Communing with nature... more or less

For the second week in a row, I have been reminded of the beauty of Japan. This time the culprit is the yearly retreat for the chorus that I sing in here. We went up into the mountains of southern Osaka Prefecture for a weekend of rehearsals, excessive food intake, and no cell phone or Internet service whatsoever, at a facility just slightly nicer than your average US summer camp. And for the first time in a while, I felt a pang of homesickness.

I don’t need to remind you how much nature the North Country has to spare, seeing as how if you’re reading this, you’re there already. But for me, I’ve been living and working in cities for the past year, among buildings, roads, the occasional agricultural spot, and more buildings. Sometimes I need reminding of just how much splendor nature can have to offer, and I was glad to have the Japanese countryside there to remind me this weekend.

Of course, I don’t think I’ve mentioned the chorus in too much detail yet either. Long story short, when I was working in a different city prior to Matsubara, I opined (complained, really) to one of the teachers on the fact that I hadn’t gotten to sing in any kind of group since I got to Japan, and I’d like to change that. As luck would have it, she just so happened to be a member of the Tondabayashi Mixed Chorus, and one trial rehearsal later I found myself signed up, attending practice every other week, and making friends with the other members.

Being a part of the chorus has been quite the experience in itself, made even more appreciable by the fact that getting in seemed to just happen to me without much effort on my part. It’s often said in Japan that in life, your connections matter more than anything else, and in this case, I can believe it. It might be nice if there were members closer to my own age, but I do enjoy the special status accorded to being both the only foreigner and the only under-25 in the group, so I guess it works out in the end.

At any rate, this retreat was especially interesting for me because it meant a chance to go “off the beaten path”… by which I mean, by roads. Having road access may not exactly make it the most out-of-the-way location by American (let alone North Country) standards, but the difference is certainly tangible. We turned off the highway, onto a network of winding, unnervingly narrow (but still paved) roads, and found ourselves passing through a series of smaller settlements, and up forested mountainsides. It was absolutely picturesque. The closest rail station was miles away.

Being, as I am, an advocate for convenient public transportation, it might seem incredibly odd for me to be calling the lack of train access a good thing. But actually, I liked it a lot for two reasons. First, it gives me a place to explore that I can’t easily get to any other way (so there will still be something left out there even after I’ve traversed the entire length and breadth of this country by foot and by train). Second, the very look of the place (as well as the typical urban sprawl just down the hills in central Kaizuka) had me quite convinced that the lack of easy non-car access was a major factor in keeping the area pristine. Bring in a rail line, and suddenly you have throngs of commuters shuffling off daily to Osaka and Wakayama, thus new development and new residents demanding all the comforts of city life, like McDonald’s, Mister Donut, and UNI-QLO. The next thing you know it’s just another suburban wasteland. Easily reached and pedestrian-friendly, perhaps, but still despoiled. So for once, I was happy to be out of the way, and entirely reliant on other people to get me back to civilization at the end of it.

Anyhow, Saturday was a gorgeous autumn day, and the weather up at the retreat was perfect for cooking outside, which is what we did. It was my first outdoor barbecue here in Japan, and despite the menu (beef yakiniku with yakisoba noodles after), it was pleasantly satisfying (and stomach-expanding). I can’t say whether the surroundings actually helped our singing any, but it certainly contributed to a convivial air among chorus members, and we all chatted away into the night over leftovers from the barbecue and other things inappropriate for snacking on at 2 in the morning.

When I did finally retire for the evening, it was to the communal bedroom, where ten baritones and basses had a waiting futon laid out over the tatami mat floor. As I stepped into the room, I was taken aback momentarily to find that outside the window was complete and utter silence – not particularly arresting back home, but a novelty after living for the past year in a variety of places set dispiritingly close to major roadways or rail lines. Reveling in this discovery, I settled in to the futon and shut my eyes… to be awakened moments later by some unearthly loud snoring from one of the other basses. He was even louder than my father gets in his sleep, which is an impressive feat. So, I ate more than my fair share, and then didn’t exactly get a good night’s rest, and then Sunday was cold and wet. But the surroundings were so beautiful that it was hard not to like the trip overall.

As we headed back the next day, I wanted to stay just a little bit longer – and also, for the first time since coming to Japan, felt just a little bit like getting a car. Expensive, impractical, and backwards though they may be, I would be able to get into all the truly out-of-the-way places where the trains don’t go. Maybe someday. For now, at least I can look back fondly on a weekend up in the wilderness with my fellow singers.