arrived, they went first to a small tent and table that had been set up in front of the house. There was an attendant seated there, and people handed him cards for the family expressing their condolences. The attendant gave them something in return. I couldn't make out what it was, and I decided it would be less than polite to ask someone. I looked it up later on, and found out the guests were leaving envelopes of condolence money. Japanese funerals can be very expensive--on the order of $40,000--which explains why guests would give money. I'm still not sure what they received in return. It was probably a thank-you note.
There was a loose line leading out from the house, but it wasn't moving. People continued to arrive, and finally the ceremony began. An announcement was made over an quiet intercom, and two Buddhist priests began chanting a sutra. They sang some in unison, but mostly formed minor chords. (Since I couldn't understand what was being sung, all I could focus on was the music.)
After the priests finished, the line began moving. Everyone was getting in line, so I followed suit. A couple of non-English teachers turned to me and explained (in remarkably good English I didn't even know they could speak) that we were to make three offerings of burning incense. They pantomimed how to appropriately do it. The procession was heading up to an altar set directly in front of the living room of the house, with the front doors of the house open, allowing everyone to see inside.
The family was gathered there, with the principal kneeling at the front, thanking each guest as they passed by. He smiled meekly when he saw me, and said in English, "Thank you for coming." Having watched each person in front of me, I carefully mimicked what they had done, lighting a stick of incense, folding my hands, and bowing to the family.
Everyone filed back into the front yard, and held hushed conversations. Most of the Tsushima High teachers quietly moved to the driveway, where I was able for the first time to ask some questions. I waited for one of the English teachers to broach the subject before I asked, but there didn't seem to be any hesitation to answer my questions. He explained what we had just done, and taught me some of the Japanese words associated with what was going on.
After all the offerings were made, I noticed that everyone was deliberately lined up along either side of the driveway. This left a clear path out to the road. A hearse I had noticed earlier had been moved up a little closer to the driveway, and there was a small stand with chairs set up across the street from the house. The family appeared, carrying the coffin, and moved to the area across the street. The coffin was placed on a stand, the family was seated, and the priest read another sutra. A very short eulogy was given (though I didn't understand what was said), and the principal (who, I think, was the eldest son) thanked everyone for having come. The coffin was placed in the back of the hearse, and the family got in the front. The car started, and the driver leaned on the horn as they very slowly drove away. The horn lasted for a full thirty seconds or so before dying away, and the hearse drove off. It was explained to me that the body would be taken to a crematorium, and the ashes either buried in the family plot or scattered at sea.
The guests began trickling back to their cars, and the chorus conductor and I talked about funerals on the trip back. This was made particularly interesting because his normal English and my normal Japanese aren't very reliable, so his funeral-related English was on about the same level as my funeral-related Japanese: zero. We gestured our way through it, though.
Near the end of June, his mother died. The funeral was announced, and was attended by all the faculty members who weren't away on business or vacation. Wikipedia has an article about funerals, and it describes this one pretty well.
The chorus conductor (who also conducts Chorus D) gave me a ride. The rainy season was drawing to a close, and the sky was overcast. It was actually a beautiful day, with the darkness of the sky making the mountains and forests look even more lush than usual. The funeral was held at the family home. There were close to a hundred people present: family and friends, around thirty Tsushima High teachers, and various other colleagues of the principal. Principals from several schools on the island attended, as well as some from Nagasaki.
As people arrived, they went first to a small tent and table that had been set up in front of the house. There was an attendant seated there, and people handed him cards for the family expressing their condolences. The attendant gave them something in return. I couldn't make out what it was, and I decided it would be less than polite to ask someone. I looked it up later on, and found out the guests were leaving envelopes of condolence money. Japanese funerals can be very expensive--on the order of $40,000--which explains why guests would give money. I'm still not sure what they received in return. It was probably a thank-you note.
There was a loose line leading out from the house, but it wasn't moving. People continued to arrive, and finally the ceremony began. An announcement was made over an quiet intercom, and two Buddhist priests began chanting a sutra. They sang some in unison, but mostly formed minor chords. (Since I couldn't understand what was being sung, all I could focus on was the music.)
