We’ve been so busy seeing and doing all the things that I haven’t been able to share any stories from day-to-day life on the road. Here’s a little snippet of what you all have been wondering about, but afraid to ask: Toilets.

I’ve experienced many toilets. Pit toilets, compost toilets, porti-potts, flapper toilets, bush toilets, portaloos, portaloos with hand pumps, traditional flushing toilets (with two buttons in typical European style), a loo with a view at Cathedral Cove… but the most fascinating toilet so far has been the electrified public toilet.

The electrified toilet should come with a user manual. I was, admittedly, outsmarted by the thing. On the exterior of the toilet building was a series of lights, appearance akin to nuclear submarine indicator lights as depicted in Hollywood. The three lights were labeled, OPEN, CLOSED, LOCKED. I assumed that a green light over OPEN indicated that the toilet was empty and ready for use.

Wrong.

The poor, startled Kiwi retiree hurried to adjust himself as I screeched and slid the door shut while mumbling a string of apologetic syllables. He emerged a few seconds later, informing me that the lock doesn’t work, but the stall “is open now”. I accepted his offer of holding the door open as I stepped into the booth of white and stainless decor.

The door slid shut silently. My gaze shifted over to the small box to the right of the door as its indicator light flickered from OPEN to CLOSED. A small metal disc on the corner of the box’s faceplate instructed “Press to Lock”. The disc did not depress, but I held my finger on the disc until a male voice (I think it was Scotty of Star Trek fame) crooned, “Door locked. You have 10 minutes.”

I braced myself for liftoff. Or to become a time capsule mummy for future generations to observe the culture of our millenium.

No rocket boosters sounded, so I headed over to the toilet as soft music played (yes, really). The toilet paper roll was encased in another aluminum box with disced metal faceplate. I tapped the disc; nothing happened. In typical technology-malfunction style, I tapped it again. Toilet paper started spewing out of the box with a whirrrr. I tapped the disc repeatedly, trying to get the paper string to stop. It cut out with a click, and I finished my task.

The sink was so 21st-century. I depressed the plunger at the top of the faucet to start the water flow. Water spurted out of the faucet with the power of a hydrant, ricocheting off the sink bowl and spraying my shirt and pants as I jumped backward. I tried again, vainly attempting to deflect the water with my hands, instead spraying myself in the face (It was the third day without a shower, so maybe the futuristic electrified toilet was trying to tell me something). I dried my hands in the blue light air blower before reapproaching the small box by the door.

I tapped and held my finger on the metal disc. The music stopped and the male voice murmured, “Thank you”. I slid the door open to the gray, rainy Earth and was thankful to have survived.

Fortunately, most other day-to-day life stories are a bit less dramatic, for if they weren’t, I’m not sure I’d ever return to the Land of the Long White Cloud.

😉