Every Body Poops

As a kid, Taiwan just seemed the “other” China, an island existing in the shadow of monolithic Red China, a sort of big, comfy refuge for Chiang Kai-shek and his cronies, where they could enjoy all the art and goodies shipped out just ahead of Mao’s conquest. The image was of rows of workers turning out electronics and other gadgets we, the West, wanted, and providing a last stand against the Communist threat. Nothing unique enough to travel halfway around the world to see.

A few Taiwanese friends tried to gently suggest I might be mistaken and perhaps I should visit to see for myself. (The Taiwanese are very friendly and polite, even in crowds.) I figured 8 days, not including travel time, would be enough to circle the peanut-shaped country. How much diversity could a country the size of Belgium contain?

A lot! Taiwan is a crazy mix of diversity and contrasts. This is the country proud of Qiu He-Cheng, proclaimed in the Ceramics Museum as the Toilet King, the developer of flushing porcelain bowls used round the world. Yet in all but hotels designed for Westerners you will have typical squat facilities. High tech city stoplights have digital displays of walking people, but rural villages may have no electricity at all. And the food! I ate at restaurants featuring everything from dumplings to sushi to flower cuisine (not what it sounds like) to individual hot pots to world-famous noodles. There were unusual seafoods and snacks I could not identify. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I was eating, only that is was delicious. (I can’t quite explain Matcha Redbean with Agar Frappe, only that it goes pretty well with seafood.)

Taipei reaffirms the popular of image of Taiwan. It is a modern, efficient city, complete with all the requisite skyscrapers, shopping malls, five-star hotels, and excellent public transportation. The Grand Formosa Regent Taipei is a Four Seasons luxury hotel surrounded by stores like Cartier and Gucci. Until just recently, Taipei 101 was the tallest building in the world. Even if the Burj Khalafi is taller, the elevator flying to the top of Taipei 101 is unique, with a digital display tracking the speed and sparkling star-like lights in the ceiling. Every possible type of cuisine can be found, and like other Asian cities, there is a thriving Night Market for souvenir hunters and foodies. The National Palace Museum is overwhelming, especially to anyone like me who can’t get enough of Chinese art. The three massive floors can only display a small percentage of the almost 700,000 piece collection at any one time. For travel beyond Taipei, spotless, punctual high-speed trains connect the city with the rest of the country.

Outside Taipei there is traditional Taiwan, a beautiful country of mountains, waterfalls and delightful hotsprings. This is also a religious country with plenty of tall Buddhist statues and large monasteries. Staying at one was just uncomfortable enough to remind me I’m not quite ready for the peaceful, tranquil life of enlightenment. The Foguangshan Monastery complex is huge, complete with a basic hotel for foreigners and several restaurants, as well as the requisite multiple statues and temples. The morning procession of hundreds of monks is impressive, and whatever the accommodations lacked, it was compensated by a delicious lunch of individual hot pots.

And, oh, those hot springs! The Fleur De Chine Hotel in Puli and the opulent Hotel Royal Chihpen in Taitung not only have natural hot springs in the hotel, but individual soaking tubs in the rooms! Spending only an overnight in each hotel was a form of sweet torture—I wanted to linger—but there were more sights to see in this “small” country.

Taiwan has not only managed to protect its natural beauty, but its traditional arts as well. Handmade paper is still very important, used in everything from cards to traditional rubbings. The production process is a painstaking and hot, very very hot, procedure. Ceiling fans in the factory we visited barely moved the stifling air. I have no idea how workers could stand over those vats all day, rinsing the fibers through big mesh screens. Always hospitable, our hosts invited us to try our hand at making inked designs on fresh paper. Being polite, our hosts did not laugh at my effort.

In the central part of this little island lie the incredibly picturesque Sun Moon Lake and Lalu Island. No wonder it was Chiang Kai-shek’s favorite spot. I can also understand why the “president’ fish was his favorite dish. The view from my hotel could have been the model for a thousand Chinese paintings. Sometime try soaking in a private natural hot spring tub overlooking a clear lake surrounded by beautiful mountains. It does wonders to improve a long day. It also doesn’t hurt that the spa facilities at the hotel are top-notch and the breakfast buffet was beyond belief. But, again, with only eight days there is no time to linger. There were still more sights to see, more meals to consume, and more pampering hotels.

The spectacularly narrow and dramatic Taroko Gorge and surrounding National Park is the reason many visitors go to Taiwan. The trails wind up and down, often twisting around sheer walls and forcing many hikers to go single file. For me, it felt more feel like entering a Chinese painting than looking at it. My walk was on the first day after a rainy spell, and the occasional bits of mist or fog added a sense of mystery to the mountains.