After the priests finished, the line began moving. Everyone was getting in line, so I followed suit. A couple of non-English teachers turned to me and explained (in remarkably good English I didn't even know they could speak) that we were to make three offerings of burning incense. They pantomimed how to appropriately do it. The procession was heading up to an altar set directly in front of the living room of the house, with the front doors of the house open, allowing everyone to see inside.
The family was gathered there, with the principal kneeling at the front, thanking each guest as they passed by. He smiled meekly when he saw me, and said in English, "Thank you for coming." Having watched each person in front of me, I carefully mimicked what they had done, lighting a stick of incense, folding my hands, and bowing to the family.
Everyone filed back into the front yard, and held hushed conversations. Most of the Tsushima High teachers quietly moved to the driveway, where I was able for the first time to ask some questions. I waited for one of the English teachers to broach the subject before I asked, but there didn't seem to be any hesitation to answer my questions. He explained what we had just done, and taught me some of the Japanese words associated with what was going on.
After all the offerings were made, I noticed that everyone was deliberately lined up along either side of the driveway. This left a clear path out to the road. A hearse I had noticed earlier had been moved up a little closer to the driveway, and there was a small stand with chairs set up across the street from the house. The family appeared, carrying the coffin, and moved to the area across the street. The coffin was placed on a stand, the family was seated, and the priest read another sutra. A very short eulogy was given (though I didn't understand what was said), and the principal (who, I think, was the eldest son) thanked everyone for having come. The coffin was placed in the back of the hearse, and the family got in the front. The car started, and the driver leaned on the horn as they very slowly drove away. The horn lasted for a full thirty seconds or so before dying away, and the hearse drove off. It was explained to me that the body would be taken to a crematorium, and the ashes either buried in the family plot or scattered at sea.
The guests began trickling back to their cars, and the chorus conductor and I talked about funerals on the trip back. This was made particularly interesting because his normal English and my normal Japanese aren't very reliable, so his funeral-related English was on about the same level as my funeral-related Japanese: zero. We gestured our way through it, though.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Rainy season
The rainy season officially begins the first week of June. It's called tsuyu in Japanese, which means literally "ume rain." Ume is a Japanese plum that ripens during the season. Basically, the rains are caused by moist Pacific air moving along the coast of Asia, repelled from land by a cooler continental air mass. Suspended along the coast, the moist air drops its rain along Japan, Taiwan, and eastern China. Eventually, the continental mass warms and the Pacific mass strengthens enough to push its way onto the continent, thus ending the rainy season. That ends the rainy season in Japan around the beginning to middle of July.
Sure enough, since June 8, it's been raining about five days out of the week. The other two are usually overcast, with the occasional outbreak of sunlight. The rains can be torrential, but usually they're just dreary, day-long showers. For the first time, I've actually needed my car to get to my main high school: I've tried making the the walk in the rain, and my pants and shoes get drenched. It's not the discomfort that bothers me. Rather, it's the mildew that comes along with this season. Non-stop rain and days without sunshine combine to create a breeding ground for mold and mildew. I don't have an electric dryer--I have to line-dry everything--so those pants and socks that get drenched from the walk will take 3-4 days to dry.
Suffice it to say, I've learned to be opportunistic with my laundry days. Lately, if it's sunny, I do laundry, even if the last sunny (and, therefore, laundry) day was just two days before.
The rainy season in Japan officially begins the first week of June and usually runs through the middle of July.
Sure enough, since June 8, it's been raining about five days out of the week. The other two are usually overcast, with the occasional outbreak of sunlight. The rains can be torrential, but usually they're just dreary, day-long showers. For the first time, I've actually needed my car to get to my main high school: I've tried making the the walk in the rain, and my pants and shoes get drenched. It's not the discomfort that bothers me. Rather, it's the mildew that comes along with this season. Non-stop rain and days without sunshine combine to create a breeding ground for mold and mildew. I don't have an electric dryer--I have to line-dry everything--so those pants and socks that get drenched from the walk will take 3-4 days to dry.
Suffice it to say, I've learned to be opportunistic with my laundry days. Lately, if it's sunny, I do laundry, even if the last sunny (and, therefore, laundry) day was just two days before.
