Naked tourists anger spirits, cause Mount Kinabalu earthquake

In every place Walt has ever lived -- and there have been many -- tourists are welcomed with forced smiles and reviled behind their backs as "FTs" -- "fucking tourists". In Zimbabwe, a standard joke was: Q. What's the difference between a BA [British Airways] jet and the tourists who arrive on it? A. The plane stops whining when it gets to the terminal.

Around the world, tourists are widely -- and justly -- regarded as loud and boorish (Americans and Chinese), arrogant and pushy (Germans), dirty and rude (Chinese and Indians), cheap (Indians and Canadians), and the list goes on. A major complaint of many unwilling hosts is that their guests are ignorant of and insensitive to local culture, tradition and religion. "Whaddya mean I have to take off my shoes? I'm a Merkin!"

Such insensitivity is today being held to have played a part in causing a 6.0-magnitude earthquake centred just 33 miles from Mount Kinabalu, a World Heritage Site in Malaysia's Sabah state.

Like Everest, Kilimanjaro, the Matterhorn and other lofty peaks, Mount Kinabalu is a major attraction for hordes of careless, trash-toting and generally stupid tourists who try to hike, climb and scramble their way to the top "because it's there". And how do you prove you've been there? By taking pictures of course. And if you photograph yourself naked and put it on Instagram, maybe it'll go viral!

There were somewhere between 100 and 200 trekkers on the mountain when the powerful earthquake struck on Friday. As of Sunday morning local time, 13 bodies have been recovered and 3 are missing. Rescuers escorted to safety 137 who had been stuck on the mountain for up to 18 hours fearing continuing rockfalls after the quake damaged a key trail.

Reports said most people on the mountain when the quake hit were Malaysian but they also included hikers from Singapore, the United States, the Philippines, Britain, Thailand, Turkey, China, Japan and Canada. The Straits Times quotes Sabah’s Deputy Chief Minister said the quake was a result of the action of Western tourists who had stripped naked near Mount Kinabalu’s summit last month.

Mount Kinabalu is sacred to the local Kadazan Dusun tribal group, who consider it a resting place for departed spirits. Speaking to reporters on Saturday, the DCM said the tragedy was a "confirmation" of the consequences of the actions of ten "Europeans" [the term used in Africa and Asia for all whities. Ed.] who he said had been disrespectful to local customs.

The Deputy Chief Minister called on the culprits to be brought to a native court to be charged. He did not actually use the term "FTs". What he said was, "Whether other people believe this or not, it's what we Sabahans believe. When the earthquake happened, it's like a confirmation of our beliefs. It is a sacred mountain and you cannot take it lightly."

Note from Ed.: No! There are no more pictures! And there won't be, tomorrow or ever!

VIDEO: Quick! Go see Cuba before the Americans spoil it!

A couple of months ago, when the Prez announced that the Paranoid States of America was finally going to normalize relations with the evil communists lurking just off the Florida coast, Walt kidded Agent 2 -- a regular visitor to Cuba -- that the days of cheap, quiet vacations on the beach would soon be over. The barbarians are at the gates, I said. [That would make a good book title! Ed.]

Turns out my fears of the dire consequences of the arrival of hordes of rotund not-quite-grown children in silly clothes were shared by others, especially Canadians. In spite of the weakness of the Beaverbuck (compared with real money), the snowbirds have for decades been the largest source of tourists for the People's Republic. Why? Could be the horrors of the Canuck winter. Could be that Cuba, alone of the Caribbean sunspots, is the one place Americans couldn't go. Until now.

But is the end of discount holidays for Canadians really over, now that Cubans have taken down the "Yankee go home!" signs and put up new ones reading "Keep Cuba green! Bring American dollars!"? Jury Krytiuk, who's been "selling Cuba" for decades says don't worry about it. Cuba will have to make some changes to accommodate all the Americans who want to visit, and the improvements in infrastructure and the tourism industry will benefit everybody.


For more information on visiting Cuba, visit the A. Nash Travel website. And yes, Jury will be happy to help Americans, Canadians, Ukrainians or anyone else enjoy all that Cuba has to offer. Tell him Walt sent ya! And no, I'm not getting paid for this. It's an unsolicited recommendation!

VIDEO: Introducing Walt's "Commie" awards for TV commercials

Looks like a lot of you are enjoying the "Cavemen" commercial created by the Montréal advertising agency Bleublancrouge for Olex.

Walt has praised a couple of creative and entertaining commercials in the past. 11 months ago I saluted the creators of The "Nissan's excellent 'Evil Snowmen' commercial" -- agency titles "Guerrier de l'hiver"/"Winter warrior".

If we're going to keep doing this, maybe we should have some kind of a prize. What should we call it? I've got it! How about the Commie -- short for "commercial", geddit?

But we really should have more than two contenders for our inaugural award. Agent 3 recommends this commercial for a fine Canadian cheese called "Oka". I like this spot a lot.



Walt regrets not being able to give you the agency credits. Anyone with this information should send it to the usual e-mail address.

