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Paris,
1969
I'd traveled to Paris in a futile attempt to
reconcile with a girl I'd been dating from the local college. After
graduation, she'd gone off to study at the Sorbonne and our relationship
had faded like a cheap madras shirt.
Not having much in the way of funds, I searched
out the least expensive hotel in the Arrondissement Bastille, the district
in which her flat was located. I found one; the Hotel Nestle. The entire
building was not much wider than the length of two VWs. I do not
exaggerate here; I was driving one of the two parked in front of the
hotel. I'd picked it up in Germany for $50 and funded my drive to Paris by
asking as many hitchhikers as I could find for gas money.
Anyway, the diminutive facade should have clued
me in as to what I would find in the way of "facilities" inside,
but I was too caught up in the price of the accommodations -- $1.00 a day!
I checked in and went up to my fifth (top) floor
room. When I tried to open the door I found it would not open fully, as it
struck the bed after swinging to only about 1/3 of its full travel. (This
must have been the hotel that inspired the TV commercial years later; the
one where the bellhop has to step up on the bed to allow the guest
entrance into his room.)
Again, some light bulb of recognition should have
gone off above my head, but, hey, this was the '60s and I hadn't changed
that bulb in some time. What did occur to me was a sudden desire to
"unburden myself" of the meager French cuisine I'd been sampling
on the road; mostly bread, cheap sausage and even cheaper wine.
As I had climbed the stairs to my room, I'd
noticed that there was a W.C. (bathroom) located on every other landing
between floors. I quickly made my way down to the nearest one and threw
open the door to find a space just large enough to hold the toilet. I
squeezed in and pulled the door closed behind me. To my dismay, I found
that it was so cramped I could not lower my jeans and sit down! I should
mention here that I'm 6'3"" tall and weighed in (at that time)
at about 225 lbs.
Time being of the essence I needed to formulate a
plan of action...quickly. I decided that the only way I was going to be
able to pull this off (literally) was to step out onto the landing, lower
my pants and back into the tiny toilet room.
I opened the door, stepped out, lowered my pants
to my ankles, bent over slightly as I'd determined I could only reenter in
a somewhat folded over position, and started to back up. The next thing I
heard was a woman's scream and a man shouting in French that, "there
was a pervert exposing himself to his wife." (In my defense I must
say that it was more like mooning than flashing, but at that moment no
distinctions were made.) It seems I had just met the latest guests to
check into the Hotel Nestle.
I haven't seen them, nor my old girlfriend since, but,
as I've discovered throughout my years of travel...it's the little things
you remember most.
Afghanistan in 1975.
Murderously
hot in the summer. So you drink lots of tea. What you don't sweat out, you
eliminate by other means. At a wayside bus stop, I asked for the toilet
and was shown to a hillside about 10 feet away. At the edge was a low (1
foot) high mud wall, surrounding a hole in the ground, on
three sides. The fourth side, with a beautiful view into the valley
below, was kindly left not done. The pleasures of the locally made shirts
became apparent as I squatted there (I'm female) - the long front and back
panels of the shirt were perfect "covering". However, the view
of the valley included a view of all the men standing on the slope, facing
downhill, all peeing in gentle arcs. As they finished, they turned around,
saw me and ever so politely changed their direction uphill away from me.
So I had a nice view, relative privacy and ever so gentlemanly co-pee-ers.
France
I
can't tell you exactly where it is, probably because the experience was so
bad that I've forgotten the less consequential details. All I remember is
that it was in a pub in southern France, in the men's toilets (I can't
remember why I used the men's - I'm a woman - but I think maybe it was
because there was only one toilet.) Anyway, it was one of those squat
toilets. The bathroom was tiny. I did what I had to do (that level of
detail is especially unwarranted with what is to come next) and flushed.
**Instant
flooding** The flush mechanism was distorted so the water spurt out
everywhere - all over the floor, (nicely collecting my doings on the way)
and spurting all up and down my jeans. I was completely soaked, and never
again will I lock a bathroom door, for that second required to unlock the
door and leap out meant I got another litre of two of that sewerage on me.
Bad, Bad Experience Guys.
