And I find myself at the 'W bar' (the W is stylised into a bum shape) with my English cousin in law. We strangely discover it's a pole dancing club, run by a Flemish guy named Stan, which has been told no pole dancing during world expo by the authorities, listening to a Peruvian cover band singing guns and roses, drinking moet and sambuccaa shots. It's 1.30 am local time and I am chatting in quasi mandrin to locals about glass art in the morning. Heh. I couldn't have made this up if I had tried.
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