This piece originally appeared in The Globe and Mail on April 12, 2008, eighteen months before I started blogging. Since I own the rights and since I have journals filled with similar travel stories, I thought I’d share it. Enjoy.
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We choose Ambalangoda with care. It is, after all, the final destination of our three-week backpacking trip in Sri Lanka. Besides having a name that rolls off the tongue in a way that would please even Dr. Seuss, Ambalangoda has one of the whitest beaches on the island and can serve as our one-stop-shopping destination before we depart.
After we spend the afternoon debating the merits of various hand-carved masks – should we purchase the one that wards off vomit or the one that cures lameness? – we walk until we find a restaurant populated with Ambalangodans. Outside the open-air structure, which leans haphazardly toward the sea, we study a pond filled with the catches of the day, trying to pick the unfortunate fish that will become our dinner. My fiancé and I soon realize that two kids from the Canadian Prairies choosing fresh seafood is the equivalent of a teetotaller selecting rieslings for a sommelier. We settle on something that moves and has gills.
En route to our table, I ask, “Where is the toilet?”
“This way,” the waiter gestures. I open the door, step over the threshold and see the squat toilet, a veritable island surrounded by a sea of water. My bladder begs me to go forth, but my sandal-clad feet stop mid-stride. I can’t do this tonight, I think, embarrassed that my sense of adventure has vanished.
The waiter observes my about-face. “Come,” he says, “I’ll show you a Western toilet. Much better for you.” Sheepishly, I follow – through the kitchen, across the alley, up the street and into a tailor shop. We climb a flight of stairs into a second-storey family home.
Before exiting stage left, the waiter explains my situation to the homeowner, a woman clad in an “I love Pepsi” T-shirt and a colourful batik sarong. My hostess smiles at me, nods encouragingly and proceeds to bang on a closed door, shouting in Sinhalese. A male voice, also yelling, answers. A shower provides the soundtrack to this cacophony.
“No. No. Really. It’s okay,” I stutter. “I’ll go.” Smiling again, the woman guides me to an empty room, carries in a plastic patio chair and motions for me to sit.
In between my hostess’s pleas, I recall other Sri Lankan bathroom memories. My mind returns to a dark hut outside a gift shop in Kandy, the island’s cultural centre. Armed with hiking boots, a day’s supply of single-ply toilet paper, antibacterial wipes, coins for a possible surcharge and the prerequisite courage, I hover precariously over the toilet – only to notice a hairy spider the size of a softball creeping my way. Are tarantulas native to this part of the world? I immediately regret skipping the “Dangers and Annoyances” section of the guidebook.
My reverie is interrupted by more shouting and the opening of the bathroom door. A twentysomething Sri Lankan man emerges, dripping wet, with a towel clinging to his waist. “I’m so sorry,” he says, apologizing for showering in his own bathroom.
“No. I’m so sorry,” I say. We continue our mutual apologies as he scurries past my chair. We are both embarrassed – he for being semi-dressed and for showering when a spoiled tourist needs a special toilet, and I for invading his house, his bathroom, his privacy. We acknowledge the awkwardness with smiles.
I clamber into the washroom and see the Western toilet partly submerged in shower suds. The water swirls over my feet, snaking slowly into a drain. I squat over the soaked toilet and shake my head at the irony.
I struggle to exit gracefully, leaving sopping footprints in my wake. I thank my hostess profusely and apologize for having no money. She shakes her head saying, “No money.” Despite our near language-less state, we exchange names, countries and smiles.
The dusky Ambalangodan breeze greets me as I wander in the direction of the restaurant. This final night has confirmed what I have suspected since arriving: Even though the north is war-torn and parts of the south were ravaged by a tsunami in 2004, Sri Lankans are a generous people. They love their country and, like the woman who opened her home to me and the waiter who led me there, they want outsiders to know a story different than the international media tells.
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Addendum: I did later check the guidebook’s “Dangers and Annoyances” section. The spidey was indeed a tarantula.
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Have you ever trusted complete strangers?
Any tales of toilets? creepy crawlies?
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Wow, I couldn’t go somewhere with tarantulas, that’s cool story. I went to an arab toilet in France, interesting to say the least!
I didn’t have much of a choice…
Haha!!! LOVE!! Someday I’ll tell you of my western toilet with no seat at a restraint in Rome during an attack of Montezuma’s Revenge….
Wow. That doesn’t sound like fun…
When we lived in the Netherlands I seriously considered writing a book called “101 ways to flush a toilet”. On my first visit to that special room in one family’s home they all waited in anticipation to see if I could figure out theirs. There was much laughter when I finally returned and confessed that I had no idea how to flush their particular model. Lots of fun! 🙂
Hilarious. How To Flush a Toilet. I think I’d fail. I’d look like I was conducting in front of the commode it case it was sensor driven.
I loved this story and I’d be happy to read more! Money is the number 1 thing that’s prevented us from traveling…possibility of squat toilets is number 2 (lol, pun intended) I just don’t know if I could handle it!
Number 2: ha! Yes, we don’t travel now. Did when we both taught at international schools in Asia. Sigh. The days when money wasn’t an issue.
Reason #2,487 I’m glad I’m a guy.
What’s reason #1,268? Just curious.
High heels.
Leanne, what a great post! Personally, as a guy, and an introvert, I would rather have suffered the indignity of the non-Western “toilet.” But that’s just me.
The closest analog I can muster is the outhouse on top of Mingus Mountain here in Arizona that I had the fortune of taking my daughter into. Yes, there was a spider–a large one (not tarantula-large, but still). If it had made a move, I was gonna go full on wrath of dad on its arachnid butt. And also, like Han Solo, we discovered an incredible smell.
