Yunnan 1.3

Dali is postcard material. Mountains border the east, and a lake borders the west, with the Old Town of Dali nestled adorably in between. We arrived at the Jade Emu Guest House and were greeted by the owner, Australian Dave, and his Chinese female possession (this is how he treated her, at least). Dave was the first of several ex-pats we encountered who seemed like they had fled their homeland in haste. I’m talking people with grim pasts: from actually showing up to school naked to premeditated vehicular manslaughter. From shoplifting videogames from Best Buy to shoplifting children from day care. I don’t blame them either. If I were burying the bloody (or naked) hatchet of my past, I’d be on the next flight to Dali sitting first class sitting next to Michael Jackson.

One such fellow was the owner of the Bad Monkey Bar, Mike, who grew up in Lake Forest. I don’t blame him for wanting to be on the opposite side of the planet from Lake Forest, but I got the feeling from talking to him that the Ralph Lauren-sponsored suburb decided old Mike had a few too many pleats in his pants. Or, his family was Nouveau riche, which is enough to get you exiled from there as well.

Either way, Mike’s bar was shady. Seated at the bar was a squirrelly British fellow with heavyset, blonde polish ladies in his right and left holsters . They becoming rambunctiously faded, but were not, in fact, drinking...

(To be continued)

This gentleman was getting a bamboo tattoo upstairs at Bad Monkey. Thats a piece of bamboo, whittled into a sharp point and soaked in ink. The tattoo artist uses this object to repeatedly stab the design into your skin. So, instead of graffiti, you get a George Seurat. Personally, I'd rather spend my Saturday in the park with friends.