We had a saying in the Mazamas. Well not so much a saying as a micro-anecdote. Or an aphorism.
They tell you to stay hydrated, then rope you up together...
Going to the bathroom on the side of a mountain is always an exciting proposition. Sometimes, it's just that the view is breathtaking. Sometimes, it's the privilege of packing out whatever it is you usually leave behind. Sometimes, it's being on a rope team. Sometimes, it's the frustration of getting your trousers down (and back up) while not removing your harness. So, peeing the woods, and two years in China, has made me relatively immune to bad bathrooms.
And then there was the worst bathroom I've ever seen. Ever. In my life.
We visited some canyon in the morning. It was a rather bland walk along a state-park-esque trail with a gaggle of Chinese tourists. You were supposed to be able to see all sorts of pictures in the various rock faces: think the Old Man in the Mountain, but at every turn (seriously limiting the amazement factor). Regardless, we had a pretty good time being snarky. We got back on our bus and traveled back the way we came, probably for an hour and a half or so, and then we stopped for lunch. (We were on our way to see some Buddhist painted caves.)
We stopped at a roadside joint. Where's the bathroom? Over there. A hand vaguely waved across the street and down an alley.
A rather large contingent of us wandered in that general direction. We were heading into a large courtyard or even parking lot. On one side was a large group of Uighurs (probably) hanging out and dancing. It was pretty cool, but we were on a mission.
They spoke little English, but they waved us vaguely towards a shed at the far end of the enclosure. We went.
We found the bathroom, alright, but we sort of wished we hadn't. It was a cement bunker built over an incline. Underneath were piles of, well, waste. As I walked in, my "somebody else's problem" force field went into overdrive. I swear, I could have traveled across the universe on the energy I was putting into not paying attention to my surroundings.
But even I, skilled as a I am at ignoring things, couldn't help but notice some things.
One was the stench. There is no way to mask the smell of that much human feces. At all. Even the most accomplished mouth-breather was likely to inhale the sharp odor of shit from time to time.
Another was the complete filth. I know I've told you before about some of my problems with squat toilets. One of the biggest is my fundamental worry that I'm just not doing it right. That somehow, the reason why I suffer from overspray is that I'm not in the right position. I need to squat leaning more forward, or backward, or towards the front of the commode, or the back, or something else I just don't know because I didn't grow up using a squatter. Like language. My inability to hear the difference between a "q" and a "x", or reproduce them correctly while speaking.
Well, let's just say that aiming properly is not only my problem.
There was poo everywhere. I tried not to look. I kept my eyes ahead and focused on a point on the wall. I erased from my mind what that spot might be made of. But there was no hiding the piles and trickles of poo that hadn't quite made it through the three openings in the cement floor.
Yes, Gentle Reader, it was just a cement floor covered with shit and piss and a few holes. It did have waist-high walls between the holes.
I left the room, another woman in my group who was waiting outside asked, "How is it?" there was only one response, "It's bad." What else could I say?
As we headed back to the restaurant, unsure if using the bathroom was better than having to go pee all afternoon, we stopped to admire the dancing. The couple in our group joined in the dancing (and won mad props from the locals). They invited us to join them at the wedding.
Oh Gentle Reader, it was a wedding. I can't imagine having to use that bathroom on my wedding day.
- Do you really care this was posted using BlogPress from my iPad?
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