On Toilets
Yogyakarta, Indonesia
Throughout my travels in Asia, my love for the western toilet has not dwindled, but my distaste for the eastern variety has diminished. I’ve since perfected the squat system of cleansing my system. The biggest challenge is keeping the bottom of your pants/skirt dry in the bathroom. I do not think I will ever fully comprehend what goes on in the privy. You can hear all sorts of water splashing for an extended period of time. Then the patron exits the facility, looking perfect and dry, but the state of the bathroom is much different. There is often a layer of water (yes, I prefer to believe it is water) that coats the tiles. So, once you wade on over to the toilet, the squat process can begin.
There are a variety of squat styles. They range from five-star hotel quality to simple drains in the corner of rooms. The ones that are actually suppose to be fancy are the most challenging – I do not really understand the starting blocks that you are suppose to use on the high end models. I usually just disregard those and place my feet outside of the blocks – I much prefer the holes in the ground or the drains in the corner. So, as you now know, the squat toilets no longer violate my personal constitution – but some of the practises associated with them still do. To wit:
Last night I was down hanging out in the gangs again. (Allow me to provide a quick definition. A “gang” is not a group of young, knife-wielding hoodlums. Rather, “gang” is Indonesian for “alley.” Three famous gangs exist near Yogya’s main drag, Jalan Marlioboro. If you did not know better, you would think that they are where the rapists hide, but they are actually the safest place I’ve come across thus far. They host bookstores, good restaurants, cafes, travel agencies, hostels, and the third gang is home to a lovely band of prostitutes. Anyway, the gangs are tailored to meet the desires of weary travellers. As such, when I want to speak English at full speed and use three-syllable words, I head to the gangs). Last night I met up with a (cute) young Brit, I had met a few times prior (Aka: Lee). He was heading to a restaurant between two gangs to meet some other friends, and if I fancied, I could join him. I fancied. So, there we sat – three Canadians, a Brit, and an Aussie. Our conversation, as most do here, quickly turned to the state of the toilets.
We all agreed that eventually, the squat toilets are acceptable, and in many cases, superior to the sit-down variety. However, upon casting our final votes, it was discerned that the other two Canadians and the Aussie would always prefer the squat system, regardless of the hygienic condition of the sit-down variety. Lee and I were not so certain. That however, is fine. With time, people come to appreciate different things. Very healthy. But that is where the health standard ends.
Mr. Lee made some comment about how he would prefer the squat variety the same day he opted to wipe his ass with his left hand. A tittle of laugher followed, which I thought denoted agreement. I was mistaken. The ensuing conversation simply highlighted how naive I really can be some days. You see, I thought that the left hand gig was simply an outdated practise. Of course, I did believe that many people (by way of necessity) still opted to wipe their bums with their southpaw. However, what I found shocking was that, by the same count as the previous vote, the same number of people at my table used their left had to cleanse their arse….no matter what. Not only when there is a lack of toilet paper – always.
What!?!?! (Said the naive little Canadian inside her head) You what? Of course, being that there were three in favour of the hand method and two against, attention turned to Lee and I.
They asked: “What do you do when there is no toilet paper?” That of course, is an extremely good question, and they thought they had us in the corner. But of course, the solution is simple: Rarely are we ever caught without a little pack of tissues.
“But what if you were?”
The Carrie-Lee minority concurred: Rarely are we ever caught without a 500 rupiah bill. They were shocked, nay, horrified, to discover that if necessary, we would wipe our asses with fifteen cents.
Again, thinking they had outsmarted us, they queried: “Would you use that 500 rupiah bill to cleanse yourself if there was no bin to place it in?” (All toilet paper/ass-money should be disposed of in a wee garbage can placed next to the loo. Of course, since people eat solely with their right hands around here, that garbage can is often elusive.) “Well, yes, I would still use the bill to clean my bum.” There was a lull in the conversation as they processed the position that Lee and I had taken. I did not take that opportunity to tell them that I would probably use 5000 rupiahs to dry my fanny in an emergency.
They protested: “The paper would clog the sewer system.”
“That’s the chance you take.”
Anyway, we further debated the sanitary merits of toilet paper and hand-wiping for far too long after that. It was clear that neither side was going to convert the other, but it was even more clear to me just how naive I can be some days. Born and bred on two-ply, but now they use their hand to clean their bum. Not kidding.
So, in conclusion, they use their hands to clean their bums! I’m so naive some days. It makes me laugh.
Postscript – Have any of you ever done this? Have any of you ever considered this? Is this one of those often debated situations with me when I think I am right, when really, I am the one who is wrong, oh so very wrong? Let me know.
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