Karaoke

When the proprietor of the unagi shop brought me the telephone with someone on the other end, I was surprised. I hadn’t anticipated hearing from the pharmacists who had given me directions and his own testimonial about the place.

A hand drawn map to unagi.

Hamamatsu is known for unagi (freshwater eel) and gyoza and so of course I was on a mission for both during my stay. I found the famous, gyoza shop that afternoon (I’m ruined for life!) and searched out the unagi spot (on the advisement of my server at an izakya spot the night before). So after eating gyoza and then gazing at the Nakatajima Sand Dunes and the Pacific Ocean, I headed back toward my hostel in search of the unagi restaurant.

Only all of the signs are written in Japanese and I didn’t know the exact name of the restaurant to do a search. When I ducked into a pharmacy on the main road, I had already typed out the question and I was a little surprised when the pharmacist repeated the question to me in English. Once he was clear on what I was asking, his eyes lit up, “that is a wonderful place, I eat there,” he told me. He explained where it was and then, uncertain I understood, he sketched me a little map, complete with landmarks to help me along my way.

While he sketched he asked me the most common question I get asked while traveling, “where are you from?” and when I replied the United States, once again his eyes lit up and he began to tell of his trip, with his family, to California and Arizona years ago. How beautiful the drive… He even showed me a pine cone collection – one from Hamamatsu, one from Yosemite, and the last one from somewhere in Canada.

The meal really was picture worthy.

Friendly as he was, I didn't anticipate he’d want to chat any further after I set out in search of dinner. But there his voice was on the other side of the line asking if I could stop by the pharmacy on my way home.

The last light was fading from the day when I finished dinner, but it wasn’t dark yet. Why the hell not?

I ducked into his store on my way home, pleasantly full from my dinner (bless the women who served me, they pantomimed my choices, pointing to pictures for clarity and brought out bills from the register to show me how much it would cost).

We chatted for a bit and then, as it approached 8pm, time for the pharmacy to close, he asked if I would like to go for karaoke.

Karaoke? In Japan? Hell yes I want to go.

Ever been your own band at karaoke?

So he locked up the store and then offered to show me his home...upstairs. No thank you, even at 70ish with kids my age, I still wasn’t going there. So instead, we headed to the mall - where everything seems to happen throughout Asia.

Karaoke in Japan is nothing like I've ever experienced in America. The room was spacious, there were two large screens blinking neon colors at us, there were two touch screens for us to make our selections, standard enough but there were instruments. I stared, lounging on the couch in my slippered feet (no shoes in the room) in awe of the setup.

The song options and our selections were varied: Garth Brooks, Nat King Cole, New Edition, Elvis Presley, Bill Withers, and something in Spanish. We were all over the place, getting more into it, moving from sitting to standing so we could really emote.

Screens everywhere!

And then it was nearing ten, the time I'd said I wanted to head back, I prepared for my last song and as I did, this 70 or 80 year old man began rubbing my thigh. I ignored it for a moment and then realizing he wasn’t going to stop on his own volition, moved my legs out of reach. A moment later and I felt his hand rubbing up and down my back – an odd thing since we hadn’t touched in any way at all prior to this moment. There was no subtle way to make him stop so I simply moved from where I'd been sitting so that I was no longer in reach.

My last song was belted out with contingency plans scrolling through my brain in case I needed them, what I would say, how I’d get home. But I didn’t need them. He didn't seem upset as we put on our shoes and prepared to leave. He did reach for a hug, and I immediately recalled the old man who discussed his kids and public health job with me at a night market in Laos and how as he hugged me he slapped my ass.

Sigh.

Thankfully he didn’t do anything inappropriate...until he looked me up and down and said, as he walked down the hall, “you have a nice body.”

Sigh.

So many songs...

I could have avoided the whole thing. The awkward conversation and uncertain motives; but to avoid all of that means I avoid so many interactions...people who see me as a person, as someone in need of help or someone who has an interesting story to tell as a friend. And so instead of saying “no” I take a deep breath and do a gut check, and sing Garth Brooks at the top of my lungs.