cinemas

I sit in a cinema lounge – at the top of a fabulously beautiful department store. Before me sits a frightful green sparkling drink – for the spectacular price of $1.50. It’s supposed to be “fruit punch” – but I would bet my life on the fact that it has neither fruit nor punch in it. I know my teeth will not allow me to drink it and it will sit there quietly de-fizzing itself, before I sheepishly pay my bill and try not to catch the eye of the attendant.

Once, Mina and I spent an entire fed up day in a cinema in La Paz, Bolivia. Her diary and purse had been stolen by a taxi driver – and we were in a state of disbelief – we couldn’t figure out what we were going to do with ourselves – and so we took a second taxi direct to a cinema. It was a triple billing of Moulin Rouge – back to back. They didn’t push us out in between showings, and instead of leaving, we stayed mesmerised in our seats. Three showings later, finally the little cinema attendant directed us out. We were still fed up and we still did not know how we were going to find the diary and the credit cards – but we were somehow uplifted.

And so, Mina, when you read this, perhaps you will smile to think of me here. And perhaps the weird green drink will remind you of that Peruvian trip, when for three straight days we couldn’t get hold of bottled water – instead we lived off Inca Cola’s putrid orange tang.

And perhaps it will also remind you of drinking rum in a cinema in Paraguay, as we giggled our way through a horror movie, that was making us ever later for our bus out to Iguazu. And you can imagine me here, about to board my flight to Rangoon – my money exchanged, my bags packed, and my mind ready to be distracted by a movie, that begins, as all films in Thailand do, with the entire audience standing to respect the king.