T A B L E_T A L K Will you party like it's 1999? Discuss your upcoming New Year's Eve plans in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk ___________________ Check out barnesandnoble.com's fabulous selection of travel book bargains! ___________________ R E C E N T L Y Teaching the cannibals to dance: Part Two By Craig Nelson A mock battle culminates in a transcultural two-step -- and an unexpected gift (01/19/99) Teaching the cannibals to dance By Craig Nelson An adventurer journeys farther than expected into a land of penis gourds and pig sacrifices (01/17/99) This week in travel Wanderlust's selective guide to travel-related news from across the globe (01/15/99) Beijing's Backingham Palace By Mary Elizabeth Williams From back rubs to bowling to B-movies, this Chinese spa has it all (01/14/99) New York serenade By Pico Iyer An ex-Gothamite returns for five days -- and finds that attitude has its charms (01/13/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		___sex and fate in macau _________________- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -     INSPIRED BY A SIDEWALK FORTUNETELLER, A TRAVELER TRIES HIS LUCK AT AN EROTIC CABARET IN THIS SOON-TO-BE-TRANSFERRED PORTUGUESE COLONY. BY ROLF POTTS A man who has just spent the last five minutes tailing me down the narrow, cobblestone side streets of Macau has finally managed to block my path. This is my first good look at him, and he seems somehow otherworldly -- his skin a very deep brown, his bristly hair so black it almost looks blue. Were he wearing a turban or a toga or a grass skirt, I might be able to place him -- but in Nike tennis shoes, a white T-shirt and Levi's cutoffs, he looks just plain unusual. He simply doesn't fit into any demographic I've ever seen in American casual wear. "Sir," he says, catching his breath, "you are in very grave danger." This is certainly a titillating notion, but I'm not nearly old, rich or remote enough to merit grave danger. Skeptical, I wait for the punch line -- figuring he's probably selling some sort of skin lotion, jade figurine or tourist road map that will save the day. The strange man leans in confidentially. "I can help you," he whispers. "I can see the future." He looks almost embarrassed as he says this, looking down shyly at his Nikes. Bemused by his faltering professionalism and impressed that anyone dressed like John McEnroe would try to pass himself off as a fortuneteller, I give in and offer him $5 for a quick summary of my doom. Not moving from where we're standing, he drops to his haunches, spreads some papers out in front of him and asks me the time and date of my birth. I give him the information, and he makes some calculations, scribbling figures onto his paper. "Very recently you made a promise," he says. "It is important that you make this promise true before you leave Macau, or you will get very sick." "I can't remember making any promises," I tell him, figuring he's just playing the odds. The man looks at his papers and shakes his head. "You made a promise that you must keep." "Sorry," I shrug. He looks at me solemnly. "Maybe it was a promise to yourself." As he says this, a nervous pang leaps into my stomach, because -- fate or no fate, doom or no doom -- he's right. I suddenly realize that I will have no choice but to end my night by attending a sex cabaret near my hotel. N E X T+P A G E | At the Guia Nightclub