Nomad Without A Cause

I am going to admit something, something that I have never told anyone before; I have a nervous tummy and a bladder the size of a teaspoon. In the sense that when I get nervous my tummy wages a battle against the rest of my body like Persia did at battle of Thermopile. Often when my hand reaches for the doorknob to my front door I break out I a nervous sweat. What if there isn’t time to line the toilet with an entire roll of tissue before I have to throw caution to the wind? After a month of debating with myself I booked my ticket to Paris.

The immigration officer pried my passport out of my jittery hands. She offered me the tired smile of a government lackey working off her last cup of coffee. I arrived as the sun was setting, the last bus into the city was boarding and if I didn’t want to sleep in a tiny airport with cramped bathrooms I needed to put myself on that bus. Two subways rides, a fifteen minute walk and I was finally able to check into my hostel. I had to share a small bathroom with seven other people. It was clean enough but it offered no buffer zone between my bathroom needs and the guy from Ghana. My full bladder and rumbling tummy kept me awake for hours. I woke up blurry eyed and punch drunk with cramps.

Somewhere between the Mona Lisa and the long lines for the two bathrooms at the entrance to the Louvre I found myself in the Carrousel du Louvre with an extremely full bladder and very little hunting time. I raced to the far east end of the Carrousel du Louvre in front of the Point WC. Ordinarily I would have balked at the idea of having to pay to pee, but I was in Paris and the bathroom looked like a spa. I forked over the cash. I was treated to designer toilet boutique experience. The attendant offered me a choice of “themed” stalls. I wanted to clap in glee. If this was a beautiful dream I was going to ride it till the wheels fell off. I’d never felt more comfortable and happy to be relieving myself.

After relaxing in my own private stall the size of a small Parisian apartment, I had a hand washing experience I thought only reserved for the gods. The basin was big enough for Michael Phelps to snag another Olympic medal in with crystal clear water with a scented quality I was sure was good enough to drink. My trip ended with a quick run under the turbo hand dryers. I went to Paris to explore a strange new world, to seek out new life and exciting civilisations, and I boldly went where I would pay to go again.