A very basic control panel

“Just press the button and see what happens. You’re not going to blow anything up”. That’s the rather cavalier advice I typically offer to my wife when she asks me computer related questions. It is a philosophy that has served me well throughout my life. Until that is, I encountered the Japanese toilet.

Still a relatively simple control panel

I had heard much about these hi-tech contraptions before our arrival in the country and had wrongly assumed them to be found exclusively in upmarket hotels and fancy restaurants. This assumption was proved to be false in our first hotel and as we have travelled the length of Japan we have had to tackle some of the most complex bathroom technology imaginable.

Instruction sheet- good lavatory reading material

My reluctance to press any button stems from an early incident when I did just that, finding a row of identical silver buttons next to the toilet paper, each bearing an indecipherable label. One press and a gush of air came from down below, followed by a gurgling sound and the threat of an imminent upward jet of water. I shot up, slammed the lid down and breathed a sigh of relief that no harm hade been done to anything other than my dignity.

Which one would you press?

One from the train - simple!

The variety of gadgetry in a typical Japanese loo is mind-boggling. Water, air, heat and music are the most common options available for what is, after all, an unavoidable part of our daily lives. You can switch on sounds of trickling streams or gentle music that mask the ones you create yourself and you can even adjust the seat temperature to be exactly as you want it. There is a pre-flush function that kicks into action as soon as the device senses a backside has made contact with the seat, while the flush when you arise from the throne is automatic.

Masking sound selection panel on Japanese toilet

The more advanced models even have a remote control, presumably so that you or anyone else can operate the buttons from anywhere within a few metres (imagine the mischief you could cause by wandering the corridors and activating other people’s loos). Some complex devices require detailed instructions and these are duly provided, often even in English although these can make quite uncomfortable reading.

This one looks really complicated - where do you start?

When we return home I suspect we’ll find it strange for a while to have a loo where the seat temperature is constant, where no jets of water are expelled at random moments and where we have to make a physical effort to flush. But perhaps given the number of remote controls and user manuals I already struggle with, adding a toilet to our electronic menagerie is one luxury I’m happy to do without.

Instructions for the toilet remote control

Finding your feet in a Japanese toilet is a post from: 501 Places

Finding a loo/toilet/restroom/baño when you need one is a constant challenge for many a traveller. In many cities they can be readily found, but require you to spend a lot more than a penny. In others, they are in such an appalling state that even in a state of desperation you are reluctant to use them. So how can you relax in the finest surroundings while answering nature’s call?

It’s remarkably easy to do if you are in a major tourist city. Simply walk into any five star hotel with an air of confidence and a sense of purpose (not so difficult if you really need to go). Give the doorman a polite nod as you walk in and head straight on through the lobby. There are so many things going on in a typical hotel lobby that no-one is likely to pay attention to someone who looks like a guest coming back from a sightseeing tour. I’m assuming here that you are not one of the scruffy unwashed travellers; if so, don’t even try this as you won’t get past the doorman.

As you’re walking you’re likely to find the appropriate signs and can just head straight in. Clean toilets are guaranteed, with soothing piped music adding to the ambiance of calm and relaxation. When you’re done, hand moisturiser, eau de cologne and anything else you’ve never needed are at your disposal. One piece of advice – as you are an uninvited guest, do make sure you tidy up and leave the place exactly as you found it. It’s only fair…

Smile on the way out and re-enter the normal world again, feeling refreshed, relieved and perhaps even boasting a shining glow thanks to your recently re-hydrated skin.

If you feel a bit uncomfortable about this, you might want to check the local laws about cafes and the use of their toilets. On a recent trip to Austria for example, I learned that an establishment with outdoor seating has a legal requirement to allow both customers and non-customers to use their toilets. Other countries may have the same law; I’ve yet to find out but any examples are welcome.

There is always McDonald’s of course, but if you’re going to take advantage of a free toilet surely you owe it to yourself to aim a little higher than a McLoo?

5 star toilets on your travels is a post from: 501 Places

Loo with a view

I know to check these days. If we’re taking a bus journey that’s longer than a couple of hours there has to be a toilet on board. It doesn’t always remove the problem. After all, even if the bus is equipped with a loo, it may well be broken or locked. But I have to try.

