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Kindasortarelevant
I recently came back from teaching English in a somewhat impoverished region in China. My flatmate was Australian and absolutely brilliant, I have no complaints about her and was incredibly lucky to have her around. This story concerns the place in which we lived.

Our flat was actually pretty snazzy by local standards, but backward by ours. The "kitchen" consisted of a big sink with a hole in the bottom which leaked all the used water out onto the roof, and a camping stove that often broke and had a rat hiding underneath it when it wasn't in use.

Our most splendid feature was the loo, which was actually at the end of the kitchen - mmm, hygienic! (Photo here: photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v319/38/69/540590528/n540590528_4195723_5979.jpg) As you can see, was no door. Tuneful calls of "I'm having a poo, don't come near the kitchen!" rang throughout our little household for many weeks.

It also blocked intermittently, and would not accept toilet paper, tampons or particularly large craps. The first time it blocked, we rang for a plumber. Unfortunately, there were no plumbers in the area, and the toilet remained blocked - and full to the brim with our leavings - for several days. Eventually, a random man came into our house, grabbed our mop, stuck it down the toilet and wiggled it around a bit (thus covering it in our mixed faeces) and left a puddle of pooflakes and piss all over the floor for us to clear up. Shortly after this incident, we purchased a plunger, which was put to good use on many, many occasions.

We were given a door one day, much to our jubilation. But this was cut short when we realised the hard way that you aren't allowed to close the door from the outside. We had to walk for fifteen minutes to use a public toilet (i.e. a trough in a shed) for about a week and a half while it was jammed shut.

When you have diarrhoea for about two consecutive weeks, this isn't particularly fun.
(Sun 1st Mar 2009, 0:24, More)