The Most Disgusting Bathroom in the Whole Entire World

If there is one thing I have learned about myself as I have traveled the world over, it is that my need to use the restroom is directly proportional to the cleanliness of the facilities. For example, if the nearest bathroom is a shining example of modern technology in which the porcelain is practically gleaming,  I don't even have a thought to go. Yet, if the facility is oozing with filth and feces, it's a dire emergency. Even worse, if the toilet in question is of the famed "long-drop" "pit" or "squattie" variety (prevalent in many Asian and African countries) you can be sure that my cup runneth over. Even the name of the toilet grosses me out.

When I first encountered this toilet at an airport in Japan, I was unprepared to say the least. Where do I put my feet? What do I do with my pants? Which way do I face? I'M SUPPOSED TO SQUAT?? But I am a LADY!!  Horrors.  Using the bathroom suddenly became a daily epic event.  Unladylike and even slightly humiliating.   On my most recent trip to Tanzania, during a stop on a long bus ride, I entered the bathroom and quickly realized what I was up against. My heart began pounding and I became an instant  jumble of nerves. The stench was overwhelming, the floor slippery with dirt and water and what I can only assume to be waste.  Of course, the urge to go was overwhelming. Why God, WHY?  But that bathroom belonged to Martha Stewart compared to the following disaster.

No, THAT famous cesspool (it doesn't deserve to be called a bathroom) belongs to a ferry boat traveling between Bangladesh and India. The year was 2005. I was visiting a good friend in Bangladesh and we decide to spend Christmas in India. We are on a budget so we go as the locals go-rickshaw, ferry, bus. It was the eternal ride. At one point, we must cross a filthy river on an even filthier ferry. This ain't no pleasure,blue seas, fruity beverage ferry I'm talking about. This boat has clearly been in use since the days of Moses and possibly used to be another color. It is the middle of the night and I have been sleeping and wake up on the bus, which is now on the ferry, with an insistent message from my bladder.  Given my  current surroundings, I could not even begin to imagine what I would find to use as a bathroom. Resigned to my fate, I set out to find what I was sure was going to be my demise-Death by Asphyxiation. My friend  was ahead me with the same idea,  and I meet her at the bathroom. She steps out and....smirks. She SMIRKS at me!! She too knows that the  little Cubbyhole of Filth will be my downfall.

I take a deep breath and step inside a tiny cubicle. It is dimly lit, but not dim enough that I can't see what appears to be a mixture of slime and feces dripping from the walls and coating the floor.  I gasp. Which of course instantly brings the overwhelming stench straight to my delicate nostrils. My brain is instantly awake-must take care of business and get out.  I lean over to roll up my pants legs-something I should have done prior to entering. Did I mention that I was wearing flip-flops? Major no-no when using these types of toilets. It doesn't matter how clean it may be, do you really want your bare feet to be spattered by poop?
I didn't think so. I lean over to roll them up, and as I do, my orna  (the scarf part of my outfit that I wear to be modest in a Muslim country) falls to the ground.

So part of the orna  is now on the floor and my panic level is now at +100. I gasp for the second time in 60 seconds and yank it viciously up off the floor. A little too viciously, because it snaps back and lands on my face. MY FACE!!!!  It was just laying on a floor covered in God knows what,  and the contents of that are now on my face. And I am still getting an insistent message from the aforementioned bladder. On top of that,  I am also in an uber- heightened state of anxiety, the kind that should  require therapy and meds to recover. I yank down my pants and attempt to handle my business. It is at this point that my foot, clad in a flip-flop,  loses its bearing amongst all the slime and slips dangerously close to the actual inside of the toilet.

Remember, I am squatting. One wrong move and I will be IN the toilet.

I gasp, for the third time 90 seconds and am positive that I have already contracted a fatal disease. It is at this point in the story that the horror of the experience has been mercifully blotted out by whatever psychologists refer to as repressed memory syndrome, (or something like that).  You know, when memories are so bad, they just cease to exist in your immediate frame of mind? I may or may not have reached out and grabbed the wall to steady myself.  If I did, I don't remember, and that is a blessing.  Finally,  to make matters infuriatingly worse, do you know what came out ? A dribble. That's right. A tiny stream of nothing. Convinced that this is God's cruel joke of the day, I finish and fling open the door, gasping and practically weeping with relief. I hightail it back to the bus and proceed to wallow in  hand sanitizer.

This is the memory that has scarred me to this day and is the first thought in mind  when it becomes necessary to use this type of toilet, clean or not. On the return trip, I held my urge to go for 6 hours until I could arrive at a more civilized bathroom. That's right, I wasn't going down that road again. Bring on the bladder infection, but at least it won't have been contracted from a hole straight from Hades.

Ferry boat by daylight

For those of you that may not have ever seen this kind of toilet, I have included a photo of said contraption below. However, it is NOT the one in my story-just a visual for you readers. The clean version is presented here. The dirty version is forever in my memory. 

Mostly clean squat pot