H-Bomb's Worldwide Karaoke

Rogue taxi drivers and “La Bamba”: my weekend in Mexico City, 2011

Posted on May 28, 2012 by H-Bomb

Several nights before I flew to Mexico City, I was shaken up by a disturbing nightmare. In the dream, there was a cloud on the ground and I stepped onto it; the cloud was then magically transformed into a glacier. Walking on the glacier, I fell into a hidden crevasse and started plummeting for what would certainly be hundreds of feet. Even if I survived the fall, I knew I would end up too far below the surface to ever climb out or be found by rescuers. And I thought to myself, “This is what it feels like to know I’m about to die.” Then I woke up.

One year ago this weekend — Memorial Day weekend in the United States — I flew to Mexico City because I’d never been to Mexico, and that city was geographically close enough (roughly a four hour flight from Newark Liberty International Airport to Benito Juarez International Airport near Mexico City) that it would be easy to jet down there for a long weekend and check off another country on my World Karaoke Tour. The concept here was similar to the reasoning I’d employed when I added Canada to the tour via a weekend jaunt to Montreal in August 2010. I’m constantly looking to increase the tally of countries in which I’ve sung; and while I understandably get enthused over exotic locales like Easter Island, there’s no reason for me to overlook the “easy” destinations (especially those that are immediately adjacent to my home country). Still, as I headed to the airport, my excitement was tempered by a sense of disquiet. I wondered whether my nightmare portended a tragic outcome for this journey. My initial reaction was to associate the dream with my fear of flying, and to interpret it as a premonition of a plane crash (This speculation was heightened as a result of bad weather in New York on the day of my departure; I become especially nervous when there’s a predicted risk of thunderstorms around the time of takeoff). But did the dream serve as a more generalized warning regarding my impending travel? In the dream, stepping onto the cloud seemed innocuous enough at the time; but it became the type of fateful and irreversible decision that would inexorably lead to my demise.

Saturday morning and afternoon: sightseeing

Things started out innocently enough. I arrived in Mexico’s capital city on a Friday night. On Saturday morning, I headed out to Mexico City’s newest museum: El Museo Soumaya (see photo, above right), which had just opened about two months prior to my visit.

This museum displays the art collection of Mexican billionaire Carlos Slim Helú, who according to Forbes is the wealthiest man in the world. The emphasis of the Soumaya’s holdings is on European and Mexican art. Among the highlights is a large trove of Rodin sculptures, including a copy of “Le Penseur” (“The Thinker”). Also included are works by such artists as Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Renoir, Van Gogh, Dali, Miró, El Greco, Tintoretto, and (as you would expect in a Mexican museum) Diego Rivera. Moreover, the Soumaya is one of those museums whose architecture is as notable as the treasures it houses. As shown here, the interior of the Soumaya is evocative of New York City’s Guggenheim, with the focal point a gently sloping ramp that curves upward and gradually ascends to the top level. The concept may not be original, but it’s well-executed.

After getting some culture in the museum, I explored Mexican history at the Palacio Nacional (National Palace). One of the signature attractions of the palace is its murals by Diego Rivera that vividly dramatize his country’s past.

Then I had a stop to make outside the city. I made an excursion to the suburb of Naucalpan, to experience a very distinctive-looking house. That home is known unofficially as the “Nautilus house,” due to its resemblance to the sea creature of that name. I’d seen a photo of the Nautilus house on the internet, while perusing a website that honors unusual architecture. When I realized that this unique home was located in the vicinity of Mexico City, and that I would be visiting that very metropolis, I knew I had to see such an architectural gem in person. Only one problem: despite my formidable googling skills, I couldn’t find an address for the Nautilus house. What to do?

I took a chance and emailed the architect who had designed the Nautilus house. I didn’t even expect to hear back. But his firm responded and contacted the house’s owners (yes, there’s a family that enjoys the enviable distinction of living in this remarkable abode!). The result: I was invited to visit the Nautilus house as a special guest of the owners.

So I ventured out to Naucalpan (my mode of transportation was a private car service arranged by my hotel, and that was a good choice because even with detailed directions, the house was hard to find. My driver, however, was able to telephone the house and converse with the residents in Spanish to obtain the necessary navigational assistance). The Nautilus house is situated in a gated enclave that abounds with elegant homes, but those other residences are attractive in a much more conventional way. I could only imagine what the neighbors think of this bizarre habitation in their midst.

Upon my arrival at the Nautilus house, I was treated to outstanding hospitality by the occupants. They welcomed me inside and gave me a full tour. As you can see here, the interior was just as spectacular as the exterior. The patriarch of the household and his son then took me for a walk around the neighborhood. By the way, it turned out that conversing with the family was not a problem, as its members spoke English fluently.

Saturday night: karaoke

I’d already had a full day and seen some cool stuff; but after I circled back to Mexico City, it was time for the activity that supplied the principal purpose of my trip. I was off to sing karaoke! Based on my research, I’d selected a venue called “Pedro Infante no ha Muerto.” To get there from my hotel, I took a car service; my driver was the same person who’d ferried me to the Nautilus house earlier in the day. When he dropped me off he handed me a card inscribed with his telephone number, and told me to call him when I was ready for him to retrieve me at the end of the evening.

The karaoke show at “Pedro Infante no ha Muerto” on May 28, 2011 was outstanding. The place was packed. For my opening song I went with an H-Bomb classic: “True” by Spandau Ballet. And I got a warm welcome from the local crowd. But the highlight of my appearance was undoubtedly my rendition of “La Bamba.” I was intent on singing it because it was the only Spanish-language song I knew (plus, it’s one of the songs on my A-list, so I feel comfortable performing it in unfamiliar venues). As soon as the song title appeared on the video monitors, the crowd cheered. It always helps when the audience is into a song before I even sing the first note. And my rendition of the song brought down the house. I think the audience was appreciative that a gringo like me had made the effort to perform a Spanish-language song.

When I stepped off the stage after “La Bamba,” the bar staff gave me a complimentary shot of tequila. I remember thinking at that point that of all the stops on my World Karaoke tour, Mexico (which had just become country no. 23 on the tour) had been among the most successful and fun. Factoring in my sightseeing excursions (including my visit to the Nautilus house), I’d had a really awesome day.

Unfortunately, the tequila shot enhanced my growing inebriation; and my impaired judgment may have been a factor in what would shortly occur. Facing danger is hard enough when you’re sober.

Late Saturday night: a wild ride

By about 1:30 a.m., I was feeling quite tired (my alcohol intake had undoubtedly contributed to the onset of my fatigue). I thought of telephoning the driver who’d taken me to the bar several hours earlier. But that journey from my hotel had taken 20 or 25 minutes. I didn’t feel like waiting that long for him to retrieve me. The bar was on a major thoroughfare, near a number of other hot nightspots; surely, finding a taxi on the spur of the moment would not be hard.

After paying my bill, I asked a bar employee if he could help me get a taxi. He walked outside with me but then quickly lost interest in assisting me, as he started chatting with other employees who were taking cigarette breaks (Mexico City bars and restaurants, like their counterparts in an increasing portion of the rest of the civilized world, are smoke-free). I pleaded with him (“Yo necessito taxi!”) but I was on my own.

I flagged down the first cab that I saw cruising down the street. I would not have hailed a random cab had I reviewed the United States Department of State’s website before my trip. The page on Mexico, under the heading “CRIME” and the subheading “Taxis,” contains the following warning: “Robberies and assaults on passengers in ‘libre’ taxis (that is, taxis not affiliated with a taxi stand) are frequent and violent in Mexico, with passengers subjected to beating, shooting, and sexual assault. U.S. citizens visiting Mexico should avoid taking any taxi not summoned by telephone or contacted in advance.” (emphasis added). In fact, the website notes that U.S. embassy employees in Mexico City are prohibited from hailing taxis on the street. But I hadn’t seen the State Department’s advisory, so I was unaware of the risk I was taking.

The driver motioned to me to sit beside him, in the suicide seat. I thought nothing of that request at the time; in my experience, riding in the front passenger seat had been standard procedure for taxi passengers in Morocco (a country I’d visited just a few months earlier, and where all of my taxi rides were uneventful). Even here in Mexico City, the private car service driver, when he’d driven me to the karaoke venue, had offered me a choice similar to the dilemma that famously confronted Rebecca Black (“Kickin’ in the front seat, Sitting in the back seat, Gotta make my mind up, Which seat can I ta-ake?” ). So I readily agreed to ride shotgun.

Often when I find myself in a country where most locals don’t speak English, I will obtain from my hotel’s front desk a card with the hotel’s address on it; at the end of an evening on the town, I can show that card to a taxi driver so he’ll know where to take me. On this particular evening, rushing out the door in my eagerness to get to karaoke, I’d forgotten to procure such a card. Not a problem — I had my shiny new Droid 2 Global smartphone with me. I was able to retrieve the confirmation email from my hotel using my global roaming internet access, and I showed the address to the driver directly on the screen of my phone.

I engaged in desultory, halting conversation with the cabbie, stymied as usual by the language barrier. After maybe 10 minutes, he asked me some question that had the word “hacienda” in it. Well, a “hacienda” is a kind of house, right? I figured he was asking me again where my hotel was. “Hampton Inn!” I exclaimed. I tried showing him once more my hotel’s address on the display of my phone, but he waved me off; I figured this was because he was focused on his driving. Then he pulled off the freeway that we’d been traversing and brought the cab to a stop on a quiet street. I assumed that he’d done this so that he could pause and figure out a route to the address I’d given him. As if to confirm my supposition, he finally looked at the display of my phone; but he did not then restart the car. Instead, all of a sudden, he uttered a single word, in a menacing tone: “Credenciales!”

Why was this guy demanding my credentials? I said, “No comprendo.” He responded by repeating that solitary word, “credenciales.” Once again, I had to say “No comprendo.” (or maybe I said “No comprends,” as sometimes I confuse the Spanish and French languages). I’m pretty sure that at some point I also said, “You’re the one who should be showing me your credentials,” although he would not have understood what I was saying.

I then did something stupid: I produced my passport from my backpack and showed it to the driver, hoping that this gesture at least would placate his mysterious demand for “credenciales.” He grabbed the passport, examined it, and then returned it to me. In retrospect, I’m lucky that the driver didn’t steal my passport. The U.S. embassy would later admonish me that when traveling abroad, I should never carry my passport on my person; I should secure it in a hotel safe, and carry a copy with me in case I needed to show identification in an emergency situation or something like that. This was one of many lessons that I would learn from my disastrous cab ride.

Although the driver did not feel the need to pilfer my passport, his demand for “credenciales” had not been sated; and he repeated that word yet again. Did he doubt that I had the means to pay for my journey? So now I did another stupid thing: I showed him the Mexican peso banknotes in my wallet. He helped himself to some of them, which were worth a total of about $50 US. At another point during this rapidly-unfolding sequence of events, he grabbed my smartphone.

