Toilets of the World

Time for something more whimsical yet somehow interesting and relevant. So why not toilets? Anyone who has done any real travel can attest to how important the porcelain throne becomes. We quickly recognise how much we take for granted a clean, readily available, salle de bain when we are on the road. The darn things are never about when we need them to be. So we search them out, looking for clean ones, or at least ones without the battle scars of soldiers past; we keep mental maps of the best toilets in a city (I can still tell you where the most interesting toilet in Paris is and why McCleans are the preferred choice in Germany), we learn tricks to, erm, hasten the process when a gem is found, and we accustom ourselves to paying to use the loo. Travelers in the third world can become obsessed with toilets (or the things that pass for them). Indeed, you have truly arrived when it becomes casual to discuss the daily 'movements', as it were, and when toilets take on national character. Travelers, in short, know toilets. (Indeed. Check out http://goodlooguide.freeservers.com/ ).

In my travels I often ponder the porcelain thrones I've encountered along the way. They are odd devils. Why, for instance, is that shelf there in all the toilets in Amsterdam? What's it for? It always seems to be a little space on which to show off the pride of arrival after 10 hours flight time (and a cigarette with coffee chaser). But, really, it's more a pain then anything else. The water literally must roll along and push the 'stuff' along. Then there's the free standing toilets of Paris that literally shower themselves down after each patron. Or what about the toilets on Santorini in Greece? Don't throw the paper down the hole lest you clog it up! (I understand this plumbing problem for most of Greece. The sewage system is ancient- no pun intended- but Santorini was pretty much destroyed in an earthquake in the 60s. Why couldn't they redesign the damn system then?)

Then there are the things that pass for toilets. The third world has no singular claim to these gems. While I have been bemused by the site of squatters holes (little holes in the ground with places to rest one's feet on either side) juxtaposed with a more conventional toilet sitting next to it (seems some prefer the former), the real gems are in the post-Soviet states. I can recall a memorable trip to the loo at a bus station in Sioulai, Lithuania on my way to Latvia. An old woman pointed the direction for the loo after my usual round of pantomiming 'massive consumption of beer and water = need for toilet'. She wasn't much help- or maybe I wasn't. Fortunately, the bathroom gave off such an odour that it could be smelled from around the corner with still another 20 feet or so to go. At one point this may have been something snazy. The long urinal troughs I've come to expect of any trip to the clubs was perfectly laid out here in stone with neatly carved paths from years of steady streams indicating the best place to aim. Needless to say, I've never held my breath so long.

Then there are the comical experiences. Sure, there are always drunken stories from Laos of someone or other grappling with a midnight bout of Montezuma's revenge only to find it too difficult to maintain the necessary position or lacking the ability to aim. And there is the interesting experience of having to use the squatter on a moving boat going down the Mekong, where the hole empties right onto the water and the engine manages to randomly toss up water like a makeshift French bidet (I passed on the fresh caught river fish after that). But still I favour the post-Soviet.

After my bout with the fumes in Sioulai I made sure to scout out Riga for all its finer johns (lucky me there was a coffee shop right next door to my oh-so-pleasant hotel- everything one needs to begin the day: bran muffin, coffee, smoke, and a clean- immaculate- toilet). My hotel, you see, had a toilet but it was not in my room, had a small hole in the side of it that appeared to go nowhere (though I often aimed for it thinking I might hear the stream strike something. It never did), and, most interestingly, it lacked a seat. Yes, this otherwise normal toilet had no seat. Fortunately, I knew where the seat was: it was behind the front desk. The manager of the hotel was kind enough to protect the seat from thieves by keeping it behind the desk and depriving the patrons of any real ability to sit on the toilet. My thoughts then as now focused on what life would be like if someone stole the toilet seat. My conclusion: it's about the same as when the manager keeps it behind the desk and refuses to lend it out!

At any rate, those are my musings on toilets of the world. Feel free to share your own thoughts and experiences. Maybe I'll put down some other thoughts later in another entry someday.