There's one thing that I do not like at all about living here in Spain. Guess what that is!
It's the public toilet! No only is it a question of dealing with the oddest of odd toilets which tends to be a hole in the ground, but it's also the extreme lack of said public toilet. Beggars can't be choosers, and I guess a hole in the ground, if you're lucky enough to come across it, is better than the rear end of a bush. As for the toilet paper, well, don't get me started. It's like
brown wrapping paper.
I'm driving along a narrow country road going towards Rota. Maybe I should have used a rest room before setting out, but, who would think that there wouldn't be any toilets ANYWHERE?! Rather than hide behind a bush, I stop at a teeny tiny bar at the side of the road hoping there will be a public toilet. Please, show me the hole in the ground so that I may stand and be happy!
"Can I help you, senorita?" What a pleasant man. He smiles at me, pleased that he has a customer.
Desperate as I am, before I even order a sherry or gaseosa, I blurt out, "Is there a toilet here?"
"Of course, of course. Senorita, of course." He seems pretty definite that there's a toilet here. Good news.
"My aunt will escort you."
What? His aunt will escort me? Why?
"I'll be able to find it. Thank you, anyway." I'm trying to be nice and polite. Just tell me where the bloody toilet is so that I can end my misery.
A woman appears from behind the beaded curtain at the back of the bar. She's short and chubby and is wiping her hands on her dress. She looks like a nun, dressed completely in black. She's wearing a long gold chain and hanging from it are a medallion and a crucifix. In the medallion is the photo of someone. I wonder who the photo is of?
"Senorita, you want to use the bano?"
I'm practically jumping up and down at this stage, but I manage to blurt out, "Yes, could you tell me where the toilet is?"
"I'll escort you." She extends her arm as if to show me outside.
Gosh, where is the toilet? Outside? I didn't see any toilet when I parked my car.
"Come with me, senorita."
She beckons me to follow her outside into the late afternoon sun. Where are we going?
Next to the bar is a shack, for want of a better word.
"Come, come with me." She's grinning, revealing really ugly teeth. Her face is like the land, all dried up and lined, and she smells of garlic and strong cheese.
Now, I'm not sure what's going on, but my bladder is in dire distress, so I have no choice but to follow her.
"In you go." She indicates the shack.
Oh, the toilet is in the shack? I catch on quick.
It's dark inside and there are no windows. After fumbling for a switch I begin to think that perhaps the electricity has been turned off? Or worse, maybe there isn't any electricity. I hope this old woman isn't going to mug me, I really do.
I have to strain and strain my eyes in order to see. It's worse than being inside a picture house.
Guess what I see?
A bucket!
I'm not sure if the bucket is empty. While weird images flash around in my mind the man's aunt announces, "I'll stand guard. In case my nephew or any of the other men come in."
I feel so very rude and ungrateful when I decline the use of the bucket. I don't know what shocks me more, doing the toilet in a bucket that others may have used and whose bodily excretions could very well be still lurking around. Yikes! Or, having the woman stand guard as I empty my bladder.
The human body is strong. Its fortitude knows no boundaries. Somehow I clench my bladder with every muscle and convince myself that relieving myself behind a bush is much, much better for my health, my sanity, even my modesty.
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