(You may fairly ask why I was still holding my smartphone in my hand, instead of having stashed it in my backpack where it would have been less vulnerable to being snatched away from me. When evaluating some of the dumb things I was doing as my ordeal unfolded, please keep in mind that I was under the influence of alcohol, as are many taxi riders late at night on a Saturday night; and that I was also confused and increasingly nervous, and I just wanted to get back to the safety of my hotel. And of course, the driver could easily have taken the backpack itself, which he might well have done if he hadn’t scored so easily with my cash and phone).

Suddenly the driver directed me to get out of the vehicle (Despite the language barrier, there was no doubt as to what he was ordering me to do). Now I was truly terrified. Had the driver arranged to meet with co-conspirators at this location? If so, what plans did they have for me? Was I about to be brought into one of the rowhouse-type residences that lined this street? Would I wake up the next morning with one fewer kidney than I started with? Or maybe I was simply going to to get shot in the head.

Instead, once I had exited the taxi, the driver got back in (still clutching my phone) and closed his door. “Hey!” I started yelling. “Mi teléfono!” He drove off, still in possession of my telephone and the cash that he’d removed from my wallet. Well, at least I wasn’t about to undergo involuntary surgery. But that hardly came as much of a relief; I was alone on a dark and desolate street in a strange city, at roughly 2:00 a.m. on a Saturday night. And I was at least several miles away from my hotel, with no idea how to get there. There were additional concerns, too: was I in a bad neighborhood? I had no idea, but I knew that I was a sitting duck for any muggers or other violent criminals who might happen upon me.

Wondering how I would extricate myself from this situation, I walked down the block. Fortunately, there was a pub on the otherwise-deserted block that was still open. I walked inside, yelling “Necessito Ayuda!” (my signal, in broken Spanish, that I needed help). No one inside the pub spoke English, but somehow I managed to convey to a few of the bargoers that I needed another taxi to get back to my hotel. (At some point I finally tried dialing the telephone number that the driver from the private car service had left with me several hours earlier. I was able to call him because although I’d been divested of my Droid 2 global smartphone, I still had, in my backpack, the Blackberry that I carry around for work. The Blackberry lacks all the bells and whistles of the Droid, but its phone works just about anywhere in the world. Anyway, when I tried phoning the driver whom I should have called in the first place to pick me up from the karaoke bar, I only reached his voice-mail. For all I know, I would also have been greeted by his voice-mail if I’d tried calling him from the karaoke bar at the relatively late hour of 1:30 a.m. But that, of course, is unknowable).

It just so happened that when these kindly folks accompanied me outside, there was a taxi parked across the street from the bar (If it had been there when I entered the bar, I hadn’t noticed it). They indicated to me that I should get into that taxi, and one of them said a few words to the driver (fortunately, the rogue cabdriver who’d abandoned me on this street had left me with what I calculated was enough money to still get back to my hotel. If he’d simply taken my wallet and left me without money or an ATM card, my predicament would have been much more challenging).

Naturally, after what I’d just been through, it was with some trepidation that I boarded another taxi. But I still had no idea where in the sprawling city I was, and I realized that if I wanted to reach my hotel, I really had no choice. The driver of cab no. 2 was an older gentleman, so that helped allay my fears. Additionally, I was comforted to notice pictures of Jesus affixed to the dashboard. Would this new driver really commit a crime against me with the Savior looking on? Still, I wasn’t able to fully relax until the taxi turned on to the street on which my hotel was located. Never have I been so glad to make it back to a hotel as I was on that night in May 2011.

I was lucky that at least my robbery had not involved the use of deadly force; the U.S. embassy later told me that a number of American tourists in Mexico City have reported getting robbed at gunpoint by their cabdrivers. And as unsettling as armed robbery would have been, the worst-case scenario for me after ending up in a rogue taxi was even more terrifying: in some parts of the world, including Mexico, taxi drivers have been reported to commit “express kidnappings” against their unsuspecting passengers. While the details of these incidents vary, the gist is that your cabdriver makes an unscheduled stop to pick up some confederates, and then you’re driven to an undisclosed location where you’re coerced (sometimes with the assistance of drugs) into revealing the PIN for your ATM card. Your kidnappers then make withdrawals from your account (often over a period of time, due to single-day withdrawal limits). Typically, after your bank account has been emptied, the abductors will release you. But many of these episodes end badly, with the victims dead. Sometimes their bodies are never found.

Fortunately, my particular fate was not to be “express kidnapped.” I was lucky that the worst that happened to me was that I was deprived of a few possessions and delayed in returning to my hotel.

When you board a taxi, you expect safe transportation to your chosen destination (and, if you are truly blessed, your ride will include some on-board karaoke). A taxi bereft of karaoke is bad enough; but it’s especially pernicious when your cab driver ends up being a criminal, because as a passenger you’re completely vulnerable — especially if you’re traveling alone. You have no control over where the driver will guide the vehicle. Living in Manhattan where I ride taxis frequently (and where, 100% of the time, I hail those taxis on the street), I just wasn’t conditioned to anticipate that my driver might do anything other than transport me where I asked him to — or that flagging down a taxi on the street could present a hazard. So what happened to me in Mexico City was eye-opening. And had fortune smiled upon me just a little bit less, my entry into the taxi of doom might have become the real-life actualization of my stepping onto the cloud in my pre-trip nightmare.

As it was, as I lay in bed in my hotel room after calling Verizon and canceling the service on my stolen smartphone, I began to feel shell-shocked. Had I actually survived my experience? Or had I been murdered a couple of hours earlier? If I went to sleep, would I ever wake up? But I did allow myself to succumb to my drowsiness, and I did awaken later that morning.

The vacation concludes

Let it not be said that I don’t bounce back from adversity; the day after my terrifying cab ride, I kept my previous plans to take a day-trip to Teotihuacan. An archaeological site dating back to the first century A.D., Teotihuacan was, in ancient times, the largest city in the Americas. Today it’s probably best known for its two gigantic pyramids, known as the Pyramid of the Sun (see photo at the top of this blog post) and the Pyramid of the Moon. It was awe-inspiring to see those massive structures that were constructed well over a millennium ago. They may not be as large or as old as the far more celebrated pyramids in Egypt; but they were quite impressive in their own right.

The following day, I flew back to New York. Mexico was in the books as the 23rd country on my World Karaoke Tour. More importantly, I’d survived a perilous situation, and would live to continue my international singing adventures.

If things had gone slightly differently, my next occasion hailing a taxi would have looked something like this.

Categories: police blotter, World Karaoke Tour, North America | Tags: World Karaoke Tour, H-Bomb, mexico, mexico city, karaoke, Soumaya, El Museo Soumaya, Palacio Nacional, Naucalpan, Nautilus house, Pedro Infante no ha Muerto, rogue taxi driver, Teotihuacan, Pyramid of the Sun, Ciudad de México | Leave a comment

Well, THAT didn’t work out so well . . .

Posted on May 26, 2012 by H-Bomb

In my last post, published on February 8, I wrote that although I had been sick, “I seem to be on the mend, so I’m hoping to be posting again soon here at H-Bomb’s Worldwide Karaoke.” That was over three and a half months ago. Naturally, after I dispatched those words of optimism into the blogosphere, my health problems proceeded to get much worse. I won’t go into the details here, because this isn’t that kind of blog; but suffice it to say that I have been very uncomfortable at times. I’ve been lucky that — so far — I haven’t been hospitalized or had to undergo surgery, although I’ve made innumerable doctor’s visits. In that respect, I’ve been lucky; one of the revelations for me of the past few months is that, at any given time, an awful lot of people are in various states of physical suffering.

I want you to know that I’m not one of those people who starts a blog and then stops writing due to a loss of interest — and that I had a good reason for my temporary withdrawal from posting on this site. I was debilitated. Indeed, as a result of my condition and its effect on my life, nearly three months passed without an H-Bomb karaoke appearance anywhere — not even in my home city of New York. As you know, such a lengthy drought is very unusual for me; during the past ten years or so before these recent events, I normally sang at least one night per week. Not surprisingly, my international travel has also been on indefinite hiatus; my trip to Egypt that was supposed to happen in February 2012 was postponed to September, and my long weekend in Istanbul that had been scheduled for this weekend was put off to New Year’s weekend 2013. So the World Karaoke Tour — the impetus for this blog, and the defining mission for my life — was placed on hold, and there were times when I doubted whether I would even sing again, let alone travel. I also missed significant time at work, although I’m back to working full-time now.

I’m not fully recovered yet, and there’s still no timetable for my return to perfect health. In the meantime, on the home front, I’ve slowly begun an attempted karaoke comeback. In early April, at my regular venue in Manhattan, I sang for the first time since late January. Such appearances have continued on a weekly basis, although I’m still not staying out very late at night, and, as per doctor’s orders, I’m avoiding alcohol.

And it’s about time I got back to blogging! The medical professionals tell me that getting back to doing the things that I love will give me the best chance of pushing my body to recover physically. H-Bomb’s Worldwide Karaoke, and my passions that provide the subject matter for this blog (karaoke and travel), are high on the list of things that bring me joy. So here I am again — finally. I hope that this time I’ll be able to keep up the posting. To my followers: I thank you for sticking around and not giving up on me. Let’s have some fun again! And I very much hope that my World Karaoke Tour will soon resume, and that you’ll be able to keep track of it right here — just like before. My next substantive blog post will appear in the next few days, as I continue to recapitulate my travels to date — and to look forward to more adventures around the globe. I have every intention of experiencing my next adventures in Egypt this September. I cannot state with certainty that I will feel up to making that journey, but I have a strong desire to follow through with it. To that end, the Vacation Countdown on this site has finally been updated.

Happy singing,
H-Bomb

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: H-Bomb's Comeback, medicine | 6 Comments

Sorry for the hiatus

Posted on February 8, 2012 by H-Bomb

Dear Readers: I’ve been under the weather lately. I seem to be on the mend, so I’m hoping to be posting again soon here at H-Bomb’s Worldwide Karaoke. In the meantime, thank you for your patience and continued loyalty. I hope to be providing new content real soon! On a related note, my trip to Egypt (originally scheduled to start this coming weekend) has been deferred — NOT because of the violence, but because I need to recuperate and just catch up on some rest. It is likely that my tour of the Nile (including one or more karaoke appearances in Cairo) will be rescheduled for September or October. As my revised travel plans fall into place, I’ll provide full updates. This is just a bump in the road, and we’ll be back on track soon enough, touring the world with microphone in hand!

Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Country no. 14: Japan

Posted on January 29, 2012 by H-Bomb

Almost from the time that I began singing karaoke regularly, taking the H-Bomb show to Japan had been a prized objective for me. The Land of the Rising Sun was, of course, the place where karaoke originated. How could I not want to experience karaoke in the land of its birth?

