Sh*t.

You know that scene in Trainspotting, with the “worst toilet in Scotland”? If you do than you have a some idea of the toilet situation in much of asia – that, minus the actual toilet. Instead it’s just a filthy hole in the floor you squat over and then  somehow flex your lower thigh / knee muscles in order to support your body while simulateously relaxing the “upper thigh” muscles to facillitate, at least in 90% of the situations for me, a massive violent dump. 

Nothing in asia is easy – it’s like, even when your trying to relax and let nature take it’s course, you’ve gotta be doing something that is both physically and emotionally challenging; some sort of bizziare character building exercise, i don’t know… Sometimes I get the impression asia is entirely peopled by my grandfather.

So during my last “minor medical emergency” Josh and i had just finished up an afternoon of visiting the Pearl Markets in Guang Zhou – endless counters and floors packed wall to wall with merchants hawking all sorts of awesome pearl gear, we’d found a McCdonalds and for some strange reason my body was really wanting a Big Mac, i was pretty curious how a Chinese Big Mac tasted (just like a US Big Mac.) but also wanted to give my stomach a break from spicy asian cuisine.  So josh went back to the market and i stuck around the McD’s eating french fries, sipping my coke a cola, waving back at the occassional curious teenager, watching a 5 story high voiceless Obama give a press conference on a massive screen across the plaza, and reading my political bio on Pol Pot. When all of a sudden i really had to go.

In most situations like this, you’d just walk up to the counter and say “hey where’s the bathroom” and it’d likely be placed somewhere convenient, just around the corner near that delightful nylon flower arangment and watercolor portraits of Grimace and the Hamburgler. But remember this is China, nothing here is easy. You have to work for a shit here, and the bathrooms are never in the restaurants, but rather out the door, down the hall, up one escalator, down 3, around the back, through a narrow alley behind the water main. All this explained to me, with detailed instructions and hand gestures, in crystal clear Cantonese.

So by this point in the trip i’ve become a pro at knowing how much time i actually have before i literally shit my pants.  In this situation i had one minute and 46 seconds.

After trying to fake non-chalance with a couple pearl merchants, beads of sweat start rolling down my forehead and back and i know i have to drop the charade. Plan B has me pleading with my eyes while patting my stomach and saying “sick!” and “Toilet!” and then cocking my head to one side and smiling painfully. That seemed to work. I’d stumbled upon the international sign for “Gonna shit my pants, Help!”

Most toilets in asia are by even the loosest standards, sub par. The toilets in the way back of the Pearl Market, a place that employs easily over one thousand people and see’s foot traffic in one afternoon of easily 100 times that, were not even up to that standard. I doubt they were sub par when they were built, by Chairman Mao’s grandma. snap.  A Squatter with a shit already in it, no running water but a nice putrid bucket and a ladel,  an inche of brown water everywhere, no toilet paper, and not even one of those outrageous (and sinfully pleasant) spray hoses. But the situation being what it was, I had no other choice but to dive right in.

On the way out, all i could think of was how badly i wanted to take a long hot shower. Or at least wipe my ass. With anything at all.

A little ass-ide for anyone who hasn’t travelled to SE Asia – in asia, in what’s either an attempt to be eco friendly or to torture stupid westerners, they often don’t include toilet paper in the squatters – you’re expected to bring your own (b.y.o.t.p.). That bucket of water with the ladle a thin film floating on top, is to flush the toilet, not as i attempted the first couple of times in Cambodia, to awkardly poor and/or splash at your bum in a feable attempt at washing yourself.  

So as i ambled out of the bathroom thoroughly disgusted with myself and humanity in general and hoping i could get back to our place without further insident when while attempting to avoid the stare of a curious pearl merchant i  happened to glance to my left and fix my eyes on the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.  A roll of toilet paper. In a glass case… In China you don’t ask why. That’s another lesson. I learned that one from Pearl S. Buck, or maybe from watching Uncle Buck. I just called the merchant over, and asked her how much the toilet paper was. She Didn’t get it. I put money down on the glass. I want that. The Toilet paper. She pointed at some pearls in the next case. No, that, then i pointed at the bathroom. She laughed. I didn’t. Then she paused, nodded solemnly and reaching under the counter, pulled out the golden roll, and handed it to me free of charge. I gained a Comrade that day.

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On the flip side – once you develop your knees/thighs, bring your own TP, and remember that the bucket of water isn’t to freshen up with – the squater starts to hold it’s own.

1) The Squatter doesn’t come in contact with you at all if you do it right. You just hover over it… like most of us do, but more un-naturally with public toilets.

2.) Once you just go for it and assume the full squat like you’re an ethiopian giving birth in a fresh tilled bean field, it’s smooth sailing – you’re western body/mind will want to reject it, but you’ll admit, it’s the way nature wanted you to shit.