Today I need to express my thoughts on the availability and quality of les toilettes in France. I must admit that, today, the facilities offered are much improved on the toilettes a la Turque of the 1980s when we first started coming to France. However, they still leave a lot to be desired. Those of you of a delicate nature may wish to avoid reading on so let me assure, or is it reassure, you there are no photos in this post and you can avoid any unpleasant descriptions by simply canceling out of the blog now. I promise the next post will be more uplifting.
Being a tourist necessitates the use of whatever public conveniences offered. Jim and I have developed a routine that allows us, most of the time, to avoid many of the less savoury or more pungent varieties and to take advantage of those that come a little way towards meeting the kinds of standards in hygiene that we think are normal. Our routine consists of making sure that we have used our own perfectly clean and inviting bathrooms before leaving the house. Our day's outing will probably involve a morning coffee, a lunch stop and possibly a stop for some kind of refreshment in the afternoon. Each of these involves a comfort stop. As we assess the establishment, the question "What do you think?" serves two purposes. One is "Will the food, coffee, drink or whatever be ok, do you think?". The other is "What do you think the loos will be like?" I have to admit that the second generally takes priority over the food or drink.
Let me warn you that just because you might get very good food and drink in certain establishments does not necessarily mean that the comfort stop provided is exactly a comfort. There have been many establishments where we have eaten of the best but where our final stop there, le WC, has caused us to rethink our assessment of the food.
As I am of a more delicate constitution than Jim, who is generally of the opinion "When you gotta go, you gotta go", we have added another step to our routine: Jim is sent as scout to check out if all is suited to the gentility of my senses. If Jim returns and asks "Can you manage?", I then assess the gravity of my needs, and make my decision based on that and taking into account, of course, the length of time there will be before I can visit toilettes more suited to my particular nature. There are occasions where I have to extract the peg from my handbag (placed there for exactly those purposes) and position it firmly on my nose as I make my way to said little room. I have noticed that the staff generally give me strange looks when I do that. I have also been tempted to use a blindfold on occasions but Jim has warned me that that would require help and he knows how private I like to be about these matters.
French men and women appear to have no difficulty in sharing little rooms - one at a time, of course. But it is disconcerting to me to arrive in the area designated and to find a gentleman (surely a misnomer) in full flow with the door not just ajar but fully open! I cannot decide whether to avert my eyes or to look him straight in the face with a look that signifies my disgust. It adds insult to injury to see him make his way out of les toilettes that I have to use after him and to pass by the handbasin with never as much as a glance!
Other difficulties that have added to my discomfort in this area are toilets that do not flush and that have obviously been like that for some time (how did Jim allow me to experience that? I must have been in dire need!), toilet paper that refuses to be extracted from its holder and, worse, no toilet paper at all!
All of this is a preamble to today's experience where we left the house, having completed stage one of the routine. An hour or so later, we were in a little village called Merindol about 30 km from La Motte d'Aigues when nature called. Stage 2 of the routine - assessment. Stage 3 - scout sent in. Stage 4 should have been an acceptance that whatever the facilities were like they had to be used. Unfortunately, before stage 4, coffee had been ordered (no loo without drink of some sort in France, you know) and the time had to be uncomfortably spent drinking said coffee because Jim's assessment of the situation was that this particular facility was a 'no go' area - even for him! We had no option but return as swiftly as possible over those same 30 km with Jim driving as carefully as possible over the numerous speed ramps between there and here. On arrival at where we park we then had about 200m to walk (I wouldn't describe what I was doing as walking!). Then 2 locks on the door to open and then the 27 steps down and 7 up to the most beautiful bathroom you can imagine and which was even more beautiful today for some reason. And that, I say, is the definition of sweet relief!
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