Our driver intersperses the ride with cool and hot drink pit stops, which we’re really trying hard not to consume much liquid, so as not to have to use the fine roadside facilities. Not so lucky though, we stop for chai, and with 5 hours left, we opt to relieve ourselves. We add this blog entry in for those of our family and friends who have never traveled in Asia or been exposed to the fine local toilet facilities. Some of you might find way too much detail within the entry to follow, so feel free to stop reading at this point. Typically, the facilities consist of an oblong; porcelain hole in the ground, with foot treads to both sides to ensure a firm grip on the ground. The user needs to have strong quad muscles, as you assume the downhill skiing “tuck” position, holding yourself up in your imaginary chair while you do your business. Some challenges to this are keeping your pant legs from falling into the wetness surrounding the hole. Typically you will not find any toilet paper, as the left hand is used to cleanse yourself, and there is a waterspout to wash, and fill a bucket with water to wash your deposits down. The level of cleanliness of these facilities is the same as those you find in the western world… some facilities are clean, and some are completely nasty.
For our stop off enroute to Karnataka, we couldn’t have stopped at a nastier hole… some shady Indian diner, restrooms downstairs… the waiter head wobbled us to the back of the restaurant where the stairs descended two flights into the dungeon. Hot, sticky and dark, a queue of men waited for one squatter, and nasty noises echoed off the walls. Our driver finally descended the stairs to see what was taking us so long, and went in to get a read on the situation. Words from the not-so-well man occupying the hole prompted the driver to point us to another mystery door, with only a drain hole wedged into the corner of the cubicle, and water faucet coming from the wall. I was prepared, nose plugged, and pant legs rolled up high; I quickly used the drain hole, but in the process the sarong I was wearing to be socially correct and cover up my skin touched the nasty wet floor, and my only bit of TP fell to the floor. Welcome to the fine roadside facilities. Not even a squatter. Our driver waited at a table with three Dixie cups of masala chai, which not even thinking about how nasty this joint was, I quickly downed Darrin’s and mine.
We arrived our hotel in Hospet, which was clean and simple. Dinner at the restaurant seemed good; however, either the dinner or the chai did me in, and for those of you who were wondering who would fall to the infamous Delhi Belly first… it was me, worshipping the porcelain god all night. So if you picked me, you win.