Taiwan is small enough to be circumnavigated in eight days, but only if you want a whirlwind trip and have the capacity for non-stop eating. I really want another night at the Fleur de Chine Hotel, another friendly greeting from the always helpful Howard Hotel staff. I’d love to get the recipe for the hot stone-cooked fish with cilantro and shrimp at the Hong Wa Wu restaurant in Cifadahan. And I never did find the famous (infamous?) stinky tofu. I just have to go back to find out why Qui He-cheng’s invention didn’t catch with the rest of his countrymen.

BATHROOMS AND BUDDIES
Or: How to keep the peace and friendship on the road

1. Determine who needs the most time in the morning.
Some people jump out of bed, can dress, pack, workout, eat breakfast (not necessarily in this order) and are ready to hit the road by 8 am. Others are like me. We move at a snail’s pace and believe mornings are for the birds. Establish morning routines early and set the alarm clock accordingly or there will be grief.

2. Check privacy comfort levels.
Are you non-plussed if your roommate jumps in the shower while you are attending to that last meal of unknown origin? Or do you prefer to change clothes in the closet? We all have lots of issues on the subject of privacy. We may not even realize we have issues until something comes up! Be aware and know your comfort level.

3. Check the safe!
Somebody check the room before catching that 8:00 bus. It sounds obvious, but it is sooo easy to miss that document left in the safe (like a passport), the blouse dropped after last night’s party, or the little container of special shampoo brought half way around the world and still on the shower shelf.

4. Be a roommate, not an inmate.
You aren’t glued to the hip when home, so why should it be different when traveling? Every waking moment doesn’t need to be spent together. You don’t do that with a spouse or a parent—why expect to do it with a roommate? Buddies look out for each other but don’t always have to be together.

5. Laugh a lot.
It’s a trip, remember? No one twisted your arm to go. Maybe things aren’t working out the way you expected (they rarely do) but the experiences are more rewarding than running to the grocery store or doing laundry. So laugh and enjoy.

At least once during a lifetime, the facilities should include marble countertops, designer inspired bowls and shower, and Bulgari soaps and lotions. The butler, champagne, and private party invitations weren’t bad either. But what can compare with the choice of a shower with multiple styles of showerheads, or a large bathtub with its own hand held retracting shower? The marble countertop with backlit mirrors was positioned in between.

Arctic cruising aboard Silversea’s Prince Albert is probably a bit different than Amundsen’s painful and painstaking journeys. Our rugged activities included getting dressed for climbing into the sturdy zodiacs—it takes a lot of effort to put on thermal underwear, waterproof pants, several layers of tops and sweaters, several layers of socks, waterproof boots, heavy parka and an infuriating contraption designed to keep us afloat if necessary. It was probably designed to challenge one’s understanding of knots and satisfy the insurance underwriters.

The reward for all this work was the chance to see breathtaking scenery and wildlife straight out of a National Geographic TV special. I also gained a little appreciation for the patience of a true wildlife photographer. General disappointment during the first few polar bear-free days was somewhat alleviated with specialty drinks from an attentive waiter. Still we did persevere. Or rather, our captain understood that 122 people on a ship for 10 days without any polar bear sightings could put a serious dent in his stocks of liquid.

And polar bear we did see, and walrus, reindeer, humpback whales, and a huge variety of birds, sometimes by the thousands. Our excitement watching a magnificent polar bear hunting for food rivaled that of any fan watching the seventh game of a World Series. There were hikes up glaciers, sailing among crackling blue ice, a beautiful ring-necked seal surfacing almost next to the zodiac. A pod of humpback whales breached playfully along side the Prince Albert, showing off their classic fluke. Plus everyday there were the sights of snow covered mountains. That is everyday and all day. June north of the Arctic Circle means 24-hour daylight.

As Silversea guests our hunt for food was much easier than our polar bear’s. Mostly it was a matter of getting out of all the expedition layers, changing into a somewhat different attire, and showing up in the restaurant. There charming Uta would seat us at our favorite window table, darling Bernadette would explain the evening’s choices, and fun-loving Karolina would choose our wine. We would share stories of the day’s adventures, and hope our polar bear finally had his dinner, too.

