Flower Bars.

August 2, 2010

Around the central stadium hidden from prying eyes, lies the underground ecosystem of flower bars. Like a rain forest flower trap their main function is to lure unsuspected passersby or suspected Chinese patrons. Once inside you have the usual selection of beer snacks like, watermelons, duck tongues and sunflower seeds and as you relax on the sofa a fat guy wearing t-shirt and flip flops grabs the mike, and starts mumbling incomprehensive greetings enriched with loud HO HO HO laughter. Seeing a bunch of laowais excites him even more, as he leads the way for the show the singers start emerging from the nearby tables, (if you buy flowers you have the privilege of drinking together with the singers, not in any inappropriate manner, mind you). One by one wearing fancy night dresses or extravagant high heels they take their turn singing a song and then disappear in the darkness. In between the fat Chinese owner tries to raise the energy and then passes the mic to an older guy wearing flip flop with white shocks (a killer combo) who sings solo until the next girl appears. This constant circle goes over and over till daylight breaks (i suppose, we didn’t actually stayed to document). The night had only started but what followed is best kept in the dark, as the fragile reputations of flatmates are at stake. I can only say that it involved Coco club, us dancing on top of tables (for one more time), friendly headbutts (x5) from insulted Indian mafia gang, Siberian free spirit models, a Saudi Arabian scooter driver, a poor danish spectacled kid that we managed to stigmatize calling him laowai outside of the club and having to carry a drunk, disoriented, vomiting Tom back to the house… Life resembles pages from a graphic novel more often than not.


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