Letters From The Southern Hemisphere

Hey Joe.

Phuket is one large theme park, where the natural beauty of the surrounding islands has been infused by the cynicism of the inhabitants (and the noise of bad motorcycles) until there's nothing of worth left... no soul, no class, nothing to see or do, just eke out the days and wish you weren't here. Night time, I suspect, is the only time - but why come all this way for nightlife which any city can provide? When we checked into our new hotel, the first sight we were confronted with was an Oklahoma bible-basher on an Aussie channel, preaching fearsomely about the evils incarnate in grunge - the negative message, the way all the musicians seem to hate themselves and say "I'm stupid, I'm a loser" over and over, yet are really just searching for a spiritual answer like all true Christians. Or something. It was an interesting juxtaposition, us sweltering with blisters on the skin and our washing in the bath-tub, him acting like he was the only answer to it all.

We watch further, and learn that a million pigs have been slaughtered in Malaysia - the next country we visit. There's a doomsday disease there or so they want to claim.

We watch further, and MTV Asia keeps showing the same dozen Western videos over and over - George Michael acting all suave and sophisticated, the bloody Cranberries being all shrill and gothic, Sugar Ray sounding great in comparison, Vengaboys' dance fest, Jewel of course, more than a little Whitney and Mariah and bloody R&B artists practising their scales... the only relief comes when they show some cutsie Japanese vids, where everyone acts like they've been to Olympia and plays bad rock.

We watch further, and don't believe the ads which tell us how much our lives will be enhanced if we buy an MTV bleeper which lets you know exactly when and where your favourite MTV shows are happening. The presenters are even more annoying than Kennedy. Not possible? Believe it!

Yesterday, we made it to James Bond island. It sounds tacky, but it was great - us two, three lippy Newcastle lasses who unaccountably reminded me of Kenickie, and a Pakastani family, all on a longboat with a trainee tour guide who hated every moment of it (the sea, the sun, the island, the journey)... or perhaps she just had a hangover. Sweet.

ET

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