It is called Eastern Europe, but Romania is the geographical center of Europe. Or so Andrei, our Romanian guide, claimed. Without a handy world atlas to pull out of my bag, there was no point in disagreeing. Besides, in modern Europe such labels as east and west are fast blurring. Eastern Europe used to be defined by style, accommodations, food, and bathrooms. But I found Romania in April 2009 to have some of the cleanest, most modern and well cared for roadside rest stops anywhere. Even the facilities at legendary Bran Castle were acceptable, undoubtedly much improved from Dracula’s days.

Dracula may be fiction, but the associated imposing 14th century castle, especially on an appropriately overcast day, is a reminder of Romania’s complicated and multi-ethnic history. Originally built by the Saxons, the last inhabitant was Queen Marie of Romania, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria. The large central Transylvanian region is still largely ethnic Hungarian, and in some of the small villages Hungarian is still spoken. Throughout the country there are Germans and Gypsies, Romans and Romanians, and a rich mixture of every Baltic nationality.

Geographically the Romanian countryside is as varied as its population. The spectacular Carpathians wind around three sides of Romania. The Maramures region is dotted with legendary wooden churches and little town where elaborately carved wooden doorways are a local status symbol. Transportation is just as likely to be by horse-drawn wagon as a minivan. In Bucovenia there are painted churches with colors as vibrant as when first painted in the 14th century. In Germanic Brasov, the imposing Black Church dominates a charming square. Called the Piata Sfatului, legend has this as the site where the Pied Piper emerged with the German children.

It would be impossible not to enjoy Sibiu, with cobblestone streets, town square lined with charming shops and pedestrian-only bridges over the river. Besides staying at the opulent old-world style Imparatul Romanilor was a special treat. It is easy to imagine grand dukes and duchesses in the high-ceiling, ornate parlors, or unpacking trunks in the multi-roomed accommodations. Still, my favorite place would have to be Sighisoara, birthplace of Vlad the Impaler. The old fortress city is still surrounded by the original walls and vehicular traffic is very restricted. The clock tower of the old citadel may be full of tourists, but it is still fascinating, as is the torture chamber and museum. The restaurants may be overpriced, but still highly enjoyable. Besides, what can compare with staying in an old bishop’s palace, now the Hotel Sighisoara? I have to wonder what would the old bishops think of a woman addressing bodily functions in one of his rooms.
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When East meets West, cultural combinations are always interesting and sometimes amusing. Bulgaria is both where the Romans built great fortress cities, and later the Ottoman Empire ruled. During an April 2009 trip through Bulgaria, I should have noted my varying proximity to the Turkish border. It might have helped anticipate the available facilities.

At least my requests for toilets were generally understood in a country with a totally incomprehensible language. The scenery is breathtaking enough that the usual “oohs” and “ahs” readily translate. When not accompanied by clutch my middle, it was understood I was indeed referring to the vistas.

Fortunately I traveled in very competent hands. Everything, history, scenery, architecture, language, even ordering food, was ably described and handled by Patrick, our extraordinary driver and guide. His enthusiasm, knowledge, and genuine concern for our well being never faltered during my eight days of touring.

Patrick was correct in saying he was going to show our little group (3 of us plus Patrick) a “hidden” Bulgaria few Americans experience. International arrival is in Sofia, a generally depressingly grim city with a few 17th and 18th century architectural masterpieces in between the soviet style buildings. A day trip up to the 14th century Rila Monastery, one of Bulgaria’s many Unesco World Heritage sites was a nice way to recover from jetlag. Our journey into Bulgaria really began the next day with a drive to the unpronounceable city of Koprivshititsa. The city is as historically important to Bulgaria as its name is long. This was the center of the April 1876 uprising against the Ottoman Empire, ending tragically with the slaughter of thousands, many of them women and children. This was my first exposure to a unique architectural feature of traditional Bulgarian houses. The dwellings are two-story, with an upper floor of wood construction overhanging the first floor made of stone. There are two doorways; a large one for the horse-drawn carriages and another sized for people. I didn’t ask if there were also separate bathrooms for all entrants.

Over the centuries Bulgarians were adept at adopting norms and styles from many conquerors. In delightful, cobblestone street hilly Plovdiv the Hindlian house has an intriguing carved marble room for one’s ablutions. Where the runoff accumulated was not obvious. Some of the older (and not so older) sanctuaries were adorned with elaborate tiles or carvings. Perhaps the idea was, or is, to instill a little beauty in an otherwise basic and dreary space.