I finally made it happen in April 2008. After singing in 13 other countries, I prepared to make my long-sought pilgrimage. That journey to Japan — my first foray into Asia, and my first time crossing the International Date Line — proved to be an outstanding vacation in many respects. Surprisingly, however, as you’ll see, I found the Japanese karaoke scene a letdown in comparison to my soaring expectations.

Like most visitors from overseas, my point of entry to Japan was Narita International Airport. That airport is located in the city of Narita, about 35 miles east of Tokyo’s city center.

Disaster almost struck before I even made it out of the airport. Right after I cleared customs, my passport fell out of my backpack without my noticing. But just a few minutes later, a young American man ran up to me in the ground transportation area and asked if I’d lost my passport. “That’s impossible,” I confidently replied, adding that I had just placed it in my bag. But then I noticed that the zipper was partially open on my backpack, and the passport was missing from the compartment in which I’d inserted it. The young man then ran back to where he’d come from; and shortly thereafter, he returned with my passport. Disaster averted.

This wasn’t the first time that I lost my passport while on the road. But this blog isn’t about my irresponsibility; it’s about my love of karaoke and travel. So, onward!

Anyway, once I recovered my passport, I didn’t immediately board a train to Tokyo. Instead I headed to a nearby hotel in Narita. Why did I do that? you may wonder.

Narita had a population of about 126,000, as of 2011. It’s an airport town, not known as a tourist destination in its own right. Sure, it has a temple and museum that you can visit; but if the number of reviews on TripAdvisor is any indication, neither of those attractions is widely visited by international travelers. And the temple and museum were not the reasons for my own decision to start out in Narita. I was there for one reason and one reason only: the city of Narita boasts a karaoke bar that I was looking forward to singing in. (Amusingly, as I was writing this blog entry, I overheard a man who was sitting next to me in Starbucks telling someone that he’d just come back from spending a day in Narita, on his way back to New York from a two week visit to the Philippines; and that while passing through Narita, he’d visited that city’s temple. Okay, so I guess it’s not true that nobody checks out that temple. )

The karaoke bar in Narita is called The Cage. I’m not sure if that’s its official title or just a nickname, but I’ve never heard it referred to as anything else. (The chain-link wall around the seating area, visible in the photo to the right, may have had something to do with how the place came to be dubbed The Cage.) I’d been told by a friend of mine who’s a flight attendant that The Cage is frequented by airline flight crews from all over the world who work flights to and from Narita Airport. Thus, I knew that I would find people to talk to who spoke English, and that, even better, these patrons would be interesting people who circle the globe for a living.

And so, on Saturday night, April 12, 2008, Japan became country no. 14 on my World Karaoke Tour, on the strength of a visit to The Cage. The Cage was everything I thought it would be. I remember chatting with flight attendants from, among other carriers, Austrian Airlines and Cathay Pacific. And I met a nice pilot from United (he’s the guy sitting at the lower left in the photo above), who mentioned that he’d just flown in from San Francisco and Huey Lewis had been one of the passengers on his flight! My first reaction to that disclosure was jealousy. Envy then turned to incredulity: you’re on a plane with Huey Lewis — highly successful recording artist and star of the greatest karaoke movie of all time — and you don’t invite him to join you for some karaoke after landing? What’s that all about?

Despite the disappointing lack of Huey Lewis, I had a fun time singing at The Cage. I remember little about the songs that I sung that night; but in the photo to the left, the screen is showing some of the lyrics to “(I’m Gonna Be) 500 Miles” by the Proclaimers; so that at least that must have been one of the tunes that I performed for the flight crews at The Cage. And I generally remember enjoying myself and staying longer than I’d planned.

The tally for my World Karaoke Tour had now climbed to 14 countries and three continents, and my vacation had only just begun. The remainder of my time in Japan included visits to Tokyo, Kyoto, and Hiroshima, plus a day-trip to Nara, which (like Kyoto) was a former Japanese imperial capital; and a day-trip to to the town of Toyota, where I toured a factory that manufactures some of the town’s eponymous automobiles.

While my kickoff evening at The Cage went well, Japanese karaoke outside of Narita turned out not to be what I’d anticipated. As I’ve mentioned previously, I much prefer to sing in public, in a room full of patrons who are at least theoretically capable of cheering me on. The magic happens for me when karaoke becomes an interactive experience, with the energy of the crowd fueling my performance. In New York City where I live, some karaoke bars that I attend also feature private rooms that you can rent by the hour with a few of your friends; but those private rooms are offered as an adjunct to — and not a substitute for — the main public lounge. Occasionally after several hours of singing in the main room, I will end up commandeering a private room with some friends for a few additional songs. Under those circumstances, karaoke in a private room can be a pleasant enough diversion for me. But spending an entire evening in that setting has never held any appeal for me.

It turned out that in Japan, the vast majority of karaoke establishments consist solely of private rooms for rent, a concept known locally as “karaoke box.” Throughout my travels in Japan, karaoke box establishments abounded wherever I went. But bars or restaurants where you can get up and sing in front of strangers (the kind of venue in which I actually wanted to pay homage to karaoke’s roots) were virtually nonexistent. I found two such places in all of Tokyo. Two. This was in a city of 13 million people! And I found no karaoke bars at all in Kyoto or Hiroshima — just the karaoke box establishments in which I had no interest.

Moreover at the two karaoke bars that I did miraculously find in Tokyo, the patrons consisted almost entirely of Americans and Western Europeans. I’ve mentioned before that when I visited Japan, I sang as “Godzilla” rather than under my usual stage name of “H-Bomb,” out of cultural sensitivity to the only country against which atomic weapons have ever been used. What I didn’t say is that the use of an alternative sobriquet proved unnecessary, as I saw few if any Japanese people in the karaoke bars I went to in Narita or Tokyo (so there was really no one to be sensitive to). The locals weren’t at the Western-style karaoke bars because they all hang out at the outlets where karaoke box is offered. It’s not at all surprising that in the 2003 film Lost in Translation, when Bill Murray’s character sings karaoke with Scarlett Johansson’s character, he does so at a karaoke box establishment, and not in a karaoke bar. Sofia Coppola’s depiction of the Japanese karaoke scene was quite authentic.

One of the two karaoke bars at which I sang in Tokyo was Fiesta (I can’t recall the name of the other one; I wish I’d kept better records in my pre-blogging era). I remember walking through the Roppongi district to get to Fiesta, and being accosted on the sidewalk by a promoter from one of the many nightclubs in that neighborhood. “Are you looking for something special?” he asked me, presumably in reference to the club that he was trying to entice me to.

“No, I’m not,” I proudly responded. “I’m going to karaoke!” I’ll bet he wasn’t expecting to hear that in response to his gambit.

If my overall karaoke experience in Japan wasn’t quite what I’d expected, I still got to sing on multiple nights in the land of karaoke’s origin. That’s not too shabby. And I was thoroughly fascinated by much of what I was seeing during my daytime explorations; many of those sights that I glimpsed during my inaugural visit to the Far East were vastly different from the places I’d traipsed through during my vacations in Europe.

One other musical note from my trip: During my visit to the Toyota factory, I was shown some interesting technological advances from the company, which extended well beyond the field of automobiles. For example, visitors to the factory (at least as of 2008) were treated to performances by a trumpet-playing robot:

How awesome is that? Note: This was the first video I ever shot, so please excuse its technical defects. Anyway, also on display at the Toyota factory at the time of my tour was a very cool concept for the personal transportation module of the future:

This experimental vehicle was called the iUnit. Seeing amazing stuff like the iUnit helped make up for the unexpected lack of karaoke bars in Japan.

Finally, here are some photos from my trip to Japan that depict some of the other amazing things I saw in that country (and I know that these pix are nearly four years old, but most of the things depicted below could not have changed that much since 2008):

When I was en route to Japan, I crossed the International Date Line for the first time. This was the view from my seat (on a Boeing 777) during that momentous milestone in my personal travel history.

A unique type of lodging found in Tokyo is the “capsule hotel,” providing the minimum amount of space for you to catch some zzz’s. Here we are looking down a hallway in such a capsule hotel, the “Big Lemon” — located in the lively Kabukicho section of the Shinjuku neighborhood. When you pay your 3800 yen (slightly over $40 US) fee for a night’s accommodation, you get your choice of a berth on the upper or lower level. While I stayed in more conventional hotels, with actual rooms, during my visits to Tokyo, I did rent a capsule at the establishment depicted above, just so I could take pictures in it. The proprietors insisted that no photography was allowed; but having paid for the privilege of doing whatever I wanted in my rented capsule, I wasn’t about to listen to their silly demands.

Upon the completion of my photoshoot, I then headed back to my own hotel, and did not actually spend the night in my capsule as I was entitled to.

This is what the sleeping accommodations actually look like inside a capsule hotel. Here again, the scene is the “Big Lemon,” in the Kabukicho section of the Shinjuku district.

You won’t find a minibar in your room. But there are surprising luxury features such as a color TV and clock/radio. All guests of the facility also have access to a sauna. And while closet space in each berth is limited, lockers are available on-site to store your valuables. (although if you are the sort of person who stays in a capsule hotel, you probably don’t have too many valuables).

Note that conveyance between the upper and lower levels is by means of a ladder — safer than an elevator in case of fire.

The assembly line in a Toyota factory in the company town of Toyota, Japan, near Nagoya. This particular plant, at the time the photo was taken in 2008, produced Priuses and Camrys, and one other model that I forget.

Due to the prohibition on photography during my tour, this is one of only 2 photos I was able to sneak inside the factory.

Fishmongers inspect some of the giant frozen tuna arrayed on the warehouse floor during the morning tuna auction at the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo.

I had to get up at 4:45 a.m. for this and it was so worth it; I’ve never seen anything like it.

The market’s official website had indicated that the auction is no longer open to the public, because the hordes of photographers were interfering with operations. However, arriving at about 5:30 a.m., I had no trouble getting in, and I saw numerous other tourists milling about. But the difference is that most of the other sightseers obediently stayed in a designated roped-off area, while I wandered around periodically on the wrong side of the rope.

So as I gazed out upon the sea of frozen tuna, I kept thinking, “There’s a lot of mercury in this room . . .”

Another view of the tuna auction at the Tsukiji Fish Market, showing just how oversized some of the tuna are.

Ginza Crossing in Tokyo typifies the colorful electric signage that predominates in Tokyo and other Japanese cities.

The view above is looking straight down Ginza Street. The poshest avenue for shopping in Tokyo, Ginza Street includes such prestigious stores as Cartier and Apple – the analogue to New York’s Fifth Avenue.

Disco Stu goes to Japan! The guy on the right looks Japanese. If so, then I’m pretty sure he’s the only Japanese person I’ll ever see with an afro . . .

And by way of comparison, here is his American counterpart: Disco Stu.

This is the Tokyo Air Raid Memorial. I was wandering around, looking for the pier where I was to embark on a river cruise; and I stumbled into a random park, Yokoami-Cho Park, which contains this unheralded memorial to the victims of the Tokyo Air Raids (the same park, which is located near the Edo-Tokyo Museum, also contains a temple that commemorates the victims of the 1923 Kanto earthquake).

