I realize I've discussed toilets extensively, but it truly warrants its own entry. The only western-style toilets I encountered were in hotels. One in Chengdu was fully electronic; it had self-flushing, warm seats, an integrated bidet, and a control panel on the wall that was too complex to figure out during a short stay. Other hotels had more standard flush toilets. After that, things took a turn for the worse. Every toilet mentioned below shares at least one common aspect: there is no toilet paper available. Another frequent issue is the absence of stall doors. The overpowering scent of ammonia and feces is relentless. I’m not sure if there is a responsible party to clean these facilities, but the conditions reflect not just a single day of neglect, but rather an accumulation over time. At one point during my trip, I concluded that maintaining good hygiene here was simply impossible. No amount of hand sanitizer or wet wipes could counteract what must come from those toilets. It’s a place where the two-second rule does not apply, and I can’t imagine the filth tracked into every home and business.
In larger cities, public squat toilets can be found. These are porcelain rectangles on the floor, marked with "non-slip" foot placements on either side of the opening. It’s quite a challenge to keep your pants off the ground (given that people have urinated on the surrounding floor) while squatting. There are no handholds for support. The locals must have incredibly strong calf muscles. I only came across one that was clean; many seemed to have suffered from diarrhea, with even the foot pads soiled. Precision is essential and a skill I’m still trying to master. Some of these toilets had a nearby tub with a pan for scooping water to flush. Since they do not accommodate paper, used paper is placed in a waste bin.
The next tier down was simply a rectangular cut in the floor that emptied into an open pit below. These pits clearly hadn’t been emptied for some time and were mostly exposed to the outside at the back of the building. In the worst-case scenario, wind blowing up the hill would carry the odor from the pit into the rectangle, saturating you in its stench. Upon reaching very remote areas, our guide advised against even entering and suggested finding a spot outside instead. The presence of toilet paper and piles of feces indicated this had become a common practice. Occasionally, when the stops were too far apart, the guide would announce a "natural toilet," instructing men to one side of the van and women to the other. Cars and buses would continue to pass by as this practice was accepted as part of life. My shoes will need thorough disinfection once I return home.
At one teahouse, there was the "SkyView" toilet: two stalls, one for men and one for women, with walls only waist-high and no roof or door. None of the businesses, including teahouses, have private toilets and direct customers to the public facilities instead. I recalled a visit to Beijing years ago, where I noted that homes typically do not have toilets, relying on a common public toilet for that area. I was quite surprised one day while using a squat toilet to hear someone in the adjacent stall comfortably squatting and watching videos on their phone, much like one might read a magazine on a conventional toilet. However, to "relax" in a squatting position is something my body cannot manage. Additionally, the stench in every toilet triggers a gag reflex. During my brief time here, I have become slightly less repulsed by the situation; I suppose it is simply accepted as a way of life.
One day, we stopped at a scenic viewpoint, and I noticed throughout the day that an older Malaysian woman in the group hurried to use the toilet at each stop. I suspected she was dealing with loose stools and was trying to manage between stops. At this particular stop, she walked briskly to the restroom, and I followed, as I needed to pee. Upon arrival, she was pacing between stalls, trying to find one that was the least repulsive, but the conditions were appalling. Tears streamed down her face as she held a handkerchief to her nose and exclaimed, "I must go. I have no choice." I felt deep sympathy for her.
It was relatively late in my life when I began seeking spiritual answers that were genuinely mine, rather than those imposed on me by society. The significant turning point occurred when I hiked the El Camino de Santiago from France through northern Spain. As I prepared for this journey, I resolved to use the time to explore my genuine feelings, regardless of whether they were right or wrong. I formulated five questions I needed to address, and by the end of the 31-day pilgrimage, I had answered them for myself and felt assured in my responses. This was truly "me," like it or not. Encouraged by that success, I approached the Kora with a similar mindset, bringing just one question to consider. A shorter pilgrimage meant a shorter question list, humorously speaking. My inquiry during this period was to ascertain whether I believed I existed for myself or for others. Knowing the answer to this is crucial for shaping how I spend the remainder of my life to realize my true purpose. Initially, the answer seemed quite straightforward, but it soon revealed itself to be a challenging question. Examining this question from different religious viewpoints yields completely different answers—take, for example, Buddhism versus Christianity. I identify as neither and do not adhere to organized religion, which means it's my responsibility and necessity to understand MY answer and pursue that purpose.
One aspect I didn't expect and that wasn't clearly outlined in the itinerary is the significant time we would spend traveling. Mt. Kailash is quite distant, the roads are extremely rough, and there isn't much to see along the way aside from stunning landscapes. Although the journey is worthwhile, it wasn't my favorite aspect.
Today, I find myself in a somewhat melancholy mood. One member of our Back of the Bus Gang has left. Helena is on her way to Nepal, having departed today with a couple from Malaysia, which means our tour group is now reduced to 7.
Documenting numerous personal, unpleasant specifics and certainly too much information. If you're squeamish, please exit now.
This afternoon, I returned to Lhasa. For this final day of travel, we chose a different route than the one we took to Mt. Kailash. The path to the mountain was very picturesque with several stops, but it was bumpy and slow. On the way back, there were no scenic interruptions, and the highway was relatively new, which resulted in a smoother ride, allowing us to travel faster. Upon our arrival, we bid farewell to our driver and guide, collected our additional checked luggage, checked into our rooms, and then I went out with Tony and Yelina to complete some souvenir shopping and grab a bite to eat. We walked about 30 minutes from the hotel to a street market, made our purchases, and ventured into a less touristy area. We were the only Westerners there, clearly in a local neighborhood. We found a local diner, ordered dumplings—always a popular choice—filled with yak meat. Tony selected a dish from a picture on the wall that looked intriguing, which turned out to be akin to a Shepherd's Pie, but made with yak meat and topped with a tortilla. That dish took quite a while to be prepared, and while waiting, a mother and her three daughters finished their meal at a nearby table. The girls greeted us with "Hello," their only English phrase, while continuing to smile and glance at us. I found it challenging to interact in such situations, as I felt like a novelty; I often smile and say hello but wished for deeper engagement. I asked Yelina if she could help facilitate communication and see if the girls would like to take a picture with me, which I also wanted. The mother agreed, and the girls eagerly arranged themselves for the photo. They were very sweet, and from their reactions, I believe this made their day, and they would share the experience with their friends. The meal was quite satisfying, and we left to explore a bit more but soon returned to the hotel. Tony, a rugby fan, noted that there are no sports bars here and hopes to watch the match on TV instead of his phone; it’s crucial for him to see this game.
I realize I've discussed toilets quite a bit, but I think it deserves a separate post. The only Western-style toilets were found in hotels. In fact, the one in Chengdu was fully electronic; it had self-flushing, a heated seat, an integrated bidet, and a control panel on the wall that was too intricate to figure out during an overnight stay. Other hotels featured fairly typical flush toilets. After that, things took a turn for the worse.