Filthy Chinese Bastards
Before I moved to China, I laboured under the misconception that they were polite, self-effacing, decorous and orderly - in other words, I thought they were Japanese. Wrong! Chinese people are in fact disorderly, queue-jumping, noisy, phlegm-dredging, open-mouthed-chewing, nose-picking un-selfconscious mobs of endless friction. It can be fantastically vital, or it can be depressingly chaotic, but it's never boring.

Anyhoo, Chinese toilets are surely amongst the foulest known to mankind. You tend to find that hygiene and decorum are better in the larger, more developed cities (this is partly why I now live in Beijing), but when I first arrived I was in a small city of "only" a million or so people. (And maybe about 10 foreigners in total).

The city was home to about three nightclubs, and I have never forgotten the sheer horror of my first visit to one. It was a Saturday night, so the place was absolutely packed with guys smoking, guys playing dice, guys, drinking red wine and Sprite (yes, together) or green tea and whisky (ditto), guys standing nervously looking around, guys playfighting with each other, and girls dancing. After a few overpriced warm beers, I weaved my way through the throng to the toilets.

The putrescent stench from the gents clutched me from the end of the corridor and tore the skin off my throat. Entering, immediately in front of me were three squat toilets, with no partitions - just like three holes in the floor next to each other. One guy was on one, talking on his mobile phone and spasmodically sputtering out a liquidy gush of shite. The other two were free, with unflushed turds adorning them like thick brown cables.

To my right were the urinals. Obviously hitting the porcelain was too big a task for these guys, so the staff had thoughtfully placed flattened cardboard boxes on the floor to absorb the stray piss. However, as the boxes got wet, the guys pissing would stand further and further back, thus missing the urinal by ever larger margins, thus getting the cardboard even wetter... and so on. By the time I got there, the cardboard was afloat on an ocean of sugary pish, looking ready to give up the ghost and fall apart.

I REALLY REALLY didn't want to go in there - apart from anything else, the ammonia-heavy stench was overpowering - but I was dying for a piss. I'd been reluctant to try and find the bogs in the first place, given how busy it was, and left it until my bladder was getting really persuasive.

Worst thing was, because it was so hot outside, I was wearing sandals.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 13:22, 1 reply)

Nice,
nothing beats the sensation of those old rope soled deck shoes becoming wet with piss, pure delight. They also creating a nice pissy aroma wherever you go afterwards.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 14:35, closed)