Tokyo Tower bears more than a passing resemblance to Paris’s Eiffel Tower, which was its design inspiration. However, le tour Tokyo is actually a tad taller than its European doppelganger (1,091 feet vs. 1,063 feet), and features a different color scheme (the orange and white that is standard among Japanese towers due to aviation regulations, as opposed to the brown and gray finish that marks the Eiffel Tower). The Tokyo Tower’s steel frame (in contrast to the Eiffel Tower’s iron cage) results in a weight just barely over half that of the Parisian structure (4,000 tons vs. 7,000 tons).

Situated at the base of Tokyo Tower is a four story building called Foot Town, which contains various museums, restaurants, and shops — including a wax museum (it is apparently obligatory to have a wax museum at any major tourist trap. For example, there is one in the Empire State Building).

Naturally, the tower contains observation decks that offer panoramic views of the city. On a clear day you can see Mt. Fuji. However, visibility conditions were not so favorable during my two ascensions of the tower.

Built in 1958, Tokyo Tower was celebrating its golden jubilee during the year of my visit (not counting many intermittent destructions at the hands of Godzilla). However, when I visited, there was nothing special going on to commemorate this anniversary.

Part of the external escalators at the Fuji TV headquarters on the artificial island of Odaiba in Tokyo.

This explicit display beckons customers to a sushi restaurant in Kyoto.

A stairway winds through the gardens on the grounds of the Ginkaku-ji temple in Kyoto.

Japanese women in traditional dress walking along a pedestrian shopping street near the Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto, the former imperial capital of Japan.

The entrance gate to Kiyomizu temple in Kyoto.

Kiyomizu means “clear water” in Japanese; the temple takes its name from a waterfall on the grounds. The origins of the temple date back as early as 798, although the buildings that presently occupy the site were completed in 1633.

Kiyomizu-dera is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

At many Japanese gas stations, such as this one in Kyoto, the fuel pumps hang from the ceiling (with the nozzles just freely dangling), rather than being built into the ground. I have no idea why they do it this way.

Torii! Torii! Torii!

An avenue of contiguous torii (ceremonial orange gates) at the Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto. The individual gates blend into a tunnel of orangy goodness.

A forest near the Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto, Japan. Only you can prevent forest fires!

A bamboo grove near the Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto.

This is a section of the bamboo grove near the Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto. As you can see, the tree density is thin in this region. I’m not sure if it’s because many of the trees have been harvested, or what.

This bamboo forest really looked otherworldly to me — like nothing I’ve seen before. This particular section reminded me of those pictures I’ve seen of the hairs on a human head magnified several thousand times.

A colorful street in the Gion section of Kyoto — the bustling neighborhood in which I was fortunate enough to have chosen my hotel.

On Japanese city streets, it is common to see vertical signs — many of which are illuminated at night — projecting outward from the sides of buildings. Equally common are thick clusters of overhead power lines. I’m not sure that I would want to be on one of these streets when an earthquake hits and knocks down those wires . . .

The Kinkaku-ji temple, also known as the Gold Pavilion, in Kyoto. The two upper stories are covered in pure gold leaf.

The temple is situated on the Kyoko-Chi, meaning “Mirror Pond.”

The name of this temple gets a little confusing because also in Kyoto there is a Silver Pavilion, known in Japanese as Ginkaku-ji. So they sound almost the same (Kinkaku-ji and Ginkaku-ji). I did also go to the silver one (which my guidebook said was also worth seeing — although, despite the name, it is not actually coated in silver). However, when I got to the silver temple, the main building was completely covered in scaffolding. So I was unable to photograph that structurethat’s arguably as beautiful as the Kinkaku-ji temple seen above.

Meet Yoshi, the amiable man who gave me a rickshaw ride in Nara, from the shopping street near the Todai-Ji temple to the train station. For the privilege of such a ride, I had to pony up 3,000 yen (over $35). But Yoshi had initially demanded 5,000 yen, so I figure I didn’t do too badly.

My view from the rickshaw as Yoshi guided me through the streets of Nara.

At the end of my ride, in front of Nara Station where Yoshi dropped me off.

Toda-Ji Temple is one of the major temples to visit in the town of Nara, the first capital of Japan.

The Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara, including this temple, have collectively been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Like so many of my other photos from this trip, this one features the obligatory overcast sky.

Welcome to Cool Japan! In Nara, a pleasant day-trip from Kyoto, deer are roaming around everywhere — not only in the town park, but around the temples and even on the streets.

In Nara, street vendors sell packages of wafers for people to feed to the ubiquitous deer. Here, a young man goes about such a feeding in an unorthodox way.

This was taken on a foggy day; note the low cloud cover in the background.

Another scene of a person feeding the deer in Nara Park.

In the temple precinct in Nara, sidewalk vendors like this woman sell crackers to visitors who want to feed the deer.

A deer stands sentinel in front of the 5-story pagoda of the Hōryū Temple in Nara. 122 feet in height, this pagoda is generally believed to be one of the two oldest wooden buildings in the world. The wood used in its center pillar is believed to have come from trees harvested in or about 594 A.D.

Nara was the first Japanese capital. The Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara, including this pagoda, have collectively been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Two schoolchildren in Nara, wearing the blue uniforms that are ubiquitous among Japanese students. They are both making the gesture that looks like the peace sign but means something else (I’m not sure what).

The girl on the right “interviewed” me as a project for her English class. She asked me my name, and then asked me to spell it; she then wrote the letters out in her notebook. She asked me where I was from, and read me a prepared statement (I forget now what it was, but probably it would have been something along the lines of it was nice to meet me). She concluded by asking me to exchange an American coin for a Japanese coin.

One of Nara’s famous deer can be seen in the background at the right.

A shinkansen, or bullet train, pulls into Kyoto Station.

I relied heavily on shinkansens for inter-city tansport during my trip to Japan. Overall I found them not to be as comfortable as an Amtrak train (even when compared to Amtrak’s coach class), due principally to narrower seats; but the Japanese rail system is far more reliable than trains in the United States (or, for that matter, in the United Kingdom). The trains really do run on time in Japan. Except for the very last day of my trip, when I showed up at Tokyo Station to catch an express train to Narita Airport for my flight back to the U.S. (I had bought my ticket for this express train a couple of hours earlier) — only to be told that, inexplicably, my airport train had been canceled.

The Genbaku Dome, Japanese for “Atomic Bomb” Dome (and thus frequently referred to as the A-Bomb Dome), is one of the few buildings still extant in Hiroshima that predates the events of August 6, 1945.

Designed by the Czech architect Jan Letzel, the edifice was completed in 1915, when it opened as the Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition.

30 years later, after the building had undergone several name changes, the United States detonated a nuclear bomb just 150 feet away. For whatever reason, the Genbaku Dome became the closest building to the hypocenter to not be totally obliterated.

A UNESCO World Heritage site, the skeletal remains of the building have been preserved as a reminder of the horrors of nuclear war. Across the river is Peace Memorial Park, a dazzling collection of monuments that commemorate the awful destruction of August 6, while also harboring hopes for peace. Nearby is the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, which contains exhibits and artifacts that graphically depict the human cost of August 6. Whatever you think of President Truman’s decision to drop the bomb (as well as the dropping of a similar bomb over Nagasaki three days later), the museum speaks eloquently to the human tragedy that ensued.

The view here is from the Aioi Bridge, the original target of the nuclear bomb.

Another view of the Genbaku Dome, Japanese for “Atomic Bomb” Dome (and thus frequently referred to as the A-Bomb Dome), which is one of the few buildings still extant in Hiroshima that predates the events of August 6, 1945. The skeletal remains of the building have been preserved as a reminder of the horrors of nuclear war. As shown above, the A-Bomb Dome is illuminated at night.

Colorful origami cranes at the Children’s Peace Monument in Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima. These paper cranes, symbolizing a desire for peace, are sent in by children from all over the world.

The events from which the tradition arises began in 1955. In that year, Sasaki Sadako, a 12-year-old girl who had lived in Hiroshima 10 years earlier when the atomic bomb was detonated over the city, developed leukemia. The people of Nagoya donated 1,000 paper cranes to her in the hospital as a “get well” gift. She was inspired to start folding her own cranes by this gesture, as well as by a Japanese tradition that holds that a person who folds 1,000 cranes is granted a wish.

Reportedly, Sadako had only folded 644 cranes before she succumbed to her leukemia.

After her death, a memorial was built to her and all the other children who had perished as a result of the atomic blast. A statue at the memorial depicts Sadako holding a golden crane. And, to this day, children send in origami cranes to be placed at the monument.

Inside a pachinko parlor in Hiroshima.

For travelers staying in Hiroshima, a popular excursion is a day-trip to the nearby island of Miyajima. While Miyajima is best known for the floating torii in its harbor (seen below), there are other things to do there as well. I took a ropeway ride to the top of Mount Misen, the highest peak on the island (although it only rises about 1,200 feet). I made the ascent for one reason: wild monkeys live on the mountain, and are known to hang out at the ropeway terminus near the summit. I wanted to hang with my simian friends.

But when I got to the top of the mountain, the monkeys were nowhere to be seen. According to an English-language bulletin board in which updates are written in magic marker, the monkeys had gone into the forest to feed. I missed them by no more than about 10 minutes.

Despite the disappointing lack of monkeys, I did enjoy pretty good views while ascending and descending in the cable cars.

Looking out upon the “floating torii” from the island of Miyajima. The vista shown above is regarded as one of the three most scenic views in Japan. Most of the time, as seen here, the torii is surrounded by water; that is why it is popularly regarded as the “floating torii.” However, at low tide, people can actually walk up to it.

The “floating torii” off the island of Miyajima, after dark.

This vista is regarded as one of the three most scenic views in Japan. However, most tourists only come to watch it at sunset (and admittedly, the sunsets behind the torii can be spectacular), but then immediately catch the next ferry to the mainland. It is worth lingering into the evening, to view the specter of a disembodied torii floating in the darkness. (It is illuminated via floodlights on shore that are aimed at it.)

The old stone Nijubashi Bridge in Tokyo, with the Imperial Palace looming over it. The bridge, and the inner palace shown here, are only open to the public two days a year: New Year’s, and the Emperor’s birthday. Thus, this vantage point was about as close as I got to the palace. While there is year-round public access to some of the palace gardens and some of the lesser buildings on the site, I found those sights boring.

At the Tokyo Dome, looking down from the upper deck.

