Bathrooms and Bananas

Bathrooms are important things to me. Many years ago, on summer vacation in Ecuador, my dad convinced my sister and me that we needed to take a road trip to a city called Machala, the Banana Capital of the World. Because we didn't really have a choice, and my mom was traveling with a group of friends and wasn't there to stop the madness, and because I had dreams of eating plantains at every meal, we went. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins tagged along. I remember 6 things from that trip: 1, my dad kept getting stopped by soldiers with machine guns at every military checkpoint because his beard made him look like a Colombian drug lord. 2, we took a boat ride to some island while my cousin Ernestito told me the entire plot of The Omen and scared me half to death. 3, because of an engineering convention in the town, we almost had to stay at a hotel that didn't have sheets on the beds or panes in the windows. 4, we ate chicken fried rice at the hotel we ended up staying at, and that night I found a roach on my retainer. 5, we got lost in a little town called PiNas and had to beg some farmers to let us use their bathroom. And 6, on our way to cross the border into Peru (because my dad likes adventure), we stopped at a restaurant to use the bathroom, and my grandmother went in first and then came out and told me it wasn't that dirty, but then when I walked in, there was about an inch of water/urine on the floor and flies EVERYWHERE and the worst stench I had and have ever smelled and I ran out of the bathroom crying hysterically and then my aunt Fabiola had to take my little sister in there and let her pee in the sink and then I was too traumatized to cross the border into Peru and had to stay at a rest stop with my cousins and then my dad later told me it was good I hadn't gone with him because people in the Peruvian border town were living in shanties atop piles of trash. Oh, and P.S., Machala exports all of its bananas, so we didn't get to eat any plantains the whole time we were there.

So the point of that story is that ever since that day, I have feared public restrooms and only use them if I'm either desperate or if someone else who's more honest than my grandmother has already used them and has given me the OK. The problem with public restrooms is that people are inconsiderate and gross and ruin things for those of us who like hygiene. I bring up this issue because on May 30, I'm going on a trip to Italy, and at my last book club, my friend Laura told me that the one thing she remembers about Italy is that the bathrooms were filthy. Though I am a hardened veteran of enduring filth in foreign places, my excitement about going to a country I've always want to go to has been tarnished by the thought that I might not be able to use the bathroom for 11 days. If you're reading this blog and have been to Italy and disagree with Laura, please tell me ASAP so that I can stop wondering how many easy-to-carry disinfectants I can take in my suitcase. (I already have Charmin wet wipes, but I'm thinking I might need Clorox Wipes, too, and those could leak in my bag. Yes, these are thoughts that keep me up at night, and I'd like some peace of mind.)

Speaking of peace of mind, here's what I've learned lately that might be good advice for anyone wanting to upgrade their own bathrooms: don't buy bathroom fixtures over the internet. You will regret it. After that burst pipe destroyed my bathroom, I had the "opportunity" to upgrade my fixtures. Seduced by pictures of handcrafted vanities and marble counters, I made the mistake of ordering a vanity that's several inches taller than the one I had. I figured a few inches wouldn't be that big of a deal, but that was before I had stand on my tiptoes to put my contacts in or to scrutinize my pores. I made a similar mistake with the new toilet. I'm not really a short person, but apparently, they either now make "standard-sized" toilets taller than they used to or I inadvertently ordered a toilet for elderly people.

I can't really think of a clever way to end the blog tonight; I'm rusty. I'll write again when I get back from Italy to report on whether or not I survived the Italian bathrooms. I'm not optimistic, though--I can barely survive my own bathroom these days.