A--- and I were on our honeymoon in Malaysia. We were at an Australian-themed but decidedly British/Irish fish&chips pub, made over with thatching and wooden beams, surrounded by a yawning turquoise lagoon rimmed by bold tropical foliage. We weaved in and out of the open-air pub, trodding elevated slats over swarming tropical fish. We were hungry and thirsty but entirely put-off by the incongruencies offered by this establishment and its entirely European clientele. We walked and walked and finally discovered a bathroom. A--- went in.
As I waited, I watched a trio of Teutonic muscle-men ogling a quarter machine outside the toilet. The machine was at eye level and contained two screened cells that slid open when you added a quarter. The most muscly of the trio had inserted his payment and eagerly slid the screens aside to reveal two bronzed sculptures within: a pair of bikini-clad butt-cheeks on the left, and a pair bikini-clad boobs on the right. Both were over-sized. The man was growing excited as he and his cohorts joked in Dutch or Danish or German. A--- emerged from the bathroom just in time for this spectacle to culminate in the muscle-bound leader's making a spectacle of his giant and malformed arm-meat. As he flexed he asked her "Hey, baby, want some of this ice?"
We quickly absconded, laughing, probably as much at his misuse of the slang term for diamonds as at his absurdly bulbous physique. As we walked back through the winding paths of wooden beams we noticed a gathering crowd, knee-deep in the surrounding lagoon. The crowd grew until there were hundreds of tourists standing in formation in the water. Suddenly a baladi (the cliched belly-dancing rhythm) broke out and the hordes of pasty white people in swimsuits began an ecstatic group dance. They would slap the surface of the water in unison to the beat, then gyrate around, wildly shaking their asses. This went on for some time. A--- and I waded around the edge of the reedy blue-green beach watching in awe, unable to peel our eyes from the spectacle.