Yokohama Bay Stars at Tokyo Yomiuri Giants, April 23, 2008

Categories: Asia, travel, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: Asia, Fiesta, H-Bomb, Hiroshima, Japan, karaoke, Kyoto, Nara, Narita, rickshaw, The Cage, Tokyo, World Karaoke Tour | Leave a comment

Countries no. 2, 3, and 4: United Kingdom, Austria, and Iceland

Posted on January 21, 2012 by H-Bomb

As of June 1993, I’d been singing karaoke sporadically for about two years. That month, having just completed my first year as a student at Georgetown University Law Center, I flew to London to commence a summer law study program. My summer was to divide into three segments, each three weeks long: First, in London, I was taking a course on “Comparative Litigation.” Next, in Salzburg, Austria, I was taking a course on “Fundamental Rights in Europe and the U.S.,” which was co-taught by Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy. Both the London and Salzburg sessions were under the auspices of a program that was operated not by Georgetown but by the McGeorge School of Law at the University of the Pacific in Sacramento, California. Following my six weeks of academics, I would spend the final three weeks on a sort of abbreviated version of the Grand Tour, passing through various Western European cities. By this time I had come to regret not having spent a semester abroad during my undergraduate years at Johns Hopkins; and I viewed my summer excursion as a way of partially compensating for what I’d missed out on. (This was at a time when study abroad programs were far more likely than today to take place in Western Europe; naturally, I assumed that if I had gone abroad for my junior year, my destination would have been somewhere in that region.)

The entries on my law school transcript from the summer of ’93 are not particularly important to this blog (although it was pretty cool hanging out in an Austrian beer garden with a Supreme Court justice, and asking him about a case that I had just seen one of my professors argue before him and his fellow jurists a few months earlier). But that summer in Europe had another, unexpected impact on my life. It saw the genesis of my World Karaoke Tour.

London, United Kingdom
I’d been in London for no more than a few days when I decided that I needed to find a British pub in which to sing. So one afternoon after my classes let out, I walked around from bar to bar, asking the bartenders if they knew of any pubs that offered karaoke. In one response that was seared into my brain, a bartender not only stated that he knew of no such pubs, but gratuitously added that “karaoke is old hat.” He said this all the way back in 1993! Talk about being on the wrong side of history. Of course, in 2012, karaoke is ubiquitous almost everywhere on the planet — an outcome that would not have surprised the 23-year-old me in ’93. So anyway, when that bloke made his smug comment, I wanted to respond, “Hey man, your whole country is old hat!” But I held my tongue. (Note: I’m a huge Anglophile; so when I call England “old hat,” I say that term with nothing but affection. But there was something ironic about a denizen of such an ancient land deriding as antiquated an invention of the 1970s.)

Naturally, I did find a place to sing in London. The venue that earned the distinction of hosting my first overseas karaoke appearance was the Duke of Argyll pub (a current Google search indicates at least two different establishments in London that bear that name. I’m not sure whether either of them is the same place where I sang in 1993). With the location secured, I rounded up a group of my classmates from the McGeorge program, and planned a group outing on the next available karaoke night at the Duke of Argyll (I have long since forgotten what night of the week this was). To promote the event, one of my fellow students, a man named Ryan, prepared flyers that said “Barry wrote the songs, but Harvey sings them!” (The text of the flyers referred to a certain Barry Manilow song that was one of my most frequently performed numbers at the time.) I seem to remember that Ryan might actually have posted some of these flyers in public places in London.

A pretty sizable contingent of my McGeorge classmates turned out to see my international singing debut. Their presence helped make the occasion memorable. I sang “Copacabana” by Barry Manilow and “American Pie” by Don McLean. As I recall, I was warmly received by the locals. Country no. 2 was now in the books, and my World Karaoke Tour was officially underway (although I wouldn’t actually start referring to it as such until more than a decade later).

Vienna, Austria
The addition of the third country to the World Karaoke Tour followed just a few weeks after my appearance in London. While stationed in Salzburg (which itself was quite an enchanting city), I made a weekend getaway to nearby Vienna. (Also during my three-week stint in Salzburg, I took a weekend trip to Prague, but my Czech excursion did not include any karaoke.)

In its heyday, Vienna was a cradle of classical music, with many of the greatest composers having plied their craft within its precincts. An eponymous waltz emerged from its society gatherings and is still one of the most venerable ballroom dances today. Outstanding examples of baroque and other styles of architecture line its broad avenues. In short, Vienna is a bastion of high culture and one of the jewels of Old Europe. With karaoke still in its infancy outside of Asia, I’m not sure why I felt so optimistic that I would find a venue for it in Vienna of all places; but my optimism proved justified. My method of searching for karaoke there was similar to what I’d done in London: while touring the city, I entered various watering holes and simply asked around. Once again, those efforts paid off.

Thus it was that on Friday night, July 16, 1993, Austria became country no. 3 on my World Karaoke Tour. In attendance were Cristina and Jason, two of my classmates from the McGeorge summer law program, who also had traveled to Vienna for the weekend. Sadly, due to my lack of appreciation for the historical moment, my song selections of that evening soon faded from my memory. So I have no idea what songs I performed that night; nor can I tell you the name of the Viennese pub where said crooning went down. The one thing that I clearly recall is that I chose not to sing “Edelweiss,” which was available in the songbook. “Edelweiss” played a significant role in The Sound of Music, a movie that I’d grown to appreciate after spending time in Salzburg (the city where that Oscar-winning film takes place, and where I’d gone on an obligatory Sound of Music tour):

For a long time thereafter, I regretted not singing “Edelweiss” in Austria when I had the chance (my excuse was that I didn’t feel confident enough in how well I knew the song. But I came to believe that the risk I’d have taken in singing it would have been justified, given the uniqueness of the opportunity). Still, I had sung in Austria. That accomplishment contributed just as much to my enjoyment of Vienna as my visits to Schonbrunn Palace, or the Sigmund Freud House, or the giant Ferris wheel in the Prater amusement park (made famous by a scene in the classic Orson Welles movie, The Third Man), or the Circus & Clown Museum (which now goes by the much blander moniker of the Museum for the Art of Entertainment).

Incidentally, speaking of “Edelweiss,” until writing this blog post, I was under the misimpression that that song was the Austrian national anthem. That belief turns out to have been an urban legend; “Edelweiss” is not an authentic song from that country at all, but was written by Rodgers and Hammerstein for the stage version of The Sound of Music. Who knew?

Reykjavik, Iceland
After my summer legal studies wrapped up, I spent another three weeks traveling around Europe (I had, of course, purchased a Eurail Pass). My itinerary after departing from Salzburg consisted of Venice; Florence; Rome; Paris; Reykjavik; and Berlin. That’s right: in the midst of an orderly progression by rail through the European continent, I jetted off to Iceland, halfway towards the United States — only to then circle back to the mainland to pop my head in to Germany.

When I’d originally planned my summer in Europe, Iceland wasn’t on my radar screen. But Adam, one of my summer classmates in the McGeorge program, told me that he’d scheduled a visit to Iceland as part of his own upcoming post-Salzburg travels; and it seemed like such an interesting place that I decided to make a weekend in Reyjkavik a late addition to my travel plans for the remainder of the summer. I marched into the American Express office in Salzburg and booked a round-trip flight from London to Reykjavik. (At the time, I don’t think I was aware of the concept of open jaw tickets. So, after visiting Paris, I took the train to Calais; then, with the Chunnel still nine months away from opening, I caught a hovercraft across the English Channel to Dover, from whence I boarded a train to London. I flew from London to Reykjavik. Then, a couple of days later, I essentially reversed that convoluted route to get to Berlin.)

Out of the way though it was, Iceland proved a worthy stop on my romp through Europe. Among the highlights were a day-trip during which I saw a waterfall and geysers. (While the best-known geothermal eruptions probably belong to Old Faithful at Yellowstone Park, “geysir” is actually an Icelandic word; and they have some pretty good ones in Iceland). And on Saturday night, August 7, 1993, Iceland became country no. 4 on my World Karaoke Tour.

Reykjavik, the capital city where I was staying, had a population of about 100,000 at the time (as of 2012, its population has swelled to roughly 120,000). But I remember Reykjavik as having boasted excellent nightlife for a city of its size — with the downtown streets still overflowing with young revelers at 4:00 a.m. (The simplest explanation for this is that the people of Iceland are awesome. But another reason may have to do with Iceland’s status as one of the few countries situated at a high enough latitude that it can legitimately claim to be a Land of the Midnight Sun during the summer months. Even at the time of my stay in Reykjavik, seven or so weeks after the summer solstice, the night sky seemed to never grow completely dark. When there’s perpetual ambient sunlight, perhaps the biological urge to go home and sleep is diminished.)

Perhaps even more impressive, this modestly sized metropolis managed to have a bar with karaoke. In this case, I don’t think that I even consciously set out to look for a place to sing; but the place that offered it was hard to miss in Reyjkavik’s compact city center. Here again, I have long since forgotten both the name of the bar in question, and the set list that I sang. But sing I did.

Thus, by the time I flew back to Washington, DC the following weekend to begin my second year of law school, I’d quadrupled the number of countries in which I’d sung karaoke (all the way to the whopping total of four). What I didn’t know at the time was that 11 years would now elapse before I added any more countries to my World Karaoke Tour. We’ll get to the 2004 resumption of the tour, soon enough. But first we’ll fast forward to 2008, and my first singing appearance in Asia — in Japan, the place where karaoke was born. That’s coming up in the very next post here at H-Bomb’s Worldwide Karaoke!

Finally, a note on the images accompanying the present article: Ordinarily, I prefer to illustrate my posts with photos that I’ve taken myself. The pictures of London that appear above (Big Ben and the Tower Bridge) do meet that criterion, although they were taken during subsequent trips to England in 2005 and 2004, respectively. But I have no good photos from the summer of 1993 (and thus no decent photos from Austria or Iceland, two countries to which I’ve never returned) because I really wasn’t much of a photographer back then. While I do have some old-fashioned film prints from that summer, none of them was worth scanning in. Instead, the pictures that you see here of Schonbrunn Place and the Icelandic geyser are licensed images from a stock photography website. I will continue to use my own original photos wherever possible.

Categories: Europe, Europe, travel, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: austria, england, europe, iceland, karaoke, London, reykjavik, United Kingdom, vienna, World Karaoke Tour | 2 Comments

Karaoke in Brooklyn? Fuhgeddaboutit!

Posted on January 17, 2012 by H-Bomb

When most people from other parts of the world think about New York City, they visualize Manhattan. But the Big Apple’s most populous borough, and one whose grittiness perhaps better represents the real spirit of New York, is Brooklyn. Indeed, if Brooklyn had not been consolidated into New York City in 1898 but had instead remained independent, it would, even today, remain the fourth largest city in the United States — just as depicted on the sign featured in the opening credits to Welcome Back Kotter. I enjoy spending time in Brooklyn; visiting Brooklyn Bridge Park, and strolling the boardwalk at Coney Island, are two of my very favorite things to do in this city.

One thing that my forays into Brooklyn had never included, prior to Sunday night, was karaoke singing. In the over 16 years that I’ve been a New York City resident, I’ve sung in Manhattan on hundreds of different occasions; and I’ve also made multiple karaoke appearances in the borough of Queens. But Brooklyn had never witnessed an H-Bomb performance. Until now.

