The Art of the Squat Toilet

On the plane from Istanbul to Bangkok, I saw a sign in the airplane bathroom that I thought was hilarious. It shows an illustration of how one is supposed to sit on the airplane toilet, with feet on the ground, and NOT by squatting on top of the seat (see picture below). As a westerner, this tickled me because it seemed so very obvious how a “throne” toilet should be utilized. It wasn’t until a week or two down the trail in Nepal that I began to understand why there might be confusion: EVERY SINGLE toilet we encountered along the trail and many of the ones in the larger cities were squat toilets. For those who aren’t familiar, a squat toilet is basically a hole or porcelain receptacle at floor level with places for your feet on either side. You squat down, do your business over the hole and flush by pouring a bucket of water down afterwards.

Now, despite my previous third-world travel experiences, I have spent very little time with squat toilets, if any. I guess most of the toilets in Latin America, even in poorer countries, are still Western-style thrones. In one of our first few days in Nepal, Audra came back from the bathroom and proclaimed, “Man, there’s nothing like a good squat toilet.” I found this HILARIOUS. Analogous to the idea of there being nothing like a good bout of diarrhea just to clear out the system. But by the end of our time there, I was singing a slightly different tune.

First of all, we encountered just about every possible inception of the squat toilet imaginable on the trail between Shivalaya, Base Camp, and Lukla. Seriously, I wish in retrospect I had taken pictures in order to document the creativity and variety. These included:

· “Standard” squat toilet bowls, made of porcelain, with foot grips on either side and a bucket and running water with which to “flush”

· More rustic wooden versions consisting of a planked wood floor, with a hole cut out of the middle, with or without wooden foot grips. These usually didn’t involve running water but the good old port-a-potty design (poop on a pile). Some variations included piles of dried leaves inside the room with which you could cover your business and speed along the composting process.

· A stone version, which was essentially a large slab of rock (marble, perhaps? Ah, maybe not) with the same rectangular hole cut into the middle. Another stone version included an inclined “slide zone” (for your number two needs) that could then be flushed down with water.

· An even more rustic concept which, instead of featuring planked wood, was constructed of (worn down) saplings lain across as floorboards with one or two missing from the middle to provide the necessary space for squatting. This one was particularly precarious, as not only could my foot have fit through the squat hole, but could have slipped between any of the tree trunks and made its way down to the odorous netherworld below.

· And, the most rustic version of all: Nothing at all other than something to give you a little shade and perhaps a sliver of privacy. Although one time, Audra and I were directed to the “toilet” which was actually just an open field, by this young girl (probably 10 years old) who proceeded to sit there and watch while we squatted and took care of business. Luckily we were wearing our hiking skirts so it wasn’t such a peep show.

At first I found the squat toilet concept awkward and primitive…particularly the non-flush versions had a tendency toward pretty strong smells. But after I got into the groove, I really started to appreciate what Audra was getting at. For me, the key to comfortably using a squat toilet was the concept of the FULL SQUAT. This is not a “dirty bar bathroom hover” situation in which you’re basically doing a wall-sit while relieving yourself, but an actual bent knees, weight on your heels, bottom at ground level, full squat. This posture is WAY more comfortable than the “hover” and you can stay there for as long as you need (variable factor in stomach bug territory) without your quads starting to burn and quiver. The other realization I had was that in any rural or more germy situation, a squat toilet is actually a ton cleaner than a poorly-maintained throne, because there’s actually no contact between you and the toilet other than with your shoe-covered feet. You walk away from that thing without having to touch, wipe, or sit on a seat or pull a handle to flush. I would say American bars should consider a change-over but the idea of drunk women squatting in stiletto heels is just asking for trouble.

The real turning point came on my last day on the trail, heading from Namche to Lukla, where I stopped for a bathroom break at a rest house. There were two toilet options: the throne and the squat. Can you guess which one I chose? That’s right. I passed up the porcelain chair and opted instead for the hands-free sit on my haunches approach. I walked out thinking that Audra had been right after all. In places where you have to choose between a sporadically maintained squat toilet and a sporadically maintained throne, there is NOTHING like a good squat toilet.