Travel and Verse

stories of travel, medical missions, and more

Tag: Bathroom

Hover Hole and The Hoop of Hope

July 2, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Foreign Bathroom Series, Chapter 6

Travel Journal, 71

 

As always in this series, names of those involved have been removed or redacted to protect the (possibly) innocent and (definitely) embarrassed. 

 

Deep in the Peruvian Jungle, our medical mission team set out on a river boat destined for several small villages. Our task for the week required us to travel a great distance into the jungle. The first day alone we spent over 10 hours in an 80 foot-long, flat-back river canoe with a huge engine. We saw a few settlements along the way. And, needless to say, we didn’t have a chance to stop at a luxurious rest area, complete with running water and cold Pepsi machines. No, in fact, we stopped only once or twice during that 10-hour trip.

But alas, mankind must eat.

Mankind must drink.

And what goes in must come out.

The two boat stops granted relief for any…er…major business. But what about the rest of the time?

For the lads, a curious leaning and balancing act off the back of the boat does the trick. And it comes so naturally. Boys will be boys, right?

But what about the lady folk?

I give you: The Hoop of Hope.

One luxurious item brought aboard was a camping/chemical toilet. The tiny box completes the bathroom objective easily. Though the real trick is not the toilet. It’s privacy. One genius mind concocted the idea to hang a shower curtain around a hula hoop. And, since the female of the species tends to go to the restroom in herds, the three-foot diameter hoop can be upheld by lady friends and used one at a time.

The Hoop of Hope.

When the boat arrived at the various locals on our mission, The Hoop of Hope was no longer required. Each settlement has a bathroom. Although, I use that term in its loosest form.

Not too far from huts and hammocks sits a tiny shack. It appears to be hastily assembled with ill-fitting boards and a partial Brazil Nut bag for a “door.” Enter and look down.

May I introduce to you: The Hover Hole—the one foreign bathroom experience that always gives newcomers a challenge.

The name gives away its purpose. When first venturing out into hover hole territory, one must consider tactics and strategy. Two boards line a hole in the ground. Stand on these when using the Hover Hole. Balance is key. Touching the ground for stability is fraught with consequences.  Bring your own toilet paper, but take care not to set it down anywhere (for the same reason you don’t want to touch the ground). Accidents can and will happen, though. One of the kids traveling with us lost his sandal down a hover hole. But don’t worry, somebody retrieved it for him. Not long after (perhaps not long enough?), I saw him wearing it.

It may be a new experience, but I assure you, many parts of the world utilize this form of toiletry. And when pressed, mankind can adapt to most forms of bathroom use.

Though the one form that was entirely new to me was the sparkling brilliance of the well-crafted Hoop of Hope. May is give hopeful relief to boat travelers for years to come.

anthony forrest

Check out the other chapters to this fun series:

Part 1: Bidet

Part 2: The Lav

Part 3: Floor Towel

Part 4: 20p Toilet

Part 5: Dutch Hostel

 

Travel Journal, 33

October 10, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Foreign Bathroom Series, Chapter 5: Dutch Hostel

Names have been modified to protect the innocent (also, embarrassed).

 

The restroom situation at a hostel is always a gamble. One friend of mine told me of a trip to Singapore involving a hostel with a mixed gender toilet and shower room. He was mortified. Then again, other countries and places offer great privacy and comfort. Think of it as toilet roulette.

I was traveling with a dear friend. Let’s call him JJ. We met up at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam to do a rapid-fire, two-day, whirlwind, nonstop, café to café, coffee tour of the area. In under 18 hours, we drank cappuccino after cappuccino in western Europe, covering 45 miles of the Netherlands. Our coffee excursion included the best cafes in the Netherlands, culminating in our seventh coffee bar in the hip college town of Utrecht. We drank and talked for hours, bouncing from hip spot to cobblestone street and onto the next slinger of the black juice of life. Until finally, our hearts could no longer handle anymore caffeine and our bladders howled with the strain of frequent emptying.

