Blood and Beer Continue (the Naughty or Nice part)

Trip Start Oct 08, 2007
1
90
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Trip End Dec 16, 2008


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Flag of China  ,
Friday, June 27, 2008

So, what happened to Mimbo at the end. I don't know for sure. The doctors patched him up and told him to come back in the morning. He could see, but his eye was bruised. That's all I know. I'm really kicking myself for not taking his email to check on him later.  
 
After the hospital we all had a dinner. Mimbo decided to stay in Dali - cleaner and closer to the hospital. Now, since we all were in town already, the guys didn't want to go back to the monastery just yet. Shimmi said that they wanted to "play". How do guys who live in a monastery "play" on their night out, we are about to discover. Dan, the English who used his words sparsely, told me that the Chinese guys were really getting off checking out the Chinese chicks while we were having dinner. I haven't noticed, so subtle they were. Anyways, after dinner the group split with the Chinese guys going one way, and Shimmi, Dan and myself going to the pool hall. That's it. The extend of Shimmi's naughtiness - to play pool instead of praying. Ah, yea, we missed the night prayer, obviously.
 
Dan and I got a beer each. We wanted to split one (Chinese beer bottles are 600ml), but there were no glasses, so we had a beer bottle each. We finished our beers, met up with the rest of the group and took a taxi back to the monastery. The guys were giving out chewing gum to disguise the alcohol breath. I felt like I'm in high school and about to meet the principle.  
 
Next morning the first question everybody's asking is.... no, it isn't "How is Mimbo?", it is "How much can you drink?". Well, I assume Shimmi has spread the word that Mimbo is alright, so no one really needed to ask me about that, still.... We are all in the front yard under the shelter, hiding from the rain, stretching, and waiting for breakfast. Shimmi gazes at me trying to make a split and ask curiously: "How much can you drink?". Eight beers, I say. I don't know why I say eight. It is a gross overstatement of my drinking abilities, but it winds him up. "REALLY?! I can't drink much at all. I don't like it." Better for you mate, I say with a "case closed" tone. There are no more discussions on the subject but for the rest of the day the guys give me half admiring, half disappointed looks for being a drinker. There are universal values and universally revered skills that impress guys everywhere, even at a monastery. It appears that being able to drink someone under the table is one of them.

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