There is a reason I don't go camping (actually, there are many, many reasons). But a really big one is that I can't squat behind a tree. Seriously, I think I am missing the squatting gene. Maybe, like some other diseases, it skips a generation, or maybe I was switched at birth with a member of the Royal family...yeah, that's it. (I mean, can you imagine HRH Liz hanging with Yogi, looking for a nice, leafy shrub to duck behind?)
Whatever the reason, China should not be on your top ten list of places to visit if you don't squat. Personally, I think their flag should be a toilet with a red line through it instead of a yellow star(s)! Much more helpful.
You had to squat at the wall, the palace, the Forbidden city, and most restaurants. The temples, the terra cotta soldiers site, even the airport all had squat toilets (picture a seat set into the floor with footprint guides on either side). Apparently, everything really is made in China except for toilets.
For someone who has managed to avoid squatting her whole life (and this includes two summers at camp) this was not good. And, as if the situation wasn't bad enough, the smell in these places was blinding! Imagine the elephant cage where the entire herd has been given Metamucil filled bran muffins on a ninety degree day and the air conditioning is broken. That would be an improvement.
To make matters worse, if, by some minor miracle, you did manage to get lucky and behind door number one was an actual toilet...surprise, no paper! I don't mean they ran out, I mean no paper. Ever. Not even a holder. Most of us, fortunately, had been forewarned and came prepared for just such an event. What we were not prepared for was the fact that you did not dispose of your paper in the toilet, but in the wastebasket next to it. (There's a job people are standing in line for!)
You didn't dare do otherwise and clog the only toilet for miles around that wasn't floor level or the sixty people in line behind you(all Americans of course) would have beaten you to death with their purse sized packs of Kleenex and bottles of anti-bacterial gel.
Now, since I don't squat (I was not about to break a life-long record), I didn't drink much during the day (to heck with worrying about germs and parasites, I was more worried about my shoes). Never was I so happy to see the hotel at the end of the day. Tim quickly got used to being second in my affections to a hunk of porcelain. He understood completely when I rushed past his outstretched arms to go embrace the toilet instead.
The hotel staff also took it in stride. They simply unloaded a case of water onto my bedside table every night and placed the recycling bin for the hotel outside our door. Either I am not the first person to ever try and rehydrate at night, or they suspected we were harboring a camel.
After a week of opening doors only to quickly shut them again, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Before getting on the plane for the return flight home, I did check out the bathroom situation. You can't be too careful, and thirteen and a half hours is a long time to wait for a seat.
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