Toilet Humour

Yes, this is a post about toilets. Please don't read on if you are squeamish.

For as long as I have been travelling independently, particularly with Girlguiding, I have had what some may see as a completely bizarre obsession with toilets.

My introduction to international guiding, at the age of 14, was a presentation from an older girl who had been to an international camp the previous summer. I can't remember where she had been, or who she was, but I do remember she told us a lot about the toilets. She even showed us a picture (I'm pretty confident it was a portaloo, so pretty safe as far as international camps go, as long as your tent isn't down wind, particularly towards the end of the week).

My first experience of an international camp was in Germany in 2003.  I remember we had portaloos, and they were horrendous and weren't emptied until they started to overflow three days into the camp. Add in the communal wash tents (15 year old me was not expecting to be surrounded by hundreds of fully naked Germans), and it was a pretty traumatic experience.

Regardless, thus began my apparent obsession with toilets.

The reason I'm telling you this is because I realised during my 'mini grand tour of Europe' perhaps how unnecessary and weird this obsession has become.

In the Netherlands, we always seemed to end up talking about poo at the dinner table (I noticed my friend stopped putting tomatoes in my salad after I told her about a man who noticed tomato plants growing at the bottom of his garden thanks to the British train toilets which 'evacuate' straight onto the tracks), and whenever I go on a Dutch train I'm careful not to drink too much - there is something very off-putting about seeing the tracks moving at hundreds of miles an hour below you. I'm also petrified of accidentally dropping something important (it wouldn't be the first time I've dropped my passport in the loo).

In Brussels, I noticed that the toilet cubicle doors opened outwards, and on more than one occasion I found myself thinking this is a much better design than in the UK, where I more often than not have to balance either myself or my shopping on the toilet seat in order to squeeze the door shut behind me.

And that brings us to Paris. My friend lives in a beautiful but very small studio apartment with a communal toilet. To be fair to her, she did warn me about the toilet in advance, but it wasn't until I arrived (having drunk many cups of tea while waiting to meet her after work) that I remembered it is a squat toilet.

Now, in theory, I have no problem with a squat toilet. Once you've mastered the art of balancing and not peeing all over your trousers, you're all set (I was going to say it's a bit like riding a bike, but we all know how good I am at that...)

The problem comes when you're very tired. As I locked the door behind me, I had a horrible flashback to the first time I used a squat toilet. Without being too graphic (use your own imagination), I hadn't accounted for how slippy the floor might be, and ended up in a less than desirable position.

I don't think I drank for a week afterwards.

Needless to say, I was a lot more prepared this time around. I just made sure I used public toilets at every possible opportunity, just to be safe...

I promise I will try not to blog about toilets again.

Planes and Trains and Automobiles

Saturday 23^rd February 2013

So I finally finished packing. At 2am. After an eventful and hectic few weeks, I finally collapsed into my bed knowing that there was nothing left to do but sleep.

Until 5am, when I was rudely awakened by my alarm clock. I don't know why I do it, but whenever I travel I think it's a great idea to get the first flight of the day. For some reason, I always forget that a 9am flight means leaving our flat at 6am, to get to the airport, to check in and then spend an hour or so wandering around the shops just to keep myself awake long enough to board the plane.

We arrived at Edinburgh Airport at 7am, which (we thought) would give us just enough time to check in, drop our rucksacks at the oddly-shaped-luggage desk, get through security and go to Boots to buy the last few things I'd forgotten to pack, before boarding our flight at 8.15.

It all went smoothly (we'll ignore the fact that my rucksack was 1kg over the weight allowance – told you I'm bad at packing!), until we arrived at our gate. We sat down, exhausted by the rush of the previous couple of hours but knowing that in just a few minutes we'd be able to settle into our seats on the plane. Half an hour later, we were still sitting there. Just after 9am, when we should have been taxi-ing down the runway, we were still waiting. A short while later, an announcement came over the tannoy that our flight was delayed due to a “small technical fault”. Now, the last time I was given that reason for a delayed flight, five fire engines followed the plane down the runway as we came in to land. Excuse me for not being particularly filled with confidence at this point.

Two hours later, we finally boarded the plane. The technical fault – a leaking toilet.

Our flight was relatively uneventful – I think the highlight was probably the hilarity (caused by a mixture of over-exhaustion and being 35,000ft above sea level) that ensued whilst trying to work out the difference between the grapes that came with my meal (labelled vegan) and those which came with my boyfriend's meal (labelled Hindu. Ironic considering his meal was beef).

We landed at Newark Liberty International Airport at about 1.30pm and an hour later, after queueing in the hottest arrivals hall I have ever experienced, we passed through immigration to find our rucksacks sitting in the middle of the baggage reclaim hall being watched by two very lovely American security guards. I'm not sure how, considering we were among the first people off the plane, but we were the last people from our flight to come through immigration and the security guys were bored of watching our bags travelling on their own around the carousels. Phew!

From the airport, we took a train to New York's Penn Station. The train (which we had to wait an hour for – more waiting!) was a double decker train, and of course we decided the top deck was a good place to sit with our 70litre rucksacks. Note to self- the stairs on those trains are not wide enough for me, my rucksack and my hand luggage! 

On the train from the airport looking exhausted.  The label is a luggage label which got stuck in my hair somewhere between Edinburgh and Newark.  It stayed there until bedtime!

Most of the journey is through the industrial flatlands of New Jersey, until you enter a tunnel and all of a sudden you are at Madison Square Gardens – this took both of us by surprise! I'm not sure we were quite ready to arrive in New York, so when we walked out of the train station after 16 hours of travelling, we both just stood and stared like small children in an old fashioned sweet shop!

New York is SO TALL!

We giggled like school children all the way to our hotel, Hotel Wolcott, where we finally managed to collapse – we have arrived!

We wanted to try and stay awake for as long as we could to stave of the inevitable jetlag, so went out to try and find somewhere to eat. Just one block from our hotel there is a deli. Those of you in Edinburgh – imagine a cross between Peckhams and the Mosque kitchen. It's an amazing mixture of all sorts of fancy snacks, biscuits, crisps, wine and beer around the outside, with international food service counters in the middle!

Long story short - I was asleep by 7.30pm!