peepeepoopoo

one thing about traveling, what with all of its liberating effects - all the stimulus and seeing of new things - is that people tend to become very honest with each other. and of course: how could they not? every day you see something new, do something new and you dont really have time to fall into those ruts that plague regular society into thinking that they are not seeing adn doing new things everyday, when really they are. however, one of the results of this honesty is that discussion about gastrointestinal issues become quite commonplace amongst travelers. it does go along with the whole 'new experience' aspect: 'wow, my stomach made a noise it has never made before', or, 'never have i gone to the bathroom three times within a 20 minute period.' in this way, we experience things we have not yet experienced in our lives.

the bathroom in the hotel anna and i are staying at has no toilet seat. why? ok, sure, you want to be culturally sensitive and take into consideration the fact that this is a poor country - relative to the behemoth i come from. perhaps the fact that it is a poor country makes it understandable that there is no toilet seat. yet, culturally sensitive though i am, this argument tends to fall to pieces. surely a toilet seat does not cost that much money. anna has mentioned that no toilet seat is acceptable in a bar, where they may be trying to discourage certain behaviors - but in a hotel: no. also, one of the toilets (out of the two we must share with the rest of the floor) does not flush. rather, it trickles water slowly all day so that if you pee, it will be gone in about an hour, but if you geshtibulate, then it will stay forever and the hotel woman will have to come by in the morning with a net, as though she were fishing for shrimp, and clean it out. this way it is easy to tell when somebody new arrives at the hotel. in fact, last night, somebody very drunk arrived at the hotel - and i would have known even if not for their screaming in the hallways. realistically, i think they clean the bathroom every other day. today, what with the drunken evidence, it was quite necessary, but there had been a turd in the peeing toilet for a couple of days beforehand, and also, the bathroom garbage can hadnt been changed. for those who are unfamiliar, the bathroom garbage can not being cleaned is especialy criminal since it is where you have to put your used toilet paper. and, given the nature of what goes into said garbage cans, said garbage cans often lack tops, that may be prone to bearing the brunt of the t.p. contact and thus uninviting to open. to make it short - other peoples shit is always in sight.

another architectural aspect of the bathroom is that there is a hole between the wall and the ceiling thoughtfully provided to allow the stink to ventilate into the spacious hallway. however, this hole is not soundproof, and so if you are having gastrointestinal issues, as i am, they necessarily become an issue for the public. as i said, there is much cause for honesty while traveling. secrets are nearly impossible. and if you are having problems becasue you thought you were too tough for bacteria infested water and drank water straight from the faucet and would up with the peepeepoopoos, like certain people have, then it is the business of the public. 'are there...' you ask 'not other hotels at which you could stay where you may conduct your crapping in more private environs?' of course there are. and, anna and i have traversed the city looking at such hotels. they are nice. they are private. however, they are substantially more expensive than the hotel at which we stay. plus we have a nice view from our window and weve already unpacked.

yesterday i went to the market and watched an incan medicine woman purge the evil spirits from the stomach of this little girl. it was an interesting ceremony that only takes place at the market on tuesdays and fridays. meanwhile, my stomach was attempting to purge itself of its evil spirits. the woman grabbed a bouquet of special aromatic herbs and began thrashing the little girl with them while repeating a word that sounded like, 'quiche, quiche, quiche' which i think means 'away' in quechua - maybe. meanwhile, my gastrointestinal organs thrashed about while i whispered to them, 'shhhh, shhhh, shhhh.' then, the woman took an egg and rubbed it (still in its shell) over the stomach of the little girl. menawhile, my gastrointestinal organs began producing substances whose smell would make rotten eggs smell like the aromatic herbs the woman had been beating the little girl with. then, the woman took some kind of ash and painted a big cross (not a christian cross, but an incan cross, more of an X, and with a different meaning) over the belly of the little girl. meanwhile, my gastrointestinal organs crossed over one another into a knot. finally, the woman took a sip of some sort of pure alcohol and proceeded to spit it upon the face of the little girl, then onto the neck of the little girl, and finally onto the stomach of the little girl. by having done this, the girl was cleansed of her evil spirit. i hoped that i should only be so fortunate as to not purge myself in public.