For a while, I’d been wanting to try out a particular karaoke show in Brooklyn’s hipsterish Williamsburg neighborhood, in a bar called The Cove. The KJ who runs that show calls himself Cap’n Goodtimes; his very name promises a fun evening. So what took me so long to make it out there?

The problem was that the show is held only on Sunday nights, and I’d read that the starting time is 10:00 pm. That’s a difficult timeslot if you have to be at work on Monday morning — especially if, like me, you live uptown in Manhattan and face a long journey home from Brooklyn at the end of the night.

This being a holiday weekend, however, my office was closed on Monday. So getting home late on this particular Sunday night would not present a problem for me. As a result, I finally checked out the Cap’n Goodtimes show. And almost from the moment of my arrival, I was asking myself why it had taken me so long to visit The Cove.

Even as you first enter the bar, you know you’re in for a good time. A sandwich board on the sidewalk outside the front door promises an “all nite” dance party. And that’s no idle promise. This isn’t one of those karaoke bars where the patrons are oblivious to the singers on the stage. The folks at this show don’t just boringly sit at their tables all night. Audience members get out on the dance floor and use that floor for its intended purpose. And if they like what they hear, they’re lavish with their praise for the performers.

One thing to note: as the evening goes on, there are some interludes where Cap’n Goodtimes interrupts the chain of karaoke, puts on his DJ hat (metaphorically, of course; his actual headgear is always the captain’s hat that you see in the photos accompanying this article), and proceeds to play some dance tunes. That really gets the crowd fired up! I also felt that the Cap’n's choices of songs for this segment were particularly inspired, featuring awesome ’80s tunes like “Take On Me” and “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”. If he’d only been playing lame “house” music, I might not have been nearly as into it. Instead, I found myself irresistibly drawn to the dance floor, even though I dance like a white guy. And when the karaoke resumes, the dance party is in full swing. (Obviously, the non-karaoke segments stretch out the length of the rotation of singers. If you go to The Cove, you’re not going to get to do five songs in two hours. But karaoke shouldn’t only be about quantity. If the goal is to have the best time possible, that mission was accomplished on Sunday night. Also, if you arrive early in the show, you can probably still count on singing at least three or four songs if you stay for a few hours.)

During my initial appearance at The Cove (yes, I said “initial”; I will most definitely be back!), I sang a pair of songs: “True” by Spandau Ballet, and “La Bamba” by Los Lobos. Both are on my A-list, of course; I was going to take no chances when an entire borough was forming its first impression of my singing. And the crowd showed me a lot of love. “La Bamba” in particular was a transcendent experience. The dance floor was jam-packed! And I fed off the enormous energy that the audience generated. When karaoke becomes that type of interactive event, it absolutely enhances my enjoyment of what I’m doing.

By the way, it turned out that the Cap’n Goodtimes show that I attended this weekend had actually gotten underway at about 9 pm — earlier than the 10:00 starting time that I’d expected (although the Cap’n advised me that on a normal Sunday night, the place is pretty dead before 10:00 or so).

And so, Brooklyn has become a long-overdue addition to my World Karaoke Tour (and I would say that I chose a pretty good show for that historic occasion). One of my Facebook friends asked how it is that I ended up singing in places like Africa before doing so in my neighboring borough. That one’s easy: checking off all five boroughs carries just a little less cachet for me than being able to say I’ve sung on six continents. I mean, be honest with me: would you be reading this blog if it was called “H-Bomb’s Citywide Karaoke”? But now that I’ve made karaoke appearances in three boroughs, I have the other two in my sights. Hey Bronx and Staten Island, you’re next!

And I look forward to more all-night karaoke dance parties in Brooklyn.

O Captain My Captain: Shown here is Christian Larson, a/k/a Cap'n Goodtimes, with his sidekick Todd.

Categories: North America, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: all night dance party, Brooklyn, Cap'n Goodtimes, Five Borough Karaoke Tour, H-Bomb, karaoke, new york city, North America, The Cove, United States, Welcome Back Kotter, Williamsburg, World Karaoke Tour | Leave a comment

Country no. 1: the United States

Posted on January 13, 2012 by H-Bomb

Two weeks ago, Portugal became country no. 24 on my World Karaoke Tour. This is the first in a series of posts that will review the first 23 countries on that tour. Today our topic is the place where it all began — the U.S. of A. In this, my most personal post yet, I discuss how I was first exposed to karaoke nearly 21 years ago, and how that hobby gradually came to assume a position of pre-eminence in my life.

It started with a nursery rhyme. Although I’ve sung hundreds of different songs over the years, the very first time that I grabbed a karaoke mic the song I belted out was “The Farmer In The Dell.”

The first ten years: 1991-2001
On the night of March 4, 1991, I was celebrating my 21st birthday. I was living with my parents in my hometown of West Orange, New Jersey; the previous year I’d graduated from Johns Hopkins University, and I was in the midst of a two year stint as a paralegal at a small law firm in Newark. My enrollment in law school was still nearly a year and a half away.

This was the milestone birthday on which I became “legal” to purchase alcoholic beverages in the United States. Of course, it was not as if I’d never imbibed (or never become intoxicated); but reaching the magic age of 21 still carried a certain symbolism.

To honor the occasion, I was hanging out with my high school friends Jon and Andrew, who had also returned to West Orange after their university studies. During the course of our evening wanderings, we entered a bar in West Orange that happened to be holding a karaoke night. Karaoke was relatively new to the United States at that point. The first karaoke bar in the country had opened in Burbank, California in 1982; nine years later, karaoke was still relatively unknown in the U.S. I’d first become acquainted with the concept while watching an episode of The Simpsons that aired on January 24, 1991. In that episode, Bart and Lisa Simpson had sung the theme song from Shaft at a Springfield-area sushi restaurant:

Now, less than six weeks later, I found myself in the presence of karaoke for the first time. I flipped through the song book, in search of a song title and number to submit to the KJ. For reasons that are lost to the dustbin of history, the thoroughly uninspired choice for my karaoke debut was “The Farmer In The Dell.” From such prosaic beginnings would I go on to become a karaoke aficionado who sings all around the world.

Karaoke did not immediately catch on with me, however. After my less-than-stirring rendition of the farmer taking a wife and the wife taking a child, I resumed my existing life, and felt no compulsion to make karaoke a part of my evenings. But when the summer arrived, everything changed.

The law firm for which I was working fielded a softball team that competed in a summer league against other area law firms. Despite my complete lack of athletic ability, I participated in my firm’s weekly softball games, which were played on Wednesday nights. Each week, after the conclusion of the game, my co-workers and I would drive to the Firehouse pub in nearby Bloomfield, New Jersey for pizza and beer.

As fate would have it, Wednesday night was karaoke night at the Firehouse. And so, on a Wednesday evening that to the best of my recollection occurred in June 1991, I sang the second and third karaoke songs of my life. I signed up for “Part Time Lover” by Stevie Wonder, and my co-workers signed me up to sing “Super Freak” by Rick James. 20 1/2 years later, I can’t remember in what order I sang those two songs. But I sang them both, and by the end of the night, I was hooked.

For the rest of the summer I looked forward to singing every Wednesday night. Three Barry Manilow songs became the first regular songs in my repertoire (that is, the first songs that I would perform on a consistent and repeating basis): “Copacabana”; “Mandy”; and “I Write the Songs”. “Copa,” due to its exuberant vibe and its ability to ignite a crowd, became my very first signature song. I’m not sure why I chose Barry as my go-to performer to emulate (a co-worker’s suggestion may have played a role), but his songs proved a good fit for my vocal range, which helped cement their inclusion in my oeuvre.

Nowadays, when I want to learn a new song, I go to one of the many websites for song lyrics (my favorite is Sing 365), and print out the words. I then log on to YouTube and watch a performance of the song, with lyrics in hand, paying attention to the melody and noting which syllables are stressed. Often I will also download an MP3 recording of the song to my smartphone, to facilitate listening to the song over and over and familiarizing myself with its nuances. It’s rare for me to debut a song in public without first undergoing such preparation. In 1991, such techniques were unimaginable to me. Although the World Wide Web became publicly available on the Internet in August of that year, the development of user-friendly browsers (as well as meaningful online content for those browsers to access) still lay several years in the future; and apps like YouTube were more distant still. But I did what I could with the paleolithic technology of the day. I remember buying books of sheet music that included some of the songs I wanted to study, and purchasing a Barry Manilow “greatest hits” CD. I couldn’t (and can’t) read music; but it was still helpful to be familiar with the words before attempting to sing a song in public (yes, at most karaoke venues the words appear on the screen, but just seeing the words flash in front of you will not necessarily be of much help if you’re unfamiliar with the song).

For the next decade, I would sing — not quite regularly, but on and off. During this period, it would not be uncommon for several months, or even a year, to go by between my visits to karaoke establishments. Karaoke was nothing more than an occasional pursuit for me, although one that I enjoyed. I sang occasionally while I was attending law school in Washington, DC (and it was shortly after I began law school in August 1992 that an otherwise undistinguished karaoke host bestowed the H-Bomb nickname on me, as discussed here); and I sang occasionally after moving to New York City in October 1995. Then, in August 2001, I discovered the Raccoon Lodge, and everything changed — again.

The Lodge and the Fever: 2001-2007
The Raccoon Lodge actually boasted two locations that offered karaoke — one on Manhattan’s Upper East Side (with karaoke on Thursday and Saturday nights), and one on the Upper West Side (with karaoke on Wednesday and Saturday nights). They were both wonderful neighborhood dive bars, although I always preferred the one on the East Side. I was living downtown at the time, so to visit either location required a lengthy subway ride for me (and a lengthy cab ride home at the end of the night), but I didn’t mind. The Lodge (as I affectionately called it) provided such an amazing experience.

Partly due to its status as a neighborhood bar, the Lodge attracted a large and close-knit group of regulars — many of whom lived within walking distance, but some of whom (like me) willingly endured long commutes from places like lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, or Staten Island. I would see many of the same people every Thursday and Saturday night; and I truly looked forward to seeing them, because they were (and are) really nice people as well as talented singers. A decade later, some of my closest friends are folks that I met while attending karaoke nights at the Lodge.

The Lodge attracted a diverse crowd of interesting and creative people; among the friends I made there were a couple of aspiring filmmakers who cast me (as well as other Lodge regulars) in independent movies that they directed. Thus, my attendance at karaoke nights at the Lodge contributed directly to my qualifying for an IMDB page. Speaking of people in “the industry,” for a time, the regulars at the Lodge included Melissa Archer and Jessica Morris, two actresses who were new in town and had just begun working on the soap opera One Life to Live (and RIP to OLTL, by the way; its final episode aired today. I’ll miss the Buchanans!).

