some days I feel like Madonna

...So, I'm here in Thaaaaaailand and it's goddamn hot. We decided this weekend that we'd just hop down to Phuket - you know, that island down south where the tsunami hit last year. I thought that the giant wave would have put a damper on tourism down there, but noooooo, practically ever hotel we called was fully booked. My assistant had to call at least forty six hotels before she finally found us a few suites and it only worked because I grabbed the cell phone from her and shouted "Damn it, don't you know this is Madonna calling?" to the ridiculous reservations agent she was speaking to, at which point we finally got a promise of free Cristal on arrival. Which is fine and all for Guy, but I wanted to know if they'd have my organic quinoa properly prepared for breakfast before my 16 kilometre run along the beach.

Then on Friday we had to get to the airport and we could not charter the helicopter as planned. The concierge told us that the King was arriving at the heliport and they couldn't allow a commoner - can you believe they said that? - to use it on the same day. This country is simply mad. The taxi driver then took one and a half hourssssss to get us to the airport. My blood sugar level dropped so low I had to gnaw on the door handle to get some nourishment into my body. The driver simply had no idea where the hell he was going. I believe he was illiterate. Some bloody fool whose picked up fake papers from a friend and then drives around without knowing how to get to the airport.

If you can believe it, when we got to the airport they claimed that we hadn't paid for one children's ticket and we had to go to the ticketing office and pay one dollar for the privelege of a ticker-tape boarding pass without guaranteed seating. Thanks a million, Air Asia. In my next interview with Oprah I'll be sure to mention your company.

I suppose Phuket itself was alright. You know, if you like that whole tropical paradise thing. Fine powdery sand, sunsets dropping into the ocean, crystal clear green sparkling waters and all. But really, I wanted my MTV and they only had HBO and Thai television stations on the hotels TVs. I mean, come on people, who watches Thai TV? Gawd. And sure, the beach was gorgeous and all, but what in the world is it that makes mahogany-stained and spherically-shaped ancient German women want to parade in paradise with their breasts on display like the sagging prows of papier mache ship maquettes that have been caught in a storm? I'm Madonna and I don't even go topless at the beach. And my assets are insured for millions. Gawd. At least I didn't have to endure the sight of any of the men wearing draw-string ball bag thongs, because Lord Knows I've seen enough of those in my time.

On Saturday and Sunday we visited the private yacht of our Canadian friend - an old rum-smuggling friend of Guy's uncle or some such - and yes, while the yacht was indeed lovely, can you conceive of a yacht without air conditioning? I was parched, I was dehydrated, I was sunburnt, I had salt water scouring my skin, my hair was a complete disaster and my son would not sleep on the boat. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't stand up straight for the entire evening after getting off the boat and the paparazzi got a few snaps of me stumbling around on the pier and they'll probably say I'm a lush or a crack head now, when really I just felt tipsy from the boat. And to top it all off, I didn't get any shopping done. Still, if you want to see the photo gallery, dull as it is, click here.

Next time I go on vacation I'm staying at home.

XXX OOO Madge

[On The Road-31-January-2006]