Not everyone has expressed admiration for this commercial. I've seen complaints (on YouTube and elsewhere) that it stereotypes French-Canadians, and tourists from Ontario. I disagree. The actor playing the waiter speaks with an accent which is more Parisian than pure laine Québécois. As for the "tourists", although they're not quite spherical enough, I think they're meant to be Americans!

Afterthought: Yes, yes, I know the Superbowl is coming up, and everyone's going to be looking at the idiot's lantern to see the commercials. Not the football game, but the commercials! That tells you something right there. There are even commercials on the air right now promoting the commercials! You're welcome to nominate for a Commie any of the clever commercials you'll see on the weekend, but the point of this post is to make the world aware that a lot of creative TV advertising is being done outside the USA.

Double Darwin: couple falls to death while posing for holiday photo

This is Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of Portugal, thus of Europe. Walt's Portuguese is a little rusty, but I believe the name means "Cape of Rocks". Very apt. And below the rocks is the Atlantic Ocean. Busloads of tourists visit this point every day, to have their pictures taken standing at the end of the civilized world.

You would have to be pretty stupid, though, to climb over the guardrails to get even closer to the brink, so as to have a more spectacular shot. But sure enough, a holidaying husband and wife -- estúpidos turistas, as they're known in Portuguese -- fell to their death on Saturday while posing right at the edge of the cliff, so their kids (ages 5 and 6) could take their picture.

According to the Portugal Resident, the couple fell about 450 feet to their deaths, as their children looked on in horror. Although the website says they were from Lisbon, other media have identified them as Polish. [No comments, please. Ed.] Their bodies have yet to be recovered.

Cabo da Roca is a famous spot for photo ops, and this is reportedly not the first time visitors have fallen to their death in similar circumstances. However, originality is not a criterion for Darwin Awards, and this couple richly deserves a Double Darwin.

Snapshot of an American couple in Ireland*

OK, it's not a snapshot. It's a prose portrait. If you don't like reading, look at the Swazi girls.

This word picture appears in McCarthy's Bar (Hodder and Stoughton, 2000), written by Pete McCarthy, by birth but fully Irish in spirit. His mission in life is to visit any and every pub named "McCarthy's",  hence his travels to the Auld Sod which this book describes. This scene is set in Killarney...

Outside the big hotels, pony and trap drivers with the faces of medieval assassins are touting for business among gaggles of befuddled recent arrivals who are wandering around in a collective trance, like Stepford tourists. "Will the horse expect extra oats?" enquires an admirably self-aware American, who, at a guess, has won a trip to Europe as first prize in the Fattest Arse in the Midwest competition.

Perched on top of the card in baseball cap, stripy stretch fabric polo shirt and vast architect-designed shorts, he looks like Tweedledum. It takes two of the assassins to hoist his wife up there to join him, like Tweedledee in drag. The horse craps ostentatiously in derision, and off they trundle, to provide a bit of comic relief for the people stuck in traffic jams....

I'm beginning to realise that the parts of the country I've been in so far have been deserted because every bugger's here. Suddenly the gridlocked traffic is overtaken by Tweedledum and Tweedledee, careering along in their souped-up tumbril as the assassin cracks his whip.

To show that they've been assimilated into Celtic society, they're both now draped in tartan picnic rugs. He's smoking a large cigar, while she's opted for a packet of fudge as big as Dobbin's nosebag, to tide her over till dinner in half an hour's time.

Irish hotels catering for Americans are aware of the need to serve American-sized portions, so she'll soon be tucking into a whole spit-roast pig, followed by a main course, all washed down with pints of Diet Coke to stop her from getting fat....

As I'm about to leave [the pub], the crowded room is suddenly filled to bursting point as the Tweedles come in with great commotion, accompanied by an even heavier couple....
"So how are you enjoying your holiday?" asks the barman, as he pours whiskey for the men, and something green for their partners.
"Oh, it's just gorgeous," says Tweedledee.
"Yeah, terrific," agrees Tweedledum. "So old-fashioned."
"And so unspoiled," says Dee. "Say, do you have a rest room?"
"Upstairs."
"Guess I'll wait then," says Dee. "We don't do stairs."

"So where are you folks from?" asks the barman.
"Oh, we live in Chicago," says Dum, "but my father was Irish."
There's a general murmur of approval and I feel ashamed. This man I've been mocking as a stereotype of mindless tourism turns out to be as authentically Irish as I am. I feel like apologising, though we've never even met.
"Sure, that's great," says the barman. "So where exactly was your daddy from?"
"He was from Texas."

McCarthy's Pub is a fine book, a rollicking good read. And let me reassure American readers that McCarthy  is not anti-American. He's just anti-tourist, skewering alike the English, the Germans, the Italians, the Scandinavians...and did I mention the English? Here's a trenchant quote:

Once somewhere has more tourists than local people, more knick-knack shops than newsagents or groceries, then equilibrium has been destroyed, the game is up, and the balance has irrevocably shifted in favour of revenue, occupancy and the forces of darkness. Real life may continue, but to the visitor it's all but invisible.

Agent 3, who lives in a tourist trap (and sent McCarthy's Pub to me) says this is all too true.

* Note from Ed.: Walt wrote "Eire", not "Ireland", but I changed it so Americans would understand.