Troubled travelling bowels

As a traveller, I'm always been amused that if you are off the beaten track, the consistency of one’s poo is a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation - even among complete strangers.

For this last kind of trip, we packed both laxatives and Imodium – both got a good run (excuse the pun).  The family WhatsApp has been abuzz with commentary as has the lunchtime conversation.

Like me, Sass also had a ‘slow’ start to the trip. I was a little concerned when she suggested it’d been a week – but then I got this message on the family WhatsApp:

Elle, as usual, took out first prize.

Her first effort, after some delay, was at a tourist site where there were only two women’s toilets and a queue. I got this distressed message:

She says she was traumatised. I suspect the woman who went in after her was even more traumatised!

Further into the journey, we pulled into a village in Mongolia for lunch and she was desperate for the loo. Our guide showed her were it was – behind the restaurant – and then she was back, nearly crying, saying I needed to go with her. We had to call past the local shop to buy some toilet paper – a delay that left Elle pale and sweating. Sass came with us as we ventured past discarded building material, old cans, rusting sheets of iron and other junk, arriving at the wooden shed with a drop between the floor planks – the toilet. The smell was strong (or to quote the film Kenny - "There's a smell in here that will out last religion.") In Elle went and I held the piece of wire that functioned as the door closure, already committed to hanging on if this was my only option. ‘Gee she’s having a very big, long wee…’ commented Sass, based on the noise emanating from the dark, stinking space behind the door. Eventually she emerged ‘That.... was a poo’ she whispered, so as not to distress the Asian tourists waiting their turn. Oh dear.

This isn't the loo - this one was much fancier! In Mongolia, all toilet paper goes in a bin. Be grateful photos aren't embedded with scent!

I’ll spare you her thrush story, but will say that when we finally found a lovely English-speaking pharmacist when we first arrived in UB from Hong Kong (where no-one could understand the issue, despite our best charades), she quietly muttered ‘suppository?’ Amazingly, for once in my life, I didn’t see fit to correct her and tell her it was actually a pessary. Anyway, we got that sorted.

Geoff has forbidden me to share his stories - shame.

And while everyone has had the runs, I was backed up to billy-oh! Go figure.

I See You!!!

As you know, I can see it all from my desk at home. The people having the affair, the couple fighting.

In fact, it prompted my friend DC to shoot me these pics!

So, there I was this afternoon, tapping away at my desk when I glanced up and noticed a large black dog laying a steaming turd on our nature strip! 

I've posted about that too. 

And I am so sick of it!

I peered out and no owner was to be seen as the dog crouched and strained, strained and crouched.

But I figured it wasn't alone.

I dashed out of the house, inspected the evidence and spotted it, being muzzled by its owner outside the cafe on our corner. Well within viewing distance. She knew. By god, she knew. 

I trotted up but she had darted in to order her coffee. I wasn't perturbed.

I approached her in the line and tried to be at my most friendly:

Excuse me... I said, sweetly ....is that your dog outside? 

Yes! She said, face lighting up with joy, pride and the clear expectation of some forthcoming compliment.

It's actually left a huge poo on the nature strip outside our house... next door.... I pointed.

Her face fell and at least she had the decency to look mildly ashamed - at being caught. She hastily rearranged her features in a quick attempt to look surprised.

Oh!! Oh... I'll come back and get it.

Thanks. I said flatly, turning on my heel and flouncing out. (BTW - you can absolutely 'flounce' when you're wearing a white feather bolero and ridiculously high over-the-knee boots - trust me!)

She did come back. I spied her through the shrubbery.....

Back to the chili flake deterrent I think.

Who Gives A Crap?

I love this concept and have Facebooked about it - but here's some more info and a new chapter....

Basically, you have your toilet paper delivered to your door on a schedule that works for your household. It's inexpensive, recycled paper, wrapped in paper in a cardboard box and 50% of the profits go to building toilets and improving sanitation in developing nations. Okay - the paper isn't the most luxurious but the cause far outweights a bit of 'digital break-through'. (I spent some time in big ad agency land working on toilet paper and that's technical speak for when your finger pokes through the paper.... possibly collecting some poo...)

Anyway, how cute are the wrappers?

Do check them out - they're very funny! - and please order some. Here's their website. And just reminding you - although you hardly need it - no-one, and I mean NO-ONE pays me to promote products. (Let's not explore that too closely, I might be a bit sad....)

But, there is another part to this....

