Ban Noi Toilet Surprise

A warning: We'd suggest that you do not read this post if you are eating, are squeamish about matters eliminatory, or are convalescing from any condition involving biliousness. There's also a bit of vulgar colloquial language...

We've just completed a week's trekking and kayaking in the remote, mountainous regions of Phongsali province in northern Laos. As I'm sure most of you know, travelling in Asia for any length of time is usually accompanied by occasional episodes demanding the close proximity of a toilet. Or bathroom as our American friends would have it. I've always thought that a little strange by the way. I'd expect to find a bath in a bathroom, not a... Sorry - I digress...

Fear not. This isn't a tale of bouts of explosive diarrhoea, typhoid or dysentery. Nope. We were lucky there. Despite running out of anti-bacterial wipes, despite Amber's compulsion to pat every cat and mangy dog that we encountered, despite my realising - as I squeezed sticky rice into balls to dip in the chilli - that I hadn't washed my hands in about nine hours, we suffered no ill effects. Which was lucky, because there wasn't a toilet within a weeks' walk of any of the villages we were welcomed into.

Having no toilet doesn't, of course, do away with the need for one. Question is: Where do you go? This question was always answered with a wave in the general direction of the door or at best the laughingly delivered "Nature's toilet!" People would get up with that look in their eye, duck out the door and re-enter a few minutes later wearing a relieved expression. We knew they hadn't had time to walk out into the jungle or padi beyond the tightly packed houses of the village, so it seemed obvious they'd gone pretty close by. Which always left me wondering: Where do all the little piles go?

The second morning of our trekking found me out early, toilet roll in hand. I could never bring myself to use the house yard, so the misty morning light found me scouting for cover down toward the river. Spot found, I'm crouching, pants around ankles, blissfully communing with nature when I hear a slight rustling behind me. I'm - um - engaged, so I can't turn around too quickly. Before I can manage to get a look behind me something wet and bristly is nudging my butt cheeks.

What. The. Fuck?!!?

I swipe my hand around behind me and encounter a solid, hirsute body that emits a high pitched squeal, scaring even more shit out of me, which the bugger promptly tucks into.

Pig!

I'd noticed him before, dozing just outside the house. He'd cracked an eye as I passed, got quickly to his feet and trotted after me as I went about my business. I'd forgotten about him while negotiating the rocky slope away from the village. He obviously knew exactly what I was about. I'm so glad I'm vegetarian and had knocked back pork whenever it was offered!

Four days later, on the second morning of the kayaking leg of our expedition, I'm followed by another pig. Wise to the game, I'm equipped with a stick and keep her at bay until I finish. As soon as I stand she moves in, but before she can avail herself of the delectable morsel a lurking black dog pounces. Bitch and sow exchange a few terse words before sow is forced to retreat.

I've led such a sheltered life! They say you learn something every day. Well. Not only have I learned where all the little piles go, but also why the pigs are so hasty: Everybody loves a hot breakfast on a cold morning!

O gentle reader, I don't relate this tale to gross you out. Truly. If I'd wanted to do that I would have posted the video! No. It's just that I was amazed at the way naiveté can make the obvious unthinkable. That and the fact that everyone who's heard the story has pissed themselves laughing. I hope you have too!

The odd thing is that neither of us found the pigs and dogs the hardest toilet related issues to deal with. Squat toilets? Not a problem. Filthy squat toilets? Unpleasant, but not unexpected. No toilet? Fine. Just carry a stick or take a chaperone. The biggest shock was finding that in many places toilets were connected to plumbing unable to cope with paper. Result? A receptacle full of used toilet paper at the squatter's nose level.

No thanks!

Give us fresh morning air and a porcine potty any day!