For me, the most delightful city in Bulgaria is Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria’s medieval capitol. With a river setting, sidewalk cafes, pretty shops, and excellent restaurants it is a reminder of more relaxed slightly older, European style. The only problem was, as usual communication, especially when negotiating a purchase. I didn’t try asking about size—taking the dress off the mannequin and handing over Bulgarian leis worked just fine. I just wish I could have told her it was worn to a black-tie fundraising affair, and I delighted in saying it was purchased in Veliko Tarnovo!

Bulgaria, its eastern boundary the Black Sea, bordered by Turkey, Greece, Romania, Macedonia and Serbia/Montenegro, is a fascinating mix of old Roman and even older Thracian ruins, intricately painted13th century monasteries, old cities clinging to hillsides, beautiful vistas of mountains and rivers. This was the border region for the world’s great empires, Roman and Ottoman. The multi-cultural influence is reflected in great food (fresh vegetable and fruits, rich yogurt and cheese, heavy meats and Black Sea fish), charming hotels, ancient monasteries and quaint villages. East and West can both be found here, although in sensitive matters, west does prevail.

Communal commodes in cities is a sensitive subject with a number of considerations. Shrubbery is for decoration only and accessible walls are not acceptable. Neither Harrod’s nor Holiday Inns appreciate drop-in visitors. As more of us roam the world’s great cities, more of these cities are looking at how and where to deposit their visitors’ needs.

To meet the frequent demand, architects and engineers from New York to Singapore have designed street-side kiosks, not unlike the ticket or metro kiosk possibly located nearby. In Venice one can buy potty passes. Be careful not to confuse this pass with your vaporetto pass. One is good for a certain period of time. The other is good for a certain number of visits per week. In Paris the “sanisettes” are found throughout the city and suburbs, and payment, if required, is in coins. Sleek looking and modern, the sanisettes are programmed to self-clean and disinfect after each use. Just don’t take too long—there is a timer.

To preserve its medieval beauty, and avoid pressure on its historical sighs, beautiful Brugge has adopted a theme-park approach. Before discharging passengers into the city, all tour busses park next to a long building of public bathrooms. At one Euro per pee, this may be a creative approach for cash-strapped cities to consider.

One year the annual report from the Mayor of San Francisco devoted two of the 29 pages to deliberations and proposals over the Automatic Public Toilet program. Unfortunately, JCDecaux of France, installer of public potties in more than 500 cities around the globe, found San Francisco to be, as always, different. What sounded like a good idea on paper never really worked in practice. It is still a good idea to know where the nearest Macy’s is located.

Along with an adequate supply of toilet paper, a useful resource for the world traveler is The Bathroom Diaries, www.thebathroomdiaries.com. Bathrooms all over the world are listed and rated. Worried about the public bathroom in the Piazza del Duomo in Milan? Just look it up—and note the “horrible” rating.

The really serious student of public plumbing will not want to miss “The History of Public Toilets”, a paper presented by Dr. Bindeswar Pathak at the International Symposium on Public Toilets held in Hong Kong. It reminds us that we are still tackling very old problems.

The BP enforces privacy

The sands west of the Hadramat wadi, Yemen’s central desert region, seem to extend forever. It is easy to imagine being on an old movie set for Lawrence of Arabia. Except movie sets have porta-potties hidden away from the cameras. It is very different when crossing an Arabian desert as part of a four-wheel drive vehicle convoy accompanied by an armed escort. There are no portable toilets, no trees, no bushes, nor escape. Just miles of sand.

My only solution was to wander away from the group while we stretched our legs and practiced holding our group leader’s Kalashnikov, carefully pointed away from our little American cluster. The trick was to walk just far enough to not incur the wrath of our “protectors” with their 50-mm mounted guns, while staying out of the line of sight of our group, and avoiding the occasional truck driver who was able to scan the terrain from the height of his cab. My efforts were ultimately successful, but in the process I gained a new appreciation for my cat’s occasional aversion to using her litter box.

The desert area is only part of this amazing country. Sitting in the southeast part of the Arabian Peninsula, Yemen is a bridge to the past. The capitol, Sanaa, claims to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. Traditional dress is still the norm. Men still wear a long white garment with a wide embroidered belt. Into the front of the belt is placed the prized dagger, primary possession of any self-respecting Yemeni man. The most prized daggers are those handed down through generations, with handles of rhinoceros horn. Perhaps as a warning to all would-be invaders or misbehaving tourists, Yemeni male dress often includes a bandoleer across the chest (yes, the bullets are real) and that most important article, a cell phone clipped to the side of the belt. Kalishnakov is extra.

