When You Gotta Go

I was halfway up the long climb to the top when I realized I had to go.

"Shit," I spat.

"What's wrong?" Laura turned to me. The hot sun beat down off the walls of the old fort and I broke into a sweat. I ducked into the shade. Could not afford losing water.

"I need to go," I said.

"Can you use a bush?"

"Not that kind of go."

Laura eyed me wearily. "Is it bad?"

I shrugged. "Enough."

"Why didn't you go at the bottom?"

"Didn't have to then."

Laura sighed at me. A thirty-something husband no older than five. "Want to turn back?"

"Nah. Only if it gets bad-bad."

Bad-bad. Cute.

We continued the climb, old stone walls rising above vast valleys below. Breathtaking. Built to withstand the Mughals in the 16th century. Still standing for tourist hordes today.

Between views a sign. Bathroom. Pointing behind what looked like the remains of a grist mill. OK, no problem. When you gotta go. So I stepped around behind the building.

I was back on the path with Laura in less than a minute.

"That was quick."

"Yeah. Kind of a problem."

"No bathroom?"

"Not exactly. It was the same bathroom that was originally built into the fort five hundred years ago."

"Can I see?" Laura looked curiously at the ruined grist mill.

"Only if you want. It's still in use. Toilet paper and everything."

"And?"

"Imagine the outhouse at camp. Only no hole."

She considered, then shook her head. We continued our climb. In India everything is an adventure. Including the little things. Like finding a bathroom.

During its long history the fort was only captured once, and even then was re-taken within a few days. Climbing, we understood why. A simple walk to the top was exhausting. My stomach mostly cooperated, well-traveled and used to long holds. I enjoyed views, buildings, climbs, intricate stonework and paintings, temples, marble halls. At the top we saw miles of brown countryside with a snaking wall, the second largest in Asia.

How little we in the West know of empires and peoples, politics and cultures. From a turret I saw Europe the dwarf, America the baby. Asia the everlasting.

Our descent was rapid. My stomach drove me onward and Laura, politely, accepted. A few pauses for photos, water, escape from the heat of the sun. A free bathroom waited at the bottom, around the back of a cafe. I stepped around and inside, and rejoined Laura after a few minutes.

"Better?" she asked.

"Partly," I admitted. "Couldn't do everything."

Laura laughed. "What happened?"

"Do you know Frank Lloyd Wright?"

"Sure," she said hesitatingly.

"Well when he was designing buildings there was an interesting toilet that was in vogue at the time," I explained. "See, all these Brits and Euros were encountering so-called native peoples and got it into their heads that the healthiest way to use the bathroom was to do what they did. Squat."

"What's your point?" She looked at me, hot and frustrated.

"The bathroom was like the outhouse, only no seat."

"You going to be alright?"

"Sure, sure, I can hold it until we get back."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I'm strong." True.

We wandered through a few more temples, then our guide drove us to a restaurant for lunch. The food was bland, the conversation slow. I needed to go.

Laura went to test the bathroom and returned a good five minutes later.

"You're going to like the bathrooms here," she smiled.

That was all I needed to hear. I grabbed our travel tissues and bolted for the back. Found the door, stepped inside. And stopped short.

There was no seat, no bowl. Instead there was a porcelain squatting area. How to describe it? My mind marveled. A tread area along side a trough, shoulder distance across. All in glistening, white, clean porcelain.

Shit.

I couldn't stand it. I needed to go.

I tried various positions. The shoes and socks, obviously, had to come off. Standing wasn't going to work, but my pants got in the way when I squatted. There was nothing else for it. I removed everything from the waist down, placed it carefully in the corner and got my squat on. Like any Indian toilet the paper went in a waste basket. There was a bucket to wash everything away with down the smooth porcelain hole.

I did my best, wiped, dressed, washed thoroughly outside and returned to lunch with even less of an appetite.

Later in the car I leaned over to Laura.

"Very funny about the bathroom," I said.

"Huh?" she looked at me.

"The porcelain squat hole. It was quite an adventure."

"Oh," she said. "I was wondering what took you so long. I guess you didn't notice the regular toilet in the other bathroom."