Macao Day 3: Pepe Lepew Does Macao

NOTE: This is a belated blog from Sunday, August 15th, I am posting this late. Why? WHY?! Stop being a blog Nazi, dude!

                    His name is Henri. He is French. Very French. When I meet him there are three things that dominate the conversation; he likes hitting on the girls here (use your best Pepe-Lepew accent: "Eet ees easy Cahlos, you goh to ze park and talk to zem and voila! in 5 minoot you have zer fone numehrs"), he hates Chinese food--he scowls at the mention of passing up McDonald's to go get noodles--and he is a *touch* lazy ("Eet ees too Fahr" is a common answer to any request to meet him more than 20 feet from any bus station...). In a word: he is AWESOME. I meet him through a co-worker as we, my three other female Fulbrighters and said co-worker, walk back from lunch. He is on the way to go swimming and, after asking our co-worker (his friend) if she wants to go swimming, wastes no time in hitting on my companions. This seemed to be an involuntary thing, like blinking or sneezing, and it did not stop, even while ogling women in every plaza we went to. I <3 Henri!

                   Later on, Henri convinces me to text him so we can meet and he can show me how he picks up foreign girls, without the restricting presence of "zee Girls" (as he calls my co-workers). I quickly take his number and agree to meet later that evening at the arcade, but to see Macao with my co-workers. Around 8pm, We meet up; him, my co-workers and myself. We spend the evening with him as our reluctant yet surprisingly effective tour guide.Within a few hours we see practically all of Macao, including the call girls that roam the lobbies of the nicer hotels here like used car salesmen on a busy lot, shows at the MGM and the Wynn resorts---A mechanical puppet display in the lobby and a water fountain show, respectively. We eat $4 MOP per plate sushi (less than $1 USD per 4 pieces!) I even ate chicken wings at McDonald's. At the end of the night Henri informs us that we have seen all that Macao has to offer. Everything. That's it. He has lived here for 4 years. The Samuel Johnson of Macao he is not.

                 We part company and he sees to it that we find our way home safely (for all the bluster he is actually quite a good host and considerate, if not terse). On the way out he nods to me, in a tacit appointment-making gesture that assures me he still wants to take me to the plazas (sans zee Girls) to show me how he does what he does best and even quickly manages to arrange one of my co-workers to "tutor" him in Mandarin ("Oh, joo speek Chinese? Joo cahn teech moi...") then playfully bounces away skipping, with his tail wagging in the air behind him. Oh, Pepe!

Macao-Wabunga!!!!

Carlos