I’d first become aware of the Lodge in March 1999, after doing an internet search for karaoke bars in New York City (One of the reasons that my singing had been so sporadic after moving to New York in October 1995 was that I simply hadn’t known where to go for karaoke in the Big Apple. In 1999, after several years of accessing the internet through the highly restricted environment of America Online, I was only just beginning to become accustomed to the world of search engines. In particular, I had not yet heard of Google, which had just been incorporated in September 1998, and the founders of which were still in graduate school. And even in 1999, as humanity prepared to enter a new millennium, the universe of websites to peruse was far more limited than what we take for granted today). I visited the East Side Lodge on a Thursday night and had a pretty good time, but — perhaps partially due to the faraway location — did not return for nearly two and a half years.

But the second time I went there, on August 23, 2001 (another Thursday), something happened. I knew that I was going to go back. And this time, I immediately became a regular. For the next three or so years, a large percentage of my Thursday and Saturday nights were spent at the East Side Lodge; and a fair number of my Wednesdays and Saturdays involved visits to the West Side Lodge. The occurrence of the September 11 attacks, just a few weeks after I started frequenting the Lodge, may have helped accelerate my adoption of the Lodge as a favorite hangout; during the anxious weeks immediately after 9/11, I drew comfort from singing among friends.

In February 2003, I vacated my downtown apartment and moved into a building a block and a half from the East Side Lodge. Many of my friends suspected that the proximity to my favorite karaoke bar had heavily influenced my choice of address. Whether or not that supposition was accurate, I took full advantage of my desirable new location; I frequently held Saturday evening soirees in my new residence. My karaoke buddies and I would pregame in my apartment, and then we would walk over to the Lodge for some singing.

In the summer of 2004, both the East Side and West Side locations of the Lodge went out of business. The East Side Lodge was replaced by a bar called Cabin Fever, which eventually brought back karaoke several months later. I went there frequently, but it was never really the same. Partly because many of the former bargoers from the Lodge had moved out of the neighborhood, and partly because the new management did a poor job of attracting new people to replace them (firing the long-time KJ, allegedly for reasons of cost-cutting, didn’t help, as it alienated many of the regulars who’d been loyal to her show). Finally, in September 2007, Cabin Fever closed its doors forever. The space remained vacant for several years; this seemingly permanent emptiness seemed appropriate to me, as nothing could ever really replace the Lodge. Finally, in late 2011, a new occupant moved into the space: a French cafe (seen in the photo on the right). An ignominious end, indeed, for an establishment that had once exerted so strong an influence over its neighborhood and beyond. Croissants and café au lait are no substitute for what the Lodge once offered.

During the glorious era of karaoke at the Lodge (and, to a lesser extent, at the Fever), my repertoire of songs that I would sing expanded greatly. In particular, I discovered that my karaoke muse wasn’t Barry Manilow; it was Billy Joel. I’ve sung at least 30 different Billy Joel songs one or more times, and I debuted most of them at either the Lodge or Cabin Fever. As with Mr. Manilow, most of Mr. Joel’s material proved a good match for my voice. Plus, it helped that I’d enjoyed listening to Mr. Joel’s albums while growing up. It was a pleasure to now be performing many of the songs that had made such an impact on me during my high school and college years. My signature song for much of the Lodge / Fever era, although not one of Mr. Joel’s numbers, also harked back to the entertainment of my adolescence: the theme song from Footloose (the original version by Kenny Loggins, not the crappy cover by Blake Shelton that appears on the soundtrack of the 2011 remake of that film).

The modern H-Bomb era: 2007 to date
After the demise of the Lodge, for the first time in six years, I needed to find a new location to sing at. There was no question that I would continue singing; karaoke had irrevocably become one of my greatest passions. There has been a small number of karaoke spots in Manhattan to which I have returned over and over in the last few years. Some of them (which are listed among my links on the right sidebar of this blog) are quite enjoyable. But none has achieved quite the same sense of enduring community that characterized the Lodge during its golden age from 2001 through 2004. Still, the arrow of time points relentlessly forward. The Lodge isn’t coming back. While I will continue to travel the world to sing, I’ll also keep seeking out new and exciting karaoke adventures right here in New York.

In addition to New York, New Jersey and Washington, DC, the locations in the United States where I’ve performed have included the following states: Virginia (Sterling, Vienna, and Charlottesville); Pennsylvania (Narberth, Philadelphia, and Harrisburg); Maryland (Baltimore); California (Santa Monica, San Francisco, Riverside, and Burbank); Louisiana (New Orleans); Massachusetts (Boston); Texas (Dallas and Houston); Nevada (Las Vegas); Connecticut (Orange and Stamford); and Illinois (Chicago). Among the additional American locales in which I aspire to sing in the not-too-distant future are Alaska; Hawaii; Miami, Florida; Seattle, Washington; St. Louis, Missouri; and Madison, Wisconsin.

But while I enjoy discovering the diverse attractions of my home country, I view myself as a citizen of the world. In the next installment in this series, we’ll hop across the Pond to London as I reflect upon how karaoke first became a global activity for me in 1993.

Categories: North America, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: Barry Manilow, Billy Joel, Cabin Fever, Firehouse pub in Bloomfield, H-Bomb, karaoke, North America, Raccoon Lodge, The Farmer in the Dell, United States, World Karaoke Tour | Leave a comment

What I did in Lisbon after I put down the mic

Posted on January 8, 2012 by H-Bomb

Lisbon is a beautiful city. Its combination of vintage buildings and sweeping hills, together with its location on a major port, supply its aesthetic charm. When you factor in the cable cars (known locally as trams) that traverse the hilly streets of its downtown, Lisbon bears more than a superficial resemblance to San Francisco, a city to which it is often compared (The two cities also share a delightful Mediterranean climate. A further point of similarity: while San Francisco is much more famous for its seismic hazards, Lisbon suffered a catastrophic earthquake in 1755, with a magnitude estimated to have been as high as 9.0, that helped inspire Voltaire’s Candide. If you visit either city, you risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time when the next Big One strikes).

And like San Francisco, Lisbon has now been a stop on my World Karaoke Tour. I sang on my very first night in Lisbon, a Friday night. I was staying in town through the following Monday morning. How did I occupy the rest of my long weekend?

After I passed a couple of hours in my hotel room writing a blog post about the previous night’s singing experience, it was time to embark on some exploration. Appropriately, my first stop was the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Monument of the Discoveries). I’m hugely interested in the Age of Exploration, an era in which the Portugese played a pre-eminent role; so I was eager to check out this concrete sculpture, which includes depictions of the major seafarers of that time as well as their financiers. It looked pretty nice on the outside. Sadly, the exterior was all that I was able to see of the Padrão dos Descobrimentos. Although the posted hours on the front doors indicated that the monument was supposed to be open during the day and time of my visit, those doors were locked and there were no personnel on the premises. I was thus deprived of the opportunity to ascend to the terrace for a panoramic view of the surrounding area. It also would have been nice to see the multimedia exhibition on Lisbon’s history that is supposedly found inside the monument. The monument looked nice on the outside, though.

Next I visited the Castelo de São Jorge (St. George’s Castle), a Moorish castle complex that dates to the 11th century. As you would expect of a medieval fortress, it sits atop a hill with commanding views of the surrounding area. The historic district in the vicinity of the castle contains additional edifices of note, including a church that dates back to the 12th century (it also abounds with the the souvenir shops that tell you that you’re in a historic district).

One of the more pleasant activities available in the castle region is a ride on the tram (okay, perhaps it’s a little too touristy, just like the San Francisco cable cars. But it’s still a fun way to get around, and pretty inexpensive). I will say, though, that my tram ride did not go quite as advertised. I’d been told that the tram operates in a loop — that I could hop on anywhwere, and it would circumnavigate the old part of town, and eventually I would end up back where I’d started. The “loop” description did not apply to the particular tram that I boarded. It took me on a one-way journey, and I was kicked off when we reached the end of the line. I then boarded a tram that appeared to be heading in the opposite direction, but it didn’t return me to my original point of embarkation either. Instead, it too reached its terminus where I was required to alight. As a result, I kind of got lost, with my map being of little help to pinpoint my location in the maze of medieval thoroughfares (In theory, I couldn’t be truly lost since I was carrying a GPS-equipped smartphone with global capabilities. However, given the exorbitant roaming charges for international data use, the cost of actually using the GPS would have been out of any proportion to the benefit. Still, that feature may come in handy someday if I need to escape from kidnappers or something). After some aimless wandering, I jumped in a taxi.

I had the driver take me to Rossio Square, a large public square that’s one of the focal points for the city. I’m a big fan of the broad plazas that can be found in so many of the older European cities; and this one was no exception. I ended up at a cafe with outdoor seating, got a cup of tea, and sat at a table adjacent to the square, from which I was able to engage in some top-notch people-watching.

In the evening, I dined at a restaurant in the Bairro Alto, a neighborhood with many pubs and restaurants. Then, to celebrate the transition from 2011 to 2012, I went across town to witness the New Year’s Eve fireworks display that Lisbon puts on over the Tagus River. As you can see, it was quite an impressive show:

What wasn’t so praiseworthy was my journey home post-fireworks. After watching the 10-minute fireworks show, I waited at a taxi stand for 3 hours and 15 minutes for a taxi to take me back to my hotel. In case you don’t believe me, here is what the taxi queue looked like:

The extreme waiting period was a function of two factors: the sheer number of people waiting in line, and the scarcity of vehicles to provide them with transportation. At times, 5 or 10 minutes would elapse before another cab would pull up to the taxi rank. And no matter how long it took the line to creep forward, I had no choice but to stick it out; any attempt to hail a cab on the street was unlikely to succeed.

So I waited and waited and waited and waited, and then I waited some more. Lesson: Whenever I go out in an unfamiliar city — especially at night — I should always make sure I know in advance how to get back to my hotel in a safe and reasonably efficient manner. Coming from New York City, a metropolis with over 13,000 licensed taxis cruising its streets, I tend to take for granted the ease of hailing a cab on demand. But had I realized that this process would prove much more difficult in Lisbon (or at least in the part of Lisbon where I watched the fireworks), I might at least have investigated Lisbon’s Metro system, which could have afforded me a much quicker way of returning to my hotel from the fireworks (the Metro runs nightly until 1:00 a.m.). Or I might have opted to forego the fireworks and ring in the new year in a different part of town. On this New Year’s Eve, not having had the benefit of such hindsight, I was forced to play out the situation in which I found myself and remain in the taxi line for as long as it took. Walking back to my hotel was not an option — not in an unfamiliar city whose streets aren’t in a grid pattern (and a city in which I’d already gotten lost that afternoon — and nearly gotten mugged the night before).

My interminable session in the taxi line was not completely lacking in entertainment value. At one point, someone cut in front of the line and jumped into a taxi that had just driven up. The police ran up to the taxi and pulled the cheater out of the vehicle; the people who’d been obediently waiting in line burst into applause.