It’s been a source of discomfort and occasional agony for me since my teenage years. As a student I would often take the bus between Nottingham and Bradford. It was very rare back in the 1980s for buses to come with a loo on board. I remember one journey where, by the time I’d reached Sheffield I was crossing my legs and whistling to keep myself distracted, such was the desperate urge to go. As someone who hates making a fuss I didn’t want to disturb the driver and ask for him to make the other passengers wait while I found the station toilets. By the time I had endured another 40 minutes to Leeds however, tears were streaming down my cheeks and I asked him to wait while I ran into the station building. “Ok” he said, “but why don’t you use the one at the back of the bus?” I could have screamed! I’d suffered for nothing. The memory still haunts me over 20 years on.

It’s always the way now that I check if there’s a toilet on the bus when I board. If there isn’t one I can guarantee I’ll be asking the driver to stop before any other passenger does so. Yet if I see the reassuring sight of a lavatory on the bus, in my relaxed state I can survive a long journey without the need to go. It really is all in the mind. I even avoid coffee on the morning of travel but it doesn’t prevent me from entering this tortured world of my own making.

Sometimes even the peace of mind of finding a toilet on the bus can be misplaced. On a five hour journey through Patagonia, I was happy to see the bus had a loo and relaxed for a couple of hours, enjoying the bleak landscapes. When I finally decided to go, I was distressed to find that the door wouldn’t open. I pushed and pulled, and it wouldn’t move. In my best Spanish I asked the driver for the key to the toilet and he looked at me as if I was an idiot. “It’s open” he shouted. Finally another burly passenger went to back and rammed the door with his shoulder, and the problem was solved. As if I should have worked that out by myself…

If there’s any country where needing a pee is never an issue it has to be India. On our second day in the country, our driver was heading along the highway on the way to Agra when I asked him to make a stop when it was next convenient. He immediately pulled up at the side of the road. When I asked him where I should go, he looked at me in despair and said “Sir, this is India. You can go wherever you like.”

Travels with a weak bladder: a tale of personal torment is a post from: 501 Places

Appealing? A pretty good restaurant, Luang Prabang, Laos

Ask most people who don’t travel outside of  mainstream destinations what scares them about more adventurous travel and you’ll get a variety of answers. Some will mention terrorism, others a fear of foreign food and others still will be put off by the heat. But there is one thing that turns so many people away from treading lesser worn paths, and it can strike fear equally to those who travel constantly: the hole in the ground toilet.

Top of the pile in crap toilets is undoubtedly the communal walk-in shed. No more than a hole in the ground with a wooden housing lifted on top, you approach it and the smell hits you before you even open the door. The very thought of closing the door and entrapping yourself in a miasma created by an entire village’s month old poo is enough to make you wretch. On the other hand you know that others use this routinely, and you can’t show disrespect by running out of the box in tears. I must admit to avoiding these like the plague (maybe a bad choice of words) and will normally make a stop on the roadside to enjoy the fresh air.

Hole in the ground, Belarus

And yes, I know us guys have it easy. It’s one time when all men are pleased to be men, and the females just wish they could pee as easily as men do.

I have stayed in several homestays and also relatives’ homes in Poland and Ukraine where the set-up is the same and the smell is only marginally better, having been the product of only one family. I think I have perfected the technique of holding my breath for the duration, but it’s not a foolproof method and you can occasionally breathe out by accident, causing your nostrils to fill with the nasty stench. Some sheds have built in ventilation, and if there’s two of you it’s possible to have one person stand guard while the other does the business with the door open. As far as preludes to romantic evenings go, it’s hard to beat.

A word of warning with these dark pits. If you’re going to be drinking heavily make sure you become familiar with the layout while you’re still sober. I almost learned the hard way when invited to a party in a gypsy neighbourhood of Bucharest some years ago. After many beers and well into the night, I made my way uncertainly across the garden to the little room. I opened the door, put one foot forward and it hit thin air. I stumbled and managed to grab the walls of the hut and hold myself up, retrieving my foot before it made contact with anything unsavoury. A very close call, and as a way of sobering up quickly it was very effective.

There are ways to minimise the trauma of a bad toilet experience, and without doubt the facilities should not prevent you from visiting some of the world’s great places. But just remember; stay sober, or getting sloshed might take on another very unpleasant meaning.

(An honourable addition goes to Mike (@Chinamike1410) who shares this picture of a Beijing toilet, inside a fresh fruit and veg market!)

Need the loo? A guide to the world’s worst toilets is a post from: 501 Places