Turkey,
1976
We spent the night parked in a Combi
Van at a gas station in Eastern Turkey during freezing cold weather, and
before bed-time, had to negotiate the bathroom in total darkness. One of
my traveling companions, expecting the usual squat type toilet, was
pleasantly surprised when, backing himself over the hole and lowering his
rear end, felt himself supported and sat down comfortably to do his
business.
The next morning, in daylight, he was
horrified to discover that he had been reclining on a top of a cone
of frozen sh*t deposited by countless other individuals who had been there
before him.
Loo
Paper (or lack thereof) in Ireland
I had the privilege of
living for many years (early '80's through mid-'90's) in Ireland, using
numerous facilities throughout the country.
One of my only complaints
all those years was the quality and availability of toilet paper (in
Ireland referred to as "loo roll").
One of my first
encounters was in the Ulsterbus Station in Belfast. There on offer were single sheets of a waxed, almost
cellophane type paper with "Ulsterbus"
printed in green. The only
thing it was useful for was as a souvenir to prove to skeptical friends in
the USA that I had indeed traveled through the "terrorist"
ridden Northern Ireland. In
one Dublin home I was puzzled to find neatly torn squares of newspaper
stacked on the back of the toilet. After
a moment or two I realized their
purpose. I soon found that
humility is a necessary quality when traveling - if it doesn't kill the
natives, it certainly won't harm me (I always hope!).
I must say though, that for an Irish housewife (or anyone for that
matter) purchasing loo paper at the supermarket, it is very much like
buying the daily newspaper at the local newsagent - the quality is much
the same.
It's impossible to count
the many toilet facilities in Irish pubs that lack loo paper completely.
Being a woman, this can be very annoying and make for uncomfortable
chills in such a cold climate if you don't take enough time to completely
"drip dry." I found
the only answer was to fill my pockets with a few sheets of my own if I
was going to be out and about. I
seriously recommend this for any visitor (especially ladies) planning that
ever-popular pub-crawl. (Watch
out for the facilities in "The Merchant" - great pub for music
but bathroom is so small you bump into the walls just breathing.)
But all in all, I never
really had a bad experience. I've
never had the opportunity to try out the public "super loos"
there but look forward to possibly visiting one on my next trip over.
Maybe the paper situation will have improved by then.
The
Grand Canyon, Colorado, USA
I went on a two week long raft trip downs the Colorado
River, through the Grand Canyon. The trip was fantastic–camping out
every night, unbelievably beautiful scenery, hikes to gorgeous hidden
coves, etc–except for one minor detail, no toilets! The Canyon’s
eco-system is delicate (a desert with little rainfall) thus relieving
oneself on shore is against the law! The river was the only place to pee.
I was one of three women in our group (21 people) and wore a short
wetsuit most of the time (I had to unzip it completely in order to go), so
modesty was an issue. If I couldn’t find a hidden spot on the shore, I
didn’t go. Sometimes, I’d wait all day! The one female raft-guide peed
off the side of the raft like a man--very impressive and just a bit
humbling.
Conducting a "major transaction" on the shore OR
in the water was completely verboten. Every time we landed, the guides set
up the "sh*tter"–a portapotty-- in a secluded spot.
Oh, it was very important not to forget and pee by mistake in the
sh*tter--the acid in urine eats through plastic bags.
Talk about pressure. When
we debarked, the guides had to pick up the potty, tie up the plastic bag
underneath, and carefully toss the bag into the raft's hold.
The "artifacts" accompanied us for the entire trip.
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Thailand By Train
On a train ride from Bangkok going North (I995 or 1996), there were
no bathrooms available on the train. I was reading a newspaper when
someone came and asked me to have a section of the paper. I was surprised:
as the paper was in Dutch, I was sure he could not read it. Curious what
he would do with it, I gave him the sports pages. Which he folded open in
the middle of the floor (the wagon was quite crowded), squatted down over
it and did his business. Nobody seemed to mind or to be really surprised
by this. When all was done, the paper was folded and went out the window!
Milan
,
Italy
I traveled around
Italy
by car for business and my driver and local salesman was named Dario.
We were once driving through an industrial section of
Milan
when I mentioned to Dario that I had to go to the bathroom.