We had decided on a hostel for the night. And after some clumsy navigational errors, we stepped into a tight townhome with a classic youth hostel vibe. Guitars hung on the walls, collegiate hipsters lounged with oversized headphones, and the whole placed smelled of marijuana. We arranged to stay the night in one of the many bunk beds on the top floor. We climbed and climbed. With six (!) sets of spiral stairs now underneath us, I poked around and found our room. It was a sprawling empty area with no less than twenty bunks. Each bunk was the classic metal-frame bed with thin plastic mattresses, half of them permanently stained. It would have to do—although JJ was on the fence. With no bag lockers, we would have to take our bags with us to dinner—unless we wanted to graciously donate our belongings to a patchouli-smelling backpacker.

On our way out, we saw the bathroom. It was a single door labeled toilets and showers. Setting his bag on the floor, JJ said, “I’m just going to use the restroom quick.”

He pushed the door open.

“Oh,” he balked with a start, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay! No worries,” said a clearly female voice from within the bathroom.

JJ closed the door, turned his beet-red face to me and said, “there’s a girl in there. And she’s not dressed.”

Group restroom. Group toilets. Group shower. Zero privacy. This is not uncommon in Europe.

That was the proverbial straw on the proverbial camel’s back. We collected a refund on our night and took the train back to Amsterdam. Hotels have nicer bathrooms anyway.

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 31

September 26, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Foreign Bathroom Series

Chapter Four, The 20p Toilet

Ah, London. How we adore you.

Traveling to the UK is something that I’ve wanted to do for some time. With an easily walkable city, eclectic food scene, and free museums, London has something for everybody.

But the one major problem is the public restroom. It doesn’t exist. And if you find a restroom, you’ll probably have to pay to use it. After trudging around London for hours on end with no restroom is sight, we finally found a map of the city. On that map was a little dot marking the presence of a restroom in St James Park, across from Buckingham Palace (a big shout out to Her Majesty for putting the only public toilet in London in the middle of a 57-acre park). My wife and I nearly ran through the sunny park, over wooden bridge covered streams to get to the tiny brick building. Upon arrival, we parted ways to our respective sides only to discover that the machine guarding the door required 20 pence for entry (and consequent relief).

We began shoving unknown sterling coins into the machine to no avail. Dancing and shuffling, I looked down—wrong coin. The restroom attendant (yes, it had a restroom attendant) glared at us and begrudgingly helped us find the correct change. But honestly, I probably would have crammed a 50-pound note into the machine just to find a little solace for my stressed urinary system.

Though the future EU membership of the UK is uncertain. One thing remains concretely sure, toilet trials continue across the Channel.

Few things about Europe frustrate me. Let’s be honest, they simply have travel figured out. Public transportation is a breeze. You can get anywhere on the train, and cheaply. I can land in Amsterdam and be in another country within the hour. It helps that each country is smaller. But there is so much infrastructure and money available for public transportation that getting around is simply easy. Money is also pretty simple. Every country (almost) uses the Euro. No exchanges to worry about! And with the European Union, most countries do not require a border security or passport control stop. Open borders make country to country travel realistic, cheap, and accessible. So many positive reasons to visit Europe come to my mind.

But what about that darn potty?

In nearly the same scenario we searched and searched for a restroom in Paris. This time, we lucked out. There, on the Parisian sidewalk, stood a sort of pod. Now, I would call it a public restroom, but it was more akin to an enormous egg, or an oval dumpster, or maybe an escape pod from a spaceship. We stood at the door and tried to read the French instructions. We pressed the button and the door slid open like a time machine from the future. I entered. The floor was soaked. After my business had been accomplished, I departed the escape pod. The door quietly closed before my wife could enter. I blue light flashed and the words Le Lessive appeared. It was a self-cleaning toilet pod from the future.

As much as I love Europe and the UK, American public restroom availability is a luxury without which I don’t want to live!

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 17

June 13, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Foreign Bathroom Series

Chapter Three, Floor Towel

The three of us gazed into the plastic closet. Roughly four feet by three feet, this was to be our bathroom for the next three nights. If it’s just my wife and I, we can typically handle anything. But this trip was different. My mother-in-law was with us. Now, that’s not a bad thing. I have a wonderful relationship with my wife’s mom. I’m so blessed to have such a woman in my life. However, I am not used to staying in the same room as her, much less using the same tiny European bathroom. She was the extra variable.

