Ode To A Grecian John

                Grecian toilets are an odd joy. A surprise waiting to be discovered. You just never know what you will find when you walk into one. They are something that simply must be experienced. Some, located in pristine new buildings, like the bus terminal in Igoumenitsa, are horrors. Although new and modern, urine soaks the walls, the seat, even the top of the tank at the back of the unit. Rogue tatters of paper scatter the floor, or stick moistly to the wall. One must step daintily to avoid slippage. And try not to let any part of the seat make contact with your nether bits.

                Most toilets have ancient plumbing, which is to be expected in such an ancient land, making it impossible to flush toilet paper. The pipes are simply not made to handle that sort of work load. There is a small bin, located to the side, for your convenience in disposing of the used paper. There will be the odd camping ground or hotel that has new plumbing, and will allow you to flush all of your waste tidily away. Such a washroom, however, will invariably be without some other commodity, like soap, and you will see people answer the call of nature, and walk away without any hint of a hygienic washing up.

                The most fabled, and feared, water closet in the Mediterranean world, however, is the Turkish Toilet. Common all over the near east, North Africa, and southern Europe, it is a toilet system that boasts of being the only ergonomically correct toilet in the world. This may well be true, but to the traveller who is familiar with the Western toilet of John Crapper fame, it is a daunting experience. There is no pedestal, no seat, no tank. There is merely a porcelain basin set into the floor, with two foot rests. One must squat down on ones haunches, and aim for the hole in the middle of the basin. You resemble a back catcher signalling the pitcher. It can make for a difficult evacuation. Pants can (and perhaps should) be removed utterly to avoid accidental soiling. This keeps your limited wardrobe pristine, but is time consuming. After a prolonged squat, one may have difficulty with ones knees, which can lock up in rather short order, making it necessary to grasp the water pipe behind you for support. The fear of falling over is also very real. Standing becomes difficult the longer the aching squat is enforced. Ergonomically correct, but these facilities exact a toll, a price to be paid in diminished comforts for that posture correction.

                None of this should act as a deterrent. Indeed, no life is complete if one has never graced a foreign water closet. But be prepared. No traveller worth his salt should be without their own roll of paper, a handy bar of soap, ointment for aching knees, and perhaps a clean pair of socks.