He immediately stopped the car and told me to get out of the car
exclaimed in his broken English, "all is toilet."
India
Toilets,
you ask? Well, I'd
steer clear of the "Gents" in the Jodhpur train station. Or the sidewalks of Jaipur, which do double duty for
"squatters".
And, you haven't lived until you've perched yourself over a Indian
toilet (so elegant in design, combining the subtle curves of a Hollywood
kidney-shaped swimming pool, with the sturdy, no nonsence wing decks of an
aircraft carrier) at 4am, spilling the contents of your intestinal tract
faster than water from a tap.
All in
all, the bathrooms in the hotels were pretty clean.
But don't look for TP, cause you won't find it.
Instead, there is a conveniently-located faucet and a little cup
for a traditional Indian-style cleanup (I think one is supposed to use the
left hand, which may explain why it's considered rude to gesture to anyone
using the south paw).
But you
have to love the relaxed atmosphere of a country where most of the sewers
are open.
Vietnam
and Peeing in the Mang Yang Pass
We had lost the
"war" in Vietnam, but I was still there as an advisor in the
Phoenix Program in 1972. Actually, I was in places by myself in 1972 where
major American units were attacked during the war. It was a crazy year of
a crazy war which makes you do crazy things. One day another Captain and I
drove in an Army jeep from Quinhon to Pleilu in the Central Highlands. It
could not have been a more risky trip as we drove through
the Anh Khe Pass and the Central Highlands. I was sure we were seen by the
NVA or Viet Cong as we traveled, but just didn't give a damn. In the
middle of the Mang Yang Pass I had to pee so we pulled off on the side of
the road, and I made my statement about the whole, ill-begotten war by
peeing on it.
--R
M Chandler
photos
taken from a public restroom in the Central African Republic
Sun
Yat Sen Memorial, China
About 18 years ago, just as China was opening up to visitors we
took a trip to the Sun Yat Sen Memorial and Museum. Anticipating
many tourists, a new toilet had been built with clean cement floors,
traditional holes in floor but with feet carefully painted so you would
know where to squat. It was on the side of a hill with a beautiful
valley below and large vegetable gardens. My daughter and I were so
glad to find a clean toilet. But when we came out and looked down
the hill there was a man with a basket carrying deposits from the toilets
to the vegetable gardens. My daughter was horrified.
Panama
Bathrooms
In 1975 I was stationed in the Canal Zone while in
the United States Military and in reading
your you site it brought back memories I would like to forget, but since I
remembered I might as well share them. I was downtown Panama City shopping
when of course the unexpected feeling of a major movement came upon me. It
should be noted I had been in the Zone some time and had thought my
stomach had become accustomed to the local food but I was big time wrong.
I ran into a bar located on a side street and upon
going inside, I knew I had screwed up because as a military person I
noticed this bar had been listed as off limits however when nature calls
you sometimes have no other choice the to take the chance of a Court
Marshal.
Once finding the bathroom and sitting down to do my
business the local police and the Military Police must have came in
because all of a sudden there were six others three males and three
females in the stall with me. As I sat there I had no other choice but to
finish what I was doing which was not a very pretty picture to say the
least with the females speaking Spanish and pointing at me and the three
male soldiers making comments about my last meal.
Well the authorities must have left after some time
and there was a mad rush out of the bathroom with the soldiers who had
been in the stall with me running from the bar outside. To this day I am
still not sure if they ran from the bar because of the smell or the
Military Police who might come back
Carl’s
Corner, between Hillsboro and Waxahachie, Texas, USA
Apparently
a very popular truck stop back in the 70's, due to big chain truck stop's
Carl's Corner has gotten seedy and creepy. They have 5 or so individual
bathrooms with sink, toilet urinal etc. Usually dirty, smelly, with the
classic garbage bag over the urinal. Doors usually have broken knobs and
won't lock. Pretty safe
during the day, bar on premises brings some strange folks in at night
(keep the kids and wife away). Possible
America's Most Wanted fugitive sighting.
Has a unique character never the less. Friendly employees, and
generally no waiting for those critical moments.
A very unique piece of Interstate Americana. Would use again.
Hard to rate it good or bad, would avoid if cleanliness is a must.
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