Lest I forget: obligatory Dickens reference: “It was the best of times, it was the burst of times.”
Love the Dickens misquote! My best travel stories are from when I took smart risks. Still, my husband (fiance at the time) was a little nervous when he saw me go through the kitchen and not come back for 15 minutes…
But in Sri Lanka, the number of people who warn you about being fleeced to the number of people who fleece you was likely 100:1. Seriously. Everyone warned us of scams. Only once did someone try to get us to donate to a scam and we had been warned at least 20x by local Sri Lankans.
Hope this wasn’t a publicity piece for the Sri Lanka Bureau of Tourism. If it was, you didn’t sell me. Interesting story, though, and I agree with Ricky.
Actually, I would go back in a heart beat. Rarely have I met such kind, hospital people.
This is exactly what I want from world travelers. My turn to travel hasn’t come, yet. And if it ever does, it’s unlikely I’ll make it to more remote, less touristy areas.
That makes it your job to illuminate the differences. Just like you did here. I love this, Leanne.
Aww, thanks NM for your kindness. Can you tell I simply yearn to travel? In my dreams, some big company will sponsor me and I’ll homeschool my kids for a year while we see a corner of the earth. Sigh. I know I can make it happen if I put my mind to it.
You know I love travel stories. Bring ’em on please! This was hilarious and touching … except the spidey which gave me shivers!
The spidey gave me the shivers, too, Patricia! 🙂
Fantastic story, Leanne! I have dozens of toilet stories, but I’ll narrow it down to two.
Ten years ago, having recently graduated college, I set out on my first international trip to Venezuela. While there we had a cultural exchange time with some college students that included a weekend excursion to the Andes Mountains. One night, I had to go so badly. I entered the cabinesque bathroom. At that point I wish I had been blind to the rat feces and bugs crawling around. That was one really quick pit stop for me. Ew!
I spent a couple weeks in Moldova, and we were out visiting some folks at a college. The only option for bathrooms: squatty potties. No problem, I had nearly mastered those. The kind student led me down the hallway and directed me outside to the outhouse. No problem again. What I didn’t bargain for was that they’d be lined up like urinals with half-walls in between them. No doors or curtains. The worst part? Facing outward as girls walked past. Maybe I wasn’t such a pro after all.
Too funny, Kim. I hear your pain.
The toilet thing, though, might be the best example of perspective I’ve ever had. I’ve had Middle Eastern friends explain to me how a hose seems more sanitary than dry toilet paper, and I’ve had Thai friends explain to me their disgust at sitting down and touching a toilet.
And this is why we travel, eh? Perspective. And stories.
Squat toilets are an acquired skill…which I’ve personally yet to acquire living in China.
Yes. A skill indeed. As is remembering to bring toilet paper and antibacterial lotion!
This was so funny 🙂 I have an overwhelming fear of spiders, so I’ve just crossed one location off of my potential travel destinations.
I don’t remember where I was anymore, but it was when my mom, brother, and I took a three week trip to Europe after my first year in university. The bus we were on stopped at a rest stop, and the men’s urinals were right out in the open, with the line to the women’s bathroom forming directly behind them. I think my face was so hot I gave myself a sunburn. To my Western sensibilities the lack of privacy was horrifying.
Yes. Lack of privacy. I get that. So much!
I urinated all over myself the first time I had to use a squat toilet. I do not have good squat/pee skills!
Loved this piece and hope you post more like it!
It does take a combination of kegel muscles, quad muscles, and practice!
Intriguing story! Sounds like an interesting place to visit. I did spend a week in Mexico over spring break (20+ years ago) and learned to tote your own toilet paper since most public restrooms did not provide it.
It was fantastic. Best seafood I’ve ever had. Yes, toilet paper in backpack…
this is great. I thoroughly enjoyed this story and your storytelling. I’d love to read more like it!
Once, my friend and his new wife went on their honeymoon to the villages of northern Thailand. She got diarrhea in the middle of the night and went … right outside the guest house’s window. Everyone who passed by the house the next day saw it, and besides being grossed out were totally offended that the guests they had welcomed in had done such a thing in their streets. I feel so sorry for everyone involved.
Ugh. I have an image of this. I can imagine…
Minus the spider, I had a similar experience in Cabo of all places, LOL
In Cabo? Wow!
This. Was. Fantastic.
(No really. I loved it. A lot.)
Means a lot coming from you, J!
What a welcoming people. I’m always fascinated by how open and inviting people are in so many different countries and cultures.
Unlike most guys, I’m not very brave when it comes to bathroom stops. I don’t even like the trashed, graffiti-laced gas station restroom that looks like a small army used it in the past fifteen minutes (wow, nice sentence construction!). Something about the germs of the bubonic plague that always throw me off.
And the tarantula … Reason #1,001 not to be TOO adventurous, or to go camping outdoors!
Ha. I think my DH is like you… 🙂
Did he play ball as well?
Yup. Won a free throw championship in his city (Edmonton) a kazillion years ago…
Had good laugh reading this. So, thank you! Was doing a bit of research on local masks and landed on this. Glad I did. Sending you buckets of love, all the way from Sri Lanka! xx
I can now confirm that in 2014 the toilet situation in Ambagalonda has improved significantly and that the Sri Lankans are as lovely as ever.
In UAE there are often squat toilets and western toilets together so people can choose what they prefer. I tell my son that the squat toilets are for boys, as a way of getting into the ladies as, despite being only 5, he is going through a macho phase at the moment.