I had to laugh when I saw the recent memes doing the rounds regarding the toilet situation in Sochi. I wonder if any of the journalists who have spent the last few days complaining about the less than stellar facilities have ever been to a country where the pressure in the pipes is not really sufficient to handle your squares. I mean that wipes (hehe) out at least half of the world so are these journalists on their first overseas assignment? Have they never been south of the border before?
When The Turk and I first discussed building a home in the Village I questioned the plumbing situation. It is not like I fill the bowl or anything but I need the necessities here people – “will I be able to flush my toilet paper down the toilet?” Yes that is all I want and anyone who has holidayed in Turkey or Greece or, well, many eastern European countries, Asian countries, South American countries (again at least half the world) know “DON’T PUT THE TOILET PAPER DOWN THE TOILET!”.
What I have never understood about the technicalities of Turkish plumbing is the fact that you can drop a rather large kaka in your toilet and it will disappear down the s-bend with no difficulties but god help you if you even placed one square of toilet paper in that same toilet. The little fucker will block up your toilet from now until judgment day.
The Turk tells me I should be thankful that at least my toilet is of the sit down variety because originally the plumber was going to install squat toilets in both the ensuite and main bathroom. Seriously? To quote Roger Murtaugh “I’m getting too old for this shit”. I mean literally my knees would have given out on me by now.
The first night Daughter and I slept in our new home I will tell you I did a kaka and yes I put that toilet paper in the toilet. It was an exciting moment – not the kaka the flushing of the paper. A week or so later I had a telephone call from The Turk back home in Australia, “Jane we have a problem.”
“Huh?” Picture the total confusion in my voice and on my face. Thankfully we were not circling the moon at the time.
“You blocked up the toilet!”
“Me? No! It works fine.” And it did because I had been flushing paper down it all week.
“Darling no paper down the toilet!”
“But . . . but . . . you said it would be fine. I don’t understand.”
I really didn’t understand but what I subsequently found out that my brother in law (who had been parking his car in our basement at the time) had to call the plumber practically on a daily basis to have our pipes cleaned out as there was an overflow of excrement in the basement that was flowing towards his precious car. He was too scared (read that as too embarrassed) to tell us so kept paying for the plumber himself!
Five months down the track and I have been conditioned to placing my toilet paper in the bin provided. I hate it of course. It is so unhygienic. I have to scrub my hands like Meredith Grey going into lifesaving surgery after I clean that bin out and then there is the walk of shame to contend with. What is the walk of shame you wonder? It is not enough that you have to take your garbage down the street and around the corner to the large industrial bins for collection but when you know you are walking down the street carrying your used toilet paper or other sanitary items and then are stopped by a random on the street with a merry “Gunaydin”, honestly, I just want to die!