If you know me, you’ll know I love a good toilet or vomit story. And if you’ve met me, especially at a party, you may’ve heard one or two of my favourites from my repertoire…
The one in Beijing at the Great Wall, where are actually NO walls in the toilets, and the locals like to come and watch a young Kiwi woman “go both ends” over a hole in the ground after a dodgy breakfast and hairy bus ride…
The one on a train in Sydney where a young Kiwi woman, doped up on anti-histamine after a bee-sting in the mouth, vomits out the window only to find, to her utter dismay, it’s blowing back onto the passenger next to her…
The one in a tiny toilet in NZ (painted lime green, irrelevant but interesting fact), where you could rest your head against the wall in front of you (told you it was tiny), again going both ends, and being fascinated on the many different directions vomit could splatter at high speed (CSI would be stumped)…
The one where your young daughter is too small to straddle the squat toilet, so you’re holding her out like you’re a pro weightlifter in the gym, and she pees all over your shoes, the legs of your jeans, her knickers and the bottom of her dress…
The one where you’re on a 17-hour direct flight and you and your daughter come down with salmonella poisoning 2 hours in…
The one where your daughter is in hospital and is given a suppository for tummy pains, and the closest toilets are the public ones, squat toilets, with an inch of dirty water on the floor, and you’re dressed to go to a party (you weren’t expecting to be in the hospital) in your best frock and heels, and you’re holding your daughter over the squat, up to your ankles in god knows what, and you’re telling yourself you’re living the dream…
As seasoned travellers, my family and I are familiar with the different versions of toilets around the world. Including, but not limited to: long-drops, buckets, squats, holes, channels, over-the-side, tree branches, bushes, gold-plated, airline, ones where the water comes up to meet you, ones where there is hardly any water at all, ones with shelves to see what you’ve produced, ones that give you a wash and blowdry.
BUT…
In all this time, and all these countries I still cannot work out how to use a hose aka ‘bum gun’ to wash my nether regions, and keep my clothes dry at the same time!
I know it must be a skill learnt from your mother when you’re small, but I’m yet to find a motherly figure who will give me lessons. Is it asking too much to request such a service? Would it border on offensive if I was to ask someone in the toilets of a shopping mall for instance? Is there are national helpline I can call to make enquiries? There must be a you tube channel, surely? Can ANYONE point me in the right direction? I’m, um, desperate.
As an expat, there are a lot of different cultural experiences you are confronted with, and expected to learn in a hurry so as not to offend, be expelled, or be thought of as a moron. But other than anecdotal accounts, I fear I will never get my answer and I will be forever stumped by the amount of water, direction, and temperature of a ‘bum gun’, and the more important question of how to get dry again.
Help me.
Any toilet stories out there you want to share? It could save a hem from drowning, if not a life.
Stay Clean and Dry.
Stay Busy,
Love, Kat xxx