We got a delivery late last week and I asked Elle to put it away. Naturally she didn't. So when we got home from the footy on Saturday, with a friend and his 10 year old son, it was still just inside the front door.
Me - annoyed tone:  "Elle! I thought I asked you to put the toilet paper away??'
Elle - moany voice: 'I'll do it now...'
Friend's 10 year old, loudly: 'Who gives a crap!'
Friend - appalled: 'ETHAN! Don't you speak like that!
Us - all laughing - point at the toilet paper as Ethan gets a hasty apology from everyone.

So there you go kids - it also gives you a chance to use the word CRAP and not get into trouble!!

You Know You're An Adult When....

I was reading a post the other night called  20 Signs That You're An Adult. I stumbled upon it  via yet another blogger - Fox In Flats - proving yet again that it is a trap to keep surfing the net late at night when you should be sleeping!  Anyway, this post is so funny becasue it's so true and I was inspired to start my own list -  many of which you might recognise as I have posted about some of these things before.

So in addtion to the original, I add:

You Know You're An Adult When...

1. You drive a minivan with sliding doors
   
2. You can unstack a dishwasher and breast feed a baby - at the same time
   
3. You need to know what 'superannuation' actually means - and realise it's not that super
   
4. When $4,000 a year on private health insurance seems like a good use of your money
   
5. When you're as excited over a new dishwasher as you are over new shoes - possibly even more if you've been washing dishes by hand for a week
   
6. Sleep is a more attractive option than sex (especially when your kids are tiny)
   
7. You decide not to buy that divine new coat as you know the money would be better directed to your mortgage
   
8. You really care about turning off the lights and appliances to save electricity and not becasue of the environment
   
9. You can clean up poo and vomit without gagging - or even batting an eyelid for that matter
   
10. Activities like gardening are now enjoyable
    

So what do you think the criteria is? Feel free to add your own  and let's see if we can get 20.

OMG MONA!

I was lucky enough to get to MONA on the weekend with one of my best mates, K. MONA is the Museum of Old and New Art, a new-ish establishment in Tasmania’s capital town, Hobart (it can’t be a city can it??). For those of you not from this neck of the woods, Tassie is the island state that hangs off the bottom of Australia. In fact, when people asked where we were from, the usual joke was “Australia”.

We flew down Friday afternoon. All week I’d been picturing us, decadently sipping bubbles in the business lounge, awaiting our flight. But sadly we were on the discount airline, greeted with “You have one minute to check in – you’re late!” and sent to the basement departure gate that smelt like wet carpet…. never mind, we were on our way! And thankfully could purchase a suitable (ie alcoholic) beverage on the plane.

Saturday morning had us on the first ferry to MONA – a slick white catamaran that served lattes and delicious baked goodies. We arrived, climbed the many stairs and we were away….

We took the advice of the staff and took the spiral stair case down the shaft that has been carved out of the sandstone cliff. The building itself is a visual feast worthy of time to wander and admire its perfect design, grandeur and masculinity. Vaulted walls of sheered sandstone are a perfect backdrop to the weathered steel stairs and ramps, and suddenly contrast with low, industrial-like gridded concrete ceilings. 

If the building is a visual feast, the art is a banquet for the mind. So many provocative ideas expressed in so many different ways. There are some Australian legends like Boyd and Nolan, ancient pieces from Egypt and Greece and an array of modern installations that explore topics as diverse as transgenderism, terrorism, euthanasia, poverty, all kinds of sexual behaviour including bestiality, presence, truth, the Dreamtime, rape as a war crime, religion, space, knowledge and race. No topic is taboo. (And probably not an outing for the kids....)

There are bean bags to lie in to watch ‘Pickled Porn’ projected onto the ceiling and several interactive exhibits (I won’t spoil it all for you). You navigate with an iPod like device that works out where you are and shows the art around you. Tap the picture and can you can read the title, artist, the idea, the ‘art wank’ or the layman’s point of view. You can hear interviews with the artist and in some cases, sound tracks that go with the piece. You even get to tap ‘Love’ or ‘Hate’.

The most hated piece is a machine that replicated the human digestive system. It’s fed twice a day and poos on to a plate at 2pm. We caught that bit… you could almost chew the smell it was so thick! The artist describes his work as a parody to all that crap that art often is. And is that art? Who knows but it certainly gets you thinking.

Look closely - it is a plate of machine poo.

If you ever get the chance, it’s well worth the trip.