Toilet Seoul
Warning: The following post may be extremely graphic and unabashedly scatological. So you know, fair warning.
Those who know me well need not be told I treasure my time on the toilet. I’m of the mind there is no shame in taking pleasure in a prolonged engagement atop the throne. Books, magazines, the ingredient list on your shampoo bottle…the joy derived from reading any of these things while in the comfort and privacy of your own bathroom is as good as anything in life can be. Alas, here in Seoul, the game has been changed. Comfort, privacy, and reading materials exist, but like Clark Kent and Superman, they’re never in the same place at the same time.
Privacy and reading materials are abundant at my place, but comfort is nowhere to be found. The toilet seat is broken and only half attached. Furthermore, it’s made of the soft, air filled cushiony stuff that in my experience is the province of old people, single women over 40 and maybe the odd homosexual or two. Even if I had a solid, fully functioning seat to rest upon, the toilets placement in the far corner, just in front of a small outcropping would prevent me from ever achieving the blissful, meditative state I aspire towards when engaging in said activity. So while it is my home field, there is much to be desired. It’s like I’m an expansion team that has to play in a Minor League park while the stadium proper is still under construction. Only there are no people watching and rarely are there any hot dogs being eaten. Other than that, it’s exactly the same.
When I find myself playing an away game, it’s usually at work. There, they have no stadium either. They have no grandstands, no bleachers, no vendors. What they do have is a traditional Korean squat toilet, the crapper equivalent of broken down backstop against which I’m forced to play. There are sometimes spectators in the form of old old cleaning women who come in and out of the tiny facilities as casually as though they were walking around their own home that just happened to have a stranger shitting in it.
For all the elements of this culture I’ve willingly embraced, this is one area I refuse to accept. The idea that in the year 2009, the country with better cell phone reception and internet connectivity than most any other country in the world, is still using these artifacts is beyond anything I can wrap my head around. Comfort? Fucking forget it. Despite my general lack of athletic prowess or physical exertion these days, I’m abnormally flexible. I can bend and contort into shapes and positions most guys my age cannot. Still, I have a hard time using a squat toilet. How someone who is maybe 50 pounds over weight, or whose bones and ligaments have become brittle with old age can manage is unimaginable.
The whole thing is a logistical nightmare. I’m not even sure which way I’m supposed to face. Toward the half dome shield-thingy or away? I think a solid case could be made for both. Perhaps with a life time of use behind me I could deuce with more confidence, but right now I dread the whole thing. With a regular (western) toilet, your ass is on top of, damn near inside, the bowl. With these, ones ass is just hanging out in the breeze, making containment an issue at times. The rims and areas just beyond are often flecked with wayward feces that, under more ideal conditions, would not have become a problem. I’m constantly worried that I’ll somehow foul my pant legs, or that I’ll make some kind of crazy rookie mistake and not pull them down far enough only to have shit get smeared on the inside of my waist band the way you’d scrape excess peanut butter back into the jar off a knife.
With so many pitfalls to avoid, I do my best to steer clear of squat toilets, but all too often my morning glory will not be denied. Some months ago, I arrived at the toilet, still groggy, half asleep and angry to be at work before the sun was up, only to find someone else had beat me to the bowl and voided themselves in disgusting, awe inspiring fashion. There, staring back up at me was a piece of human waste, the size and constitution of which can best be described as enviable. It looked like someone had passed their own femur—and done so without the aid of toilet paper which was curiously absent.
Public toilets are not hard to find, but to find one you might actually want to use is quite a task. Given that, it is quite an anomaly the one place you can sometimes find comfort and privacy (and something to read if you’re carrying a book) are the handicapped stalls in a subway station. Behold, the Super Bowl at Nowon Station.
The stall is bigger than my kitchen, smells considerably better than most of the city, has a heated seat and a bank of controls that would shame most universal remotes. A heated toilet seat is one of the more delightful things in life, especially in the dead of winter. It was a bit alarming though, the first time I sat down on one. A warm seat is usually indicator someone has just been in the same spot as you and in this case, judging by the temperature, I assumed it must have been a 500 pound man who’d spent about eight hours tending to his business. When after a few minutes the seat didn’t cool off to match my own body heat and examining all the controls on my right side, I realized I’d just stepped into the next realm of toilet technology and settled in to enjoy the ride.
When the game had ended, my technological deficiencies came out laughing and pointing at me when I couldn’t figure out how to flush. The buttons were all in Korean or had small, indecipherable pictures, none of which led me to any solid conclusions to what they’re function might be. I started pressing randomly, waiting for a reaction. One button activated the bidet function and I watched a small nozzle slid forth from the recesses of the bowl and then shot a high pressure stream of water out with enough force that it nearly hit me in the face and continued all the way up to the ceiling. Perhaps, I thought, the toilet is also equipped with an enema function. I was pleased with my decision to get off the pot before monkeying with the buttons. Still confused by how to flush, but now running short on time before my next class started, I just put the lid down and got on my way. And like magic, the Super Bowl flushed.
The Super Bowl is a rare find. The lion’s share of subway facilities are dirty old squat style toilets, and often lacking a toilet paper dispenser. Paper of all kinds are quite a commodity here in Korea, so they cut corners to save wherever they can. Sometimes what they’ll have is one dispenser on the wall that serves every toilet. A thrifty move, sure, but as far as personal hygiene goes, not a very prudent one. Once, while still teaching at the elementary school, the janitor gave me a serious bit of the stink eye as I reeled off 50 yards worth of TP. In most instances where I realize I have made some kind of mistake in cultural etiquette, I find myself sheepishly apologizing with a little bow. But this time, I felt completely justified in my actions and only gave him a look as though telling him to fuck off. Contrary to most people here, I am not a poo-poo prognosticator. I never know with absolute certainty just how much wiping material I will need and so, I err on the side of caution. That is a game of butt-hole Russian roulette I am not willing to play. If you intend on visiting Seoul, it’s a good idea to carry some toilet paper with you at all times. Like the saying about guns, it’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
Korea is a great place with many things going for it. Much noise is made around the country, with people trying to drum up ideas which will increase tourism and bolster Korea’s image around the globe. “Build the tallest building in the world!”, some people cry. Others scream for a new slogan, one that people will hear and identify with Korea. Some feel the world needs to be made aware of their long standing cultural traditions, or their commitment to being a very environmentally conscious and responsible nation. These are all fine solutions, but when they really decide to get in the gastrointestinal relief game, to have the crappers catch up to the cell phones and internet connections, they will surely come out on the winning end and maybe just save their behinds in the process.