The rainy season in Japan officially begins the first week of June and usually runs through the middle of July.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The tournament to end all tournaments
I've explained already that the vast majority of high school students join a club. There are clubs for everything: baseball, basketball, volleyball, soccer, tennis, track and field, photography, English, music, chorus, kendo, kyuudo, and chado. The clubs meet at least six days a week, almost always for more than two hours at a time. There's something noticeably absent, though. Most of these clubs are competitive sports, yet they very rarely go anywhere for competitions.
This may have something to do with Tsushima's isolation; I haven't asked friends in bigger cities if they have more frequent matches. Teams do travel for a tournament every once in a while--maybe once or twice per semester--and I see the baseball team scrimmage every day. Nobody has anything remotely resembling a season of games, though.
Last week, though, there was a huge match. It's called 高総体, kosotai, and it's the equivalent of a state-level tournament: literally every sports team from every high school in Nagasaki prefecture went to Nagasaki to compete. It's a very big deal, and the introduction ceremony was broadcast on TV here, with each school's teams marching past the audience assembled in the arena. Before they left, both of my high schools had a send-off ceremony: everyone gathered in the gym, with the participating teams in their sports duds. The principal gave a speech, gave some kind of certificate to the student body president, and the band played the school song while everyone sang along.
The teams went to Nagasaki via ferry, so there was another huge sendoff at the port. I woke up an hour early and headed, bleary-eyed, for the ferry terminal, expecting to see just a few similarly drowsy teachers standing in the drizzle to wave at the departing kids. I should have known better: the entire school showed up, give or take a few students. I failed to realize my small high school would be on the same boat, so I was kind of shocked to see several Toyotama teachers present for the send-off too.
Despite the rain, the band was present to perform the school song, and everyone cheered as our teams boarded the ferry. Several students and teachers led dedicatory cheers much like the ones the teachers gave each other at the goodbye party in April.
I tried to get some pictures through the mist, but I dropped my camera. Having neglected to use the small loop of fabric likely attached to the camera to prevent just such an occurrence, it hit the ground hard, right on the part with the lens that telescopes out. Now, when I try to turn it on, it tries in vain to retract the lens. Getting it repaired here would require going to Fukuoka or Nagasaki--a $250 investment--and unless it could be fixed on the spot, it'd require either shipping ($50-$60) or returning to Fukuoka to pick it up (another $250). Since there's a very real possibility I'd have to spend all that money just to find out it'd be cheaper to buy a new camera, I've decided to wait until I go home in August to get it looked at.
This may have something to do with Tsushima's isolation; I haven't asked friends in bigger cities if they have more frequent matches. Teams do travel for a tournament every once in a while--maybe once or twice per semester--and I see the baseball team scrimmage every day. Nobody has anything remotely resembling a season of games, though.
Last week, though, there was a huge match. It's called 高総体, kosotai, and it's the equivalent of a state-level tournament: literally every sports team from every high school in Nagasaki prefecture went to Nagasaki to compete. It's a very big deal, and the introduction ceremony was broadcast on TV here, with each school's teams marching past the audience assembled in the arena. Before they left, both of my high schools had a send-off ceremony: everyone gathered in the gym, with the participating teams in their sports duds. The principal gave a speech, gave some kind of certificate to the student body president, and the band played the school song while everyone sang along.
The teams went to Nagasaki via ferry, so there was another huge sendoff at the port. I woke up an hour early and headed, bleary-eyed, for the ferry terminal, expecting to see just a few similarly drowsy teachers standing in the drizzle to wave at the departing kids. I should have known better: the entire school showed up, give or take a few students. I failed to realize my small high school would be on the same boat, so I was kind of shocked to see several Toyotama teachers present for the send-off too.
Despite the rain, the band was present to perform the school song, and everyone cheered as our teams boarded the ferry. Several students and teachers led dedicatory cheers much like the ones the teachers gave each other at the goodbye party in April.
I tried to get some pictures through the mist, but I dropped my camera. Having neglected to use the small loop of fabric likely attached to the camera to prevent just such an occurrence, it hit the ground hard, right on the part with the lens that telescopes out. Now, when I try to turn it on, it tries in vain to retract the lens. Getting it repaired here would require going to Fukuoka or Nagasaki--a $250 investment--and unless it could be fixed on the spot, it'd require either shipping ($50-$60) or returning to Fukuoka to pick it up (another $250). Since there's a very real possibility I'd have to spend all that money just to find out it'd be cheaper to buy a new camera, I've decided to wait until I go home in August to get it looked at.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Summer Concert
For the past few months, Chorus D has been practicing songs related to the seasons. We also included other traditional Japanese songs. Our first performance since March was a double feature: two venues, back-to-back. My Japanese, while improving, still fails me sometimes. It did that when the group was discussing the plan: all I understood was the date and time. I got a ride from the conductor, and soon discovered that we were singing at two retirement homes in my city.