I felt sorry for the folks who were at the back of the taxi line at 3:45 a.m. when I finally boarded a cab (the line really hadn’t gotten any shorter during the time that I’d been standing in it). But my ordeal was bad enough. Man, after subjecting me to over three hours of dead time, the forces that control the universe owed me big. The least they could have done was to ensure that when a taxi finally pulled up for me, it would be one of those taxicabs with karaoke that are so trendy these days. That would almost have made my ridiculous wait worthwhile. But alas, my ride home was song-free. Still, at least I was finally getting home. New Year’s Eve was over at last.

On New Year’s Day, I’d hoped to take a day-trip from Lisbon to the nearby city of Sintra, which is known for its colorful palaces with dreamy architecture. Sadly, just about everything in Sintra turned out to be closed on January 1. Additionally there was a railroad strike in Portugal that apparently reduced the frequency of trains and would have made it difficult for me to get to Sintra in any event. So I stayed local. That didn't help much, as few if any attractions were open in Lisbon either. I took a ferry ride so that I could get a glimpse of how Lisbon looked from the river (this was a commuter ferry, not a tourist boat; the tourist cruises on the Tagus, which would have appealed to me, turned out to operate only between April and October). Then I made a return visit to the castle district, since walking around neighborhoods that date back to the Middle Ages never gets old for me. That relatively modest itinerary was the sum total of what I was able to come up with to pass the time on New Year's Day. Lesson: Before I make plans to travel to a particular city, make sure that the things I want to see will actually be open during the time when I want to visit them (of course, unanticipated obstacles like the railroad strike will still arise. But the tourist-attractions-being-closed-on-January-1 thing was knowable in advance). When I'm on the road, I like to constantly be moving around and seeing new things; and I try to take in as many of each city's "must-visit" sites as I can. I was unable to achieve those usual goals in Lisbon. With that said, even when everything goes wrong, travel remains a stimulating experience for me; and I enjoy the sense of accomplishment that comes from vanquishing such challenges. I was just about to write that I'd rather be bored in a foreign country than at home; but the truth is, travel never really gets dull for me. Tony Wheeler, the co-founder of Lonely Planet, put it well: “I love travel because you may be uncomfortable, hungry, hot and sweaty, cold and shivering . . . but damn it, you will never be bored.”

And I was okay once I got over my disappointment and resolved to make the most of my time remaining in Lisbon. I returned to the coffee house on Rossio Square that I’d enjoyed the previous evening; then I just wandered around and let serendipity take over. I stumbled into a neighborhood with pedestrian-only streets and a large volume of restaurants offering local cuisine. Many of those eateries employed touts who would run into my path and urge me to sample the gastronomic delights at their restaurant. One such hawker boasted of how his restaurant offered “typical Portugese cuisine.” I pointed out to him how the restaurant across the street from his own displayed a sign that also promised “typical Portugese cuisine.” Eventually I chose a restaurant that had not employed high-pressure sales tactics on me, and enjoyed a fine repast featuring grilled octopus. That meal was a good way to wrap up my Lisboetan weekend.

On my next airline voyage, I’m hoping to not to be stuck with as gross a seat-mate as the man who was seated next to me on my flight from Madrid to New York when I was returning from Lisbon. For most of the last four hours of the flight, that individual was biting his nails and/or otherwise putting his fingers in his mouth (he was also rubbing his face with those same fingers). That spectacle was impossible to avoid seeing with at least my peripheral vision, and was highly unpleasant; it made the flight seem twice as long as it actually was. Some of my friends have theorized that my nail-biting neighbor may have been a nervous flier who was merely trying to cope with his discomfort. Perhaps, although we have no real evidence as to what was causing his dismaying habit (and he continued to bite his nails even after we’d landed, while we were taxiing to the gate). Anyway, as you know, I’m afraid of flying myself; but I don’t deal with my phobia by doing something that would disgust innocent bystanders.

But just like I survived the Longest Taxi Line Ever, I did somehow make it through that flight from Madrid. So now that I’m back from Portugal, attention turns to my next trip, during which I expect to add countries 25 and 26 to my World Karaoke Tour. In February 2012 I’ll be visiting Egypt (my research indicates that Cairo has a thriving karaoke scene); and on the way back I’ve arranged an overnight layover in Frankfurt, Germany, where I’ve found at least one venue that has karaoke on the night when I’ll be there. Thus, not only will I be singing in the land of the pyramids, but the Land of Chocolate will also become a long-overdue addition to the World Karaoke Tour!

Here are some additional photos from my brief sojourn in Lisbon:

Lisbon, Portugal at twilight. Who wouldn't fall in love with such a beautiful city? The view is from an elevated section of town, near the Castelo de São Jorge (St. George's Castle).

Looking down from St. George's Castle.

The Patriarchal Cathedral of St. Mary Major. The oldest church in the city, its construction dates back to 1147.

One of the corners of Pedro IV Square (also known as Rossio Square), one of the main public squares in Lisbon. The neoclassical building on the left is the Maria II theatre.

One of the ubiquitous trams in the historic city centre.

Lisbon's meandering streets contain the openings to many narrow alleyways. You never know where you could end up if you enter one of them.

Lisbon seen from the Tagus River.

The Christo Rei statue, across the river from the city center, is a poor man's version of the much more celebrated Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro.

Christo Rei and the 25 de Abril Bridge.

A beautiful alleyway.

Categories: Europe, travel | Tags: Egypt, europe, fireworks, Frankfurt, Germany, Land of Chocolate, lisbon, longest taxi line ever, new year's, New Year's Eve, portugal, tagus | 1 Comment

Hello, Taiwan!

Posted on January 8, 2012 by H-Bomb

I’m in Washington, DC right now. Back in November, I took a ride in Joel Laguidao’s karaoke cab in Northern Virginia. That went pretty well and I had a great time. So this week, Joel called me and told me that a TV news crew from a Taiwanese station, TVBS, would be filming a segment in his cab; and he invited me to go for another ride with him, this time in the presence of the Taiwanese TV people. I took Joel up on his offer and rode the train down to D.C. on Saturday afternoon. On Saturday night, the TVBS cameraman filmed me while I was singing in Joel’s cab (I sang “La Bamba” and “New York State of Mind”); and then a reporter from the station interviewed me. There’s no guarantee that any of this raw H-Bomb footage will make it on the air; and even if it does, I may not like the way I look. But if there turn out to be any videos worth sharing, you’ll see them here. And hopefully, this will be just the first of many opportunities for me to gain international exposure for my World Karaoke Tour.

Categories: North America, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: District of Columbia, H-Bomb, Joel Laguidao, karaoke, karaoke cab, karaoke taxi, Taiwan, taxi, taxicab, tvbs, washington, World Karaoke Tour | Leave a comment

24

Posted on December 31, 2011 by H-Bomb

Last night, on my very first night in Lisbon, Portugal became the 24th country on my World Karaoke Tour. I didn’t want to go out last night; I’d been up for two days (as usual, I’d been unable to fall asleep on my redeye flight from New York the night before). I was exhausted and really just wanted to be in my hotel room catching up on some zzz’s.

But when I chatted up the man at the front desk of my hotel and had him make some phone calls, he was adamant that I was extremely unlikely to find karaoke tonight (New Year’s Eve) or the following evening (a Sunday). At the same time, he assured me that a venue called Café da Ponte in the Doca Santo Amáro section of town (a region also known as the Docklands or Docks) did in fact have karaoke last night. He called them and confirmed it.

It was possible that by exploring on my own today, I would find a venue that offered karaoke for New Year’s Eve or the following night. But I couldn’t count on that. So if I didn’t hit Café da Ponte last night when I had the chance, I risked having nowhere to sing during my stay in Portugal — and thus jeopardizing the very mission of this trip. Seeing some castles and monuments would be nice, but if I didn’t sing karaoke this weekend, my vacation would be a failure.

So it was really a no-brainer. At 10 pm I jumped in a taxi, which conveyed me to the Docklands. It dropped me off at the taxi rank, which was all the way at the end of the strip of bars and restaurants; my destination of Café da Ponte was at the other end. I hadn’t gotten very far when I was accosted by four Portugese youths.

At first they seemed friendly enough, asking me where I was from and feigning excitement when hearing that I hailed from New York. Suddenly, one young man who seemed like the leader of the quartet asked me if I had drugs. “No,” I said. “Let me see,” he responded, pointing to my backpack. I shook my head and started walking away from the youths.

Undeterred, the youths followed me and now surrounded me. “Let me see if you have drugs,” the leader repeated.

At that point, I was thinking that I did not come all this way just to be mugged or whatever by some second-rate hoodlums. Although it was dark and there weren’t many people out yet along the strip (I was later advised that on a Friday night, people don’t really start showing up in that area until about 11 pm), I did spot a group of older folks a litle further down. “Help!” I yelled, loud enough so that they could hear me (and I did catch their attention); then I made a run for it. My assailants smiled, realizing that I’d gotten away.

I was still nervous since I would have to return this way to get a taxi back to my hotel after I sung. But I figured I would deal with it, and now I proceeded to Café da Ponte for some Portugese karaoke.

The host, Tiago, was very nice and put me up as the first singer (although the fact that I was the first patron to submit a song may have had something to do with it). By the time that he handed the mic to me, a decent-sized crowd had assembled. From the generous selection of English-language songs in the book, I chose “At This Moment” by Billy Vera & the Beaters, which is one of my A-list songs. And about four minutes later, Portugal had become the latest addition to my World Karaoke Tour.

I was having a good time and would have liked to stay and get to know some of the locals as I would ordinarily do. Unfortunately, after having been up all night, I felt an overriding need to just get back to the hotel for some much-needed rest. So I reluctantly took leave of the nice people at Café da Ponte, and hoped that I would have the chance to make a more leisurely appearance there sometime (but that more leisurely visit won’t happen this weekend, as they have no karaoke tonight or tomorrow night).

Incidentally, when I told the bartender about my encounter with the ruffians at the entrance to the Docks, he called the police. He said that I wasn’t the only person who’d complained about them. By the time I had to walk back to the taxi stand, even though I hadn’t been there for very long, there was a sizable police presence on site.

Lisbon, like most places in Western Europe, certainly seems like a safe city — it doesn’t have the reputation of a Rio de Janeiro or a Mexico City. But my incident at the Docks is a reminder that no matter where you go, there will always be people who mean to harm you; so it’s important to always be alert and exercise caution.

Well, I shouldn’t spend all of my vacation time in my hotel room writing blog entries. Time to get out and take in some of Lisbon’s sights!

Categories: Europe, World Karaoke Tour | Tags: Cafe Da Ponte, Docklands, H-Bomb, lisbon, portugal, World Karaoke Tour | 1 Comment

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Sorry for the hiatus

Country no. 14: Japan

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Country no. 1: the United States

What I did in Lisbon after I put down the mic

Hello, Taiwan!

24

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