The problem in Iran is the headscarf.  It has to stay glued to your head from the moment you leave your hotel room (I had chambermaids scolding me if I was still putting it on walking to the elevator) until returning at the end of the day.  Somewhere in between holding up my long skirt and searching for the roll of toilet paper in my shoulder bag, the ends often came undone and threatened to fall into places I did not want them to go.  I imagine the local women found our Western attempts to observe (male-dictated) Iranian modesty amusing.  What else could smile-inducing eye contact in the large, American-styled highway rest stops mean?

It would be easy to regard the headscarf as a cultural barrier as great as squat toilets.   But in Iran, even this minimal level of acquiescence opens up the world of legendary Iranian hospitality and friendliness.  Strolling in a main city park in Tehran, young women would come up, giggling and smiling.  They would ask me where I was from, and then engage in wide-eyed conversation at the chance to converse with a human-looking American.  Why did I come to Iran?  Was it difficult?  Where was I going?  Would I see the all the great sights, such as Persepolis that made the Persian Empire the greatest the world has even seen?  Did I feel safe?  Yes, I did, including the evenings when Iranian parks fill with families picnicking, girl friends roller-skating, young men playing chess, and both sexes engaged in fierce volleyball matches.

Bathroom problem?  Who remembers when compared to all the other wonderful experiences of ancient Persia and modern Iran?  Just as long as the head scarf stays on.

Rating scales are really useful.  We use them to decide where to stay, what to eat, which sights to see.  On a recent trip to China, ratings were used to decide whether or not to “go”.  Our group quickly determined not all Chinese bathroom facilities are created equal and a rating system was necessary.  The rating determination was delegated to the neediest one in line, and then communicated to the rest of us.

The criteria were not always straightforward and sometimes became complicated.  First of all, Western vs. Eastern?  Clean, as in when was the last time the floor was washed.  Third, toilet paper?  Attendants?  Self-flushing?  Was the door designed for a tiny Chinese or a normal-sized American?  Was there a door?

We traveled from misty, green karst-landscaped Guilin to quaint ancient Dali to pristine Lijiang.  Coping with situations from sea level to 10,000 feet honed our rating skills.  On Jade Dragon Snow Mountain an interesting tiled throne room offered breathtaking views over the Tibetan plateau.  In colorful Guiyang a trip to the restaurant facilities could be hijacked by singing waitresses pouring wine down one’s throat from little gourds.  Queuing and privacy are foreign concepts in a country of over a billion people, so public bathrooms presented an additional challenge from hotels and tourist destinations.   Regardless of the difficulties, investigations continued and eventually a rating system evolved.

5 Stars: Western commode, working flush mechanisms, toilet paper, washing sink with soap and towels.

4.5 Stars: Western with flushing mechanism, lacking one or more of the above extras.

4 Stars: Western commode lacking all of the above extras.

3 Stars: Eastern (squat) toilet, with clean porcelain, attendant always washing floors, working flushing mechanisms.  Toilet paper is generally unknown—always bring your own.

2 Stars: Usable, but not before rolling up pant legs or wrapping skirt around one’s waist.  After retrieving toilet paper from pocket, remember the handiwipes in the purse.

1 Star: Only for the desperate or those of us with aging control.

0 Stars: Find a bush.

For a complete description of a wonderful two weeks in Yunnan province see www.dreammaker.org

Everybody wants to travel. Well, almost everybody.  At least somewhere, if only to grandma’s house.  Everybody agrees the getting there is often a hassle, with delays, cancellations, crowds.  The going while there is also often a hassle.  Especially for women.   Especially for women a little older, when the knees don’t bend as easily as they used to, and the hips no longer fit into Chinese stalls.

As traveler and travel planner, I’ve learned to improvise in numerous situations.  I have hiked to beautiful vistas in Nepal with foul smelling closets, shared jungle accommodations in Guatemala with a scorpion, learned how to hold my headscarf on and skirt up while squatting in Iran, and prayed our armed escort in Yemen wouldn’t shoot when I wandered off into the thorn bushes.

It is the sticky situations we remember, partly because no one warned us what could or would happen.   Guidebooks will tell you where and what to eat, but not where and how to poop.  Yet what is the first question when the bus stops?

Everybodypoops.net intends to throw a little illumination on some often dark situations (always carry a flashlight), and pass on a few suggestions learned from my personal experiences.   After all, none of us want to make the mistake of the American travelers who returned from driving around England with the notion that the English must be a very religious people because their road maps show wayside chapels all over the place.

So stay tuned, and we’ll start getting down to essentials.

Donna Zabel
DreamMaker Destinations
www.dreammaker.org
www.everybodypoops.net