At both homes, the eleven of us took the stage and introduced ourselves. There were between twenty and thirty residents gathered, along with the nurses and orderlies. While some of the residents slept through it, most of them were awake, and most of those obviously loved the performance. We sang our original set from February (old anime songs), plus the traditional songs we'd added. For two of the songs, we had the audience sing with us. The lyrics for one of the songs were written on a board, but everyone knew the other song from memory.
Here's the song list from our performances, with links to YouTube videos of other renditions:
"春が来た" ("Spring Has Come")
"花の街" ("Street of Flowers")
"早春賦" ("Ode to Early Spring")
"夏は来ね" (something like "Summer Has Come")
"茶摘み" ("Tea Harvest")
"たなばたさま" ("Star Festival")
"つの子" ("Seven Little Babies")
"かたつむり" ("The Snail")
"浜辺の歌" ("Beach Song")
"ふるさと" ("Home Town")
As a side note, the Star Festival has a really cool story behind it. Give it a read.
Everyone thanked us at both homes, but at the second one, one of the residents asked for the microphone. In a slow yet clear voice, she introduced herself and told us that she was coming up on her 92nd birthday. Not making any attempt to hold back tears, she explained something about our singing reminding her of her hometown and her childhood. I couldn't make out all the words, but I had no problem understanding her. She thanked us for coming, and asked us to come back anytime.
At the obligatory after-concert dinner that night, I learned about the chorus' history. They've only been around for three or four years, and started out with about four members. I also found out that the D does actually stand for something: Donko. Donko is a subtype of Shiitake, an Asian mushroom species. Tsushima is somewhat famous for its shiitake, and donko is apparently a highly-valued variant. So the name is a creative tie-in to Tsushima. For whatever reason (perhaps Anglophones in the audience sniggering at the name), "Donko" was quickly contracted to just "D." While killing the mystery does somewhat diminish the group's mystique, at least it's a name connected to Tsushima.
At both homes, the eleven of us took the stage and introduced ourselves. There were between twenty and thirty residents gathered, along with the nurses and orderlies. While some of the residents slept through it, most of them were awake, and most of those obviously loved the performance. We sang our original set from February (old anime songs), plus the traditional songs we'd added. For two of the songs, we had the audience sing with us. The lyrics for one of the songs were written on a board, but everyone knew the other song from memory.
Here's the song list from our performances, with links to YouTube videos of other renditions:
"春が来た" ("Spring Has Come")
"花の街" ("Street of Flowers")
"早春賦" ("Ode to Early Spring")
"夏は来ね" (something like "Summer Has Come")
"茶摘み" ("Tea Harvest")
"たなばたさま" ("Star Festival")
"つの子" ("Seven Little Babies")
"かたつむり" ("The Snail")
"浜辺の歌" ("Beach Song")
"ふるさと" ("Home Town")
As a side note, the Star Festival has a really cool story behind it. Give it a read.
Everyone thanked us at both homes, but at the second one, one of the residents asked for the microphone. In a slow yet clear voice, she introduced herself and told us that she was coming up on her 92nd birthday. Not making any attempt to hold back tears, she explained something about our singing reminding her of her hometown and her childhood. I couldn't make out all the words, but I had no problem understanding her. She thanked us for coming, and asked us to come back anytime.
At the obligatory after-concert dinner that night, I learned about the chorus' history. They've only been around for three or four years, and started out with about four members. I also found out that the D does actually stand for something: Donko. Donko is a subtype of Shiitake, an Asian mushroom species. Tsushima is somewhat famous for its shiitake, and donko is apparently a highly-valued variant. So the name is a creative tie-in to Tsushima. For whatever reason (perhaps Anglophones in the audience sniggering at the name), "Donko" was quickly contracted to just "D." While killing the mystery does somewhat diminish the group's mystique, at least it's a name connected to Tsushima.
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