Americans, like myself, are used to a certain comfort when it comes to size of bathroom and shower. Our hotel room in Paris boasted your standard fare European facilities. The Teacup Poodle of bathrooms. The shower, sink, toilet, door, and walls were all made of hard plastic. It looked like a prefabricated room that somebody had dropped into place. We looked around and discovered that there were only two towels. But I got a third towel from the desk.

After a long day of walking and seeing the sites, it’s nice to take a hot shower. But such a tiny plastic room never dries. It simply drips and steams until you finally leave, wondering how the next tenant will handle such a miniscule bathroom. I cleaned up, shaved, and changed. Opening the door, my wife poked her head in and asked, “where did you get that towel?”

“Which one?”

“The one you’re standing on,” she continued.

“Oh, that’s just the floor towel,” I said, confidently.

“Floor towel?”

“You know,” I condescended, “the bathmat.”

She looked at me, confused, “we only have the three towels. You had to get another one from the desk, remember?”

For three days, I had been using my sweet mother-in-law’s towel as a bathmat. But she never said anything. I doubt that she had a dry towel that entire trip.

Next time, I’ll ask for an extra floor towel.

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 9

April 18, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Foreign Bathroom Series

Chapter Two: The Lav

A dull hum roars in the back of my skull. Has it always been there? It must have a beginning. I can no longer remember what it is like in the outside world. But the passing of time is very apparent. Ah, I remember now. The droning began when our flight lifted off in Atlanta.

I’m on a plane.

Slowly I peel my eye mask away from my travel worn face. It feels like I’m removing a rejected skin graft. As my eyes come into focus, I look around. This must be what 14th century England looked like. What disease has taken hold of these flying peasants? Twelve hours ago, we all boarded with such high hopes. Smiling faces anticipated adventure. Small families settled and tucked into in-flight entertainment. The meal service stoked the fires of happiness and several opportunities for drinks and snacks have since come and gone. But now the romance has worn off.

As I look around this refugee camp, it hits me: I have to pee.

Holding it is not an option on a 17-hour flight. So, I untangle myself from the tissue-thin plane-blanket, replace my tray table, and begin the journey up the aisle.

When I fly, one of the first things I do is take off my shoes. My feet swell while flying and I hate to wear my shoes for so long. I opened the door to the bathroom (lavatory or lav). The garbage overflowed. Toilet paper lay strewn everywhere. And the little sink was filled with a residue of some scummy liquid. An airplane lav is disgusting at the beginning of a flight. But 12 hours in? You’d better be on a prophylactic antibiotic.

I stepped in to get to business and quickly realized that I was not wearing my shoes. Immediately my feet were soaked.

Water? I will never know. But deep down, I know the truth.

And I’ve learned my lesson:

Going to the airplane bathroom in solely one’s stocking feet is fraught with consequences.

anthony forrest

 

 

Travel Journal, 5

March 21, 2019 / / 1 Comment

Foreign Bathroom Series

Chapter One: Bidet

Names have been changed to protect the innocent (also embarrassed).

I peered deeply into the strange toilet. Along the side of the foreign commode several buttons and settings looked back at me, questioning my every move. To make matters worse, I couldn’t even read it.

No English.

What to choose? Back home I have one setting—flush. But here? So many options. It was a good thing that this was just practice. Call it a “dry run.” The panel had ten options. The first one looked promisingly like water. I pressed the button and listened for the sound of a successful flush. To my horror, a robotic arm extended from the back of the bowel and paused ever-so-briefly.

“Bidet,” I yelled (out loud mind you). And, faster than I could close the lid, the little arm began spraying water.

Upon closer inspection and further use, the electronic bidet in our hotel bathroom also had a seat warmer, temperature setting for the water, and a speaker that played the comforting and bladder stimulating sounds of a flowing stream.

Some friends we were traveling with met up with us later that day. I asked James what he thought of the toilet in his room. With a crooked smile and a breathy giggle, James said that he though the bidet was, “very accurate.”

anthony forrest

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