Trip to the People’s Republic of China
Toilets
Odd as Chinese toilets may seem as an essay topic, they were probably the greatest cultural shock of the trip. Additionally, they constituted a necessity that had to be faced several times daily in restaurants, museums, and airports. The shock was amplified when we were in a modern structure that showed great attention to detail. We would excuse ourselves at an opportune time, walk down a wonderfully decorated hallway, and find ourselves in a stall facing a hole in the ground that happened to flush. I also presume that the water pressure was too low to handle paper. A small wastebasket served that purpose. The exceptions to this recurring experience were the five-star hotels, which catered to Western travelers.
The women in our group were constantly searching for Western-style toilets. They preferred waiting in line for a toilet with a seat than taking the expedient course—using one of the many available stalls with the Oriental fixture. The holes varied from small drains to a marble trench so large that it required a handle bar for possible drowning victims.
Each morning, I stuffed my pockets with toilet paper before leaving the hotel room. I sometimes made "loans" to women in the group who had not made similar preparations. Soap was generally available, although I was glad several times that I carried liquid hand soap. Air hand dryers were in almost universal use. If an attendant were present, she might hand out pieces of tissue, with an expectation of a tip. The attendants make their living by cleaning the restrooms.
On our free day in Beijing, mother, Pat, and I found a gorgeous restroom near the entrance to the People’s Museum, across from Tian'anmen Square. We entered a doorway hung with plastic strips like a grocery-store freezer section. At first, my mother backed off, saying that we must be at the entrance to a department store rather than a public restroom. The ladies behind a counter greeted us, and I paid a few cents for all of us to use the facility. Another entrance behind the counter was set one step up in a white glass wall with gigantic, etched floral designs. We entered a glacier-white room. The stalls featured modern-design, chrome handles on polished metal doors … and holes in the ground. On the way out, I bought film at another counter in the reception area. I asked Pat to photograph the beautiful etching in such an unusual place; unfortunately, the shot was on one of her lost rolls.
Our guide told us that the problem of accessible toilets was much worse about seven years ago. Many times, the stalls did not have doors that closed properly. One American carried an umbrella that he could open to shield himself. Another would sing in the stall, so that others would know that it was occupied. When he needed to excuse himself, he said "I need to sing a song," rather than "I have to use the restroom."
In Shanghai, the folk art on the hotel room wall portrayed toddlers with their cheeks showing in the rear of their trousers. I asked members of the bus group what it meant. A Canadian woman replied, "Didn’t you see the babies?" She said that the children had a slit in the back of their pants rather than diapers. She told me about seeing a baby fertilizing the base of a tree while the mother looked on.
