Monday, 6am. Sitting on the floor of the LAX terminal, venti
coffee in hand, staring blankly at the Bananagrams tiles scattered across the stained carpet.
2 time zones ahead, 2 pm, Honolulu. Jamba Juice at the Ala
Moana Center. Birds, beaches, and green seem to be everywhere. We learn the one
Hawaiian word we must know, Mahalo. Apparently two consonants never exist in a
row in the Hawaiian language. (I spent the rest of the trip searching for
exceptions, to no avail.)
6:15 pm. A bit overwhelmed and still quite wet, wandering
around a large room filled with colorful clothing and colorful food. Hana hou,
encore, is our word. The hosts for our homestay, a small woman and her widely-smiling
daughter find us and greet us for a potluck dinner. The Windward Choral Society sings a
Hawaiian song to welcome us to Kailua.
Tuesday morning. Severe flooding and pouring rain. Luckily
our hosts drive us straight to a delicious acai smoothie breakfast. Salvation
army is the destination for most glee-clubbers. (I prefer “Bead-it!” and take
refuge in a coffee shop).
2:30 pm. We meet for a rehearsal at the Windward United Church
of Christ, where we adapt to singing against the consistent downpour of rain,
and are overjoyed that we no longer need to simulate the sound of the wind
blowing in the middle section of Zephyr Rounds. After a wonderful dinner with our hosts of vegetables and pork and
the-most-delicious-pineapple-I’ll-probably-ever-eat-in-my-life, the weather
finally calms and our concert begins.
7 pm. The completely packed church unfortunately makes it
difficult to carry out our traditional sprint down the aisles, but it is exciting to
perform and engage with such an enthusiastic audience. It’s such a pleasure to
sing Na Ke Akua Oe E Kia'i, a song written by John McCreary, with the Windward Chorale. My
favorite concerts are those with an intimate feel, where we stand close enough
to make eye contact with audience members, and the rare occasions in which we
get to sing in a chorus twice our size are always mind-blowing.
That night. Returning to our homestay for the second night
to find 4 bags of Hawaiian coffee and chocolate-covered macademia nuts resting
on our suitcases, and then chatting with our hosts for the last time. According
to the Hawaiian law of Aloha, “Aloha means mutual regard and affection, and
extends warmth in caring with no obligation in return,” and it means "to hear
what is not said, to see what cannot be seen, and to know the unknowable.”
Between the hospitality of the wonderful people we met and the natural beauty
and mystique of the island, I think we’re finally beginning to grasp the
meaning of the Aloha spirit.