Where in the world am I?

notes from Macau

As mopeds whir past us on the narrow street, we pass by a newspaper stand, and step through the doors of Nam Ping cafe. The room is simple, a bit run down (the air conditioner is ominously steaming), painted a mint green color, and echoing with the chattering of many people. A petit older woman, her silky white hair tucked neatly into a bun, gestures th…