I’ve been talking to this man for half an hour and still don’t know his name. “The name is not important,” he says, with a smile that flickers like a half-remembered melody. “What’s worth remembering is the story, the alcohol, and the music.” So, I’ll call him Mr. Stray. After all, he’s a stray singer, running a little music bar by the shores of Earhai. It’s the third day of my journey through Dali. My footsteps slow as I wander beside the